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It took me 12 days to reach Zermatt. I’ve walked for 130km, which is a little less than the usual route, but I had to adjust my itinerary in order to preserve my body and handle my tiredness. The thing is: it was way more harder than expected. The paths are incredibly steep and technical, and carrying a 12kg backpack adds up to the effort. The first three days were also terribly hot, making the walk very demanding for your heart, breath and body. And yet, there I was. I knew I had no choice but to keep going, because once you’ve started to climb, you have to go down. This made me realize how resilient the body is, how resistant the mind can be. I was complaining, but I carried on.

This kind of experience makes you - needs you - paying close attention to your body. Each twinge, each contracture, the feeling of fatigue or a sudden flow of energy. You become aware of subtle variations, you know when your physical shape is aligned with your mental shape, or when it’s not. You realize how easily you can adapt, how fleeting your emotions are. Each morning, I was anxious not knowing what the day would bring, how hard the path would be, if my body would resist. On day 5, I broke down. My back was aching, I was exhausted, my mind couldn't hold up anymore. I cried. I had to rest. The girl from the hut was of an incredible kindness to me, and I felt so grateful for that. The day after, I felt a little better, and then on, my mood never really went down again.

The reason why I wanted to solo hike was not only to test my resistance, but also to witness beauty in a raw, intense way. So, most of the time, I chose to not listen to music, but only to the sounds of nature around. Birds chirps, cow bells, wind, marmot whistle, water stream. My own breath. It helps to immerse into the effort, but also to what surrounds you. Every time you look up, you are fully there, aware of the shivers of the light through the branches, the morning dew twinkling on the leaves, the clouds passing, the blurred mountains in the distance, the steepness of the hill hurtling down the valley. The flowers. Some landscapes cheered me up, some others weighted my mood. Most of the time, it was beautiful.

As the Haute-Route is far from being busy, I’ve seen very, very little people on the tracks. It was humbling to be the only human soul in the middle of those wild, vast mountains, but also, I must admit, a little frightening sometimes. I’m not used to this kind of solitude. You feel small, fragile, vulnerable. Far from everything and everyone. A hundred times I found myself looking, hoping for another human being popping into the scenery. I didn’t even need them to talk to me. I just wanted to know someone else was there, somewhere.

Despite what I just said, I’ve managed to meet some fellow hikers along the way. I think we were ten or so walking the Haute-Route at the same time. It was so nice and comforting to see those familiar faces surprisingly appear as I passed the door of a hut, or arrive at the campsite I was staying at. With some of them, we even spent a couple of days, walking a few kilometers together, reuniting at night to cook and chill out. It reminded me the vibes of the solo travel, this genuine fellowship that builds up naturally.

It turned this solo and introspective journey into somehow a shared experience. We were going through the same steps, enduring the same difficulties, and just to know they were somewhere ahead or behind me was soothing.

A day before arriving at Zermatt, as I was climbing my last stretch to Europahütte, I felt suddenly emotional thinking I’ve made it. I came all the way from Chamonix, crossing passes and valleys. Yes, I took the bus sometimes, but still. 7990 meters of elevation up, 9270 meters of elevation down. I smiled when I saw the Matterhorn peaking through the sky around a bend, and I smiled even more when I finally stood up in front of CERVO entrance.

The 24 hours I spent there were the most relaxing. Everything was delightful, quiet. A soft breeze waving the curtain of the room, as music was playing in the background. The long, hot shower I indulged myself with. The afternoon by the pool, the smell of the Bhutanese bath, my body dwelling into the steam of the hammam. Everyone was smiling, caring, making each moment feel special. The dinner in the blue hour, savoring a well-deserved glass of wine. The delicious breakfast in the cosy morning light flowing through the windows of the Bazaar - the very moment of the day that I wish would never end.

Was it worth it to come all the way by foot?

Answer is yes.