I TRACE OUR PATH over folds of the map and fret; the altitude lines between Lakes Orta and Maggiore are close together and I note a town called Alpino. There is, it seems, a mountain range to walk over. I wonder if I'm up to it, if my knees will last the distance, and what about blisters? There are daily walking schedules of around 15 kilometres and as I sit on my bottom at my computer all day I am not mountain-fit. Romans walked these paths 2,000 years
ago, and shepherds have followed their goats and cows over these mountains forever. If bootless Romans can march for months I can walk for a week; it's just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other! In the morning my anxiety has gone. Lake
Orta is silver and the ancient monastery on its tiny island looks picture-pretty in a medieval way. We turn our back to it and head for hills with tops cloaked in cloud. Kath, my friend and the chief navigator,
carefully reads the Inntravel walk notes and we soon leave the road on to a forest path. The vegetation is late-spring lush and the forest-filtered light is awash with green. I can almost hear the trees growing. I quickly learn to avoid nettles with leaves stretching to stroke our legs. Ouch! The old tale about juice from dock leaves easing nettle stings is true.
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