Courmayeur

Scott and I stood close on the balcony of our hotel overlooking the snow-covered Mont Blanc and the surrounding mountains.

The jagged rock peaks beckoned us, and the white poofs of clouds that drifted by reminded me of colorless cotton candy. Dark greens trees surrounded the base of the mountains, which were lush and inviting. The fresh smell of pine, like a wintergreen piece of gum.


We imagined the soft squish of dark soil and the sound of leaves crunching beneath our feet. These sights were in the distance, and closer to us were the small shops, restaurants, and hotels. The plastered light brown and creamy buildings covered with chunks of large slate roofs were mesmerizing. The town of Courmayeur, Italy, with a population of fewer than 3,000 people. We inhaled and smelled fresh baked wheat and dough. I could imagine the taste of a slice of pizza covered with Prosciutto, arugula, olive oil, and oregano paired with a crisp Pinot Grigio. My stomach rumbled.


This hotel was our resting place for the evening before we set off to strap on our packs and continue hiking around Mont Blanc.

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