A week has now passed. And the novelty of the breakfast spread is beginning to wear off – there’s only so much salami and cheese a person can eat.
The volunteer team of two has different energies this morning. I am wanting to make the most of our days off and climb another of the immediately local small peaks. Maria wants to take it easy. So we go our separate ways, me walking up to the Austrian border, where I was last Sunday, to have another crack at the elusive (and unpronounceable) Storžič.
The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. So I opt for the gentle gradient provided by the switchback road that climbs up to the pass. It’s a quiet road, with groups of goldfinches fitting between the trees, and lovely views. But a steady trickle of motorcyclists rips past me and I’m glad to turn off the road at the border.
One last push up a steeply craggy stretch, and then suddenly – this seems to be the style of summits in this part of the world – there I am, on top of the world once again.
Down at the border I am done in. But a quick rest, spread eagle on the roadside verge, gives me the energy to roll down the hill to base.
Fighting sleep I get myself down to the raspberry patch for an hour of picking. And then do my best with the rather strange supper we are given: a savoury version of the sweet pancake that we had as a main course yesterday. Hmm…








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