After the initial excitement of our new host town wore off and the homesickness started to set in, my friend Jimena and I decided to get out of our comfort zone. So, in the middle of a particularly incomprehensible lecture about what I could only surmise to be French medieval theatre, we booked the cheapest one-way tickets to the Alps we could find. Two days later, we were setting off with little more than our kids sized sleeping bags and a £10 decathlon tent to go hike 85 km through the Massif des Aravis from Sallanches to Annecy. As we finished our farewell pint before the overnight bus, our mates told us we were crazy, and stupid, and in hindsight we were. But we wanted an adventure, so we were going to go and find it.
We quickly discovered we were both wildly unprepared and had absolutely no clue what we were doing. The first day set the tone for the rest of the trip, after a wrong turn landed us on a trail that definitely required a helmet and harness. Somehow, we wound up mid-storm, gripping onto a rope while traversing along a cliff edge. While most sane people would have turned back, we fed into each other’s delusions and pushed through, celebrating our feat by screaming into the thundering rain. That night we found ourselves racing through a forest trail to beat sunset, only to end up pitching our tent on a random construction site in complete darkness. Our efforts were rewarded with a cold and sleepless night, as ominous growls and rustles outside conjured up blood chilling images of bears ready to rip our tent open. We eventually plucked up the courage to venture out at first light, only to discover we had in fact spent the night cowering at the cries of a nearby donkey.
In spite of these numerous mishaps, our hike was a profoundly peaceful experience. It was a week spent living off endless salami and cheese wraps, with only the resonant melody of cow bells chiming throughout the landscape, and the whispers of the wind through the alpine bluegrass to keep us company.
Every arduous uphill struggle was rewarded with a fresh view as we summited and passed onto the next valley, each somehow more stunning than the last. The next hour of descent over raw expanses of rock dropping down into golden wildflower-streaked meadows would be spent contemplating how such breathtaking beauty could possibly exist. There was a feeling of complete freedom; no sense of time, no phones, errands, or even a bus back. Just a destination and a half-torn map. This seclusion was interspersed only by the odd encounter with small isolated villages, where we could exchange stories and advice with locals in our broken French. The unbelievable kindness and warmth from these complete strangers sparked in me a desire to form connections with people that went on to shape the rest of my time in France.
Looking back, this expedition reflects my year abroad experience as a whole. Moving abroad challenged me in ways I couldn’t have predicted. However, it is usually the hardest experiences that offer an opportunity for growth, and that we look back on and value the most. Despite initially feeling completely out of my depth trying to settle into this strange new life, practically crying every time I tried to order a croissant at the boulangerie, I somehow figured it out and laughed along the way. Each hurdle brought a fresh perspective and a newfound inner confidence to admire. Just as limping for hours with a heavy backpack in the rain is somehow hysterically fun so long as you have a friend limping along with you, it is the friendships and community formed throughout my time abroad that made even the hardest of moments so meaningful.