Tour de Monte Rosa – day 1

Tuesday, 8.7.2025

Macugnaga – Bivacco Lanti

→ 8,9 km ↑ 993 m ↓ 96 m

We’re going to try hiking the Tour de Monte Rosa again, the route we postponed last year because of the snow. A week ago, we bought plane tickets to Milan Malpensa.

While planning the trip, I found myself questioning several times whether I really wanted to go through with it. I quickly mapped it out in Mapy.cz, refreshed the route in my memory, and didn’t go into too much detail because it was draining a lot of energy once I realized how many things weren’t falling into place the way I had imagined.

I decided to let the trip be just that—a trip—and focused instead on the race: the relay from Banská Štiavnica to Vyšehrad. We finished second, I ran really well, and I genuinely enjoyed this, my first relay race. But it also came with a significant sleep deficit.

Who would have thought that staying awake for most of the weekend and then heading to the Alps on Tuesday morning might not be the greatest idea? By Monday, I had managed to catch up on some sleep. We spent the day wrapping up work and packing at the same time.

Who would have thought that staying awake for most of the weekend and then heading to the Alps on Tuesday morning might not be the greatest idea? By Monday, I had managed to catch up on some sleep. We spent the day wrapping up work and packing at the same time.

I couldn’t find my Kula Cloth (my pee cloth), and searching for it took up a ridiculous amount of time. Where on earth could I have stashed it? I spent the whole evening messaging my friend Niki, who was flying to Milan that night, already facing a three-hour delay. The reason was bad weather and transport strikes in Italy. So, we decided to let tomorrow surprise us.

We didn’t get to bed until after midnight, and at 4 a.m. we were up to catch the train. We were a little worried about making our flight because we had absolutely no buffer if the train was significantly delayed. I managed to sleep for about an hour on the train, downloaded maps, loaded them onto my watch, and we reorganized our gear a bit so we wouldn’t have to do everything at the airport.

We arrived in Bratislava right on time at 7:00 a.m. A Bolt ride was already waiting for us outside the station, costing just €3.60 to the airport. The airport was calm. We checked our backpack, stuffed a few extra items into it to make mine look as small as possible, dropped off our luggage without waiting, breezed through security, and that was it. What a speed—a full journey from the train station to beyond security in just half an hour. That’s exactly why I love smaller airports.

We charged all our devices one last time, and I started figuring out how to buy a gas canister while still getting to the start of the trail as quickly as possible. We had considered taking an Uber to a Decathlon store three kilometers away, but due to local regulations it would have cost €20, so I threw myself into the maze of buses and trains instead. Eventually, I found a local public transport route.

Our flight was scheduled to depart at 8:55 a.m. Jozef was sitting in the first row, while I was all the way back in row 30. Behind me sat three young siblings who were probably flying for the first time, and they certainly weren’t holding back their excitement. I managed to sleep for another hour and then spent the rest of the flight planning the ideal combination of buses and trains to reach Macugnaga and working on this blog.

From the airplane window, I could see freshly snow-covered mountains.

We landed with a half-hour delay. Getting off the plane was surprisingly quick, and our checked backpack appeared almost immediately. We didn’t even have time to use the restroom. I wasn’t expecting that kind of efficiency.

Of course, we had already missed the train I had planned to take.

After wandering around for a bit trying to find the train station, we bought tickets for the next train to Busto Arsizio. It was only an eight-minute ride and cost €4. From there, we caught a bus toward Decathlon. One bus left right in front of us, so we went looking for the stop and bought tickets from a newsstand. Just to be safe, I asked whether the bus was going to Gallarate. A local woman was taking the same bus, so we decided to follow her lead.

There was a Carrefour across the street, so we used the opportunity to buy food for the next few days. Our usual trail menu: tuna, sugo sauce, and instant mashed potatoes.

The bus was a little late but quickly made up the time. While I went to buy the gas canister, Jozef repacked the backpacks. Ten minutes later we were already on another bus heading to Gallarate train station.

We went through all these extra transfers because we weren’t sure we’d be able to find a gas canister at our destination, and Decathlon felt like the safest option. Next time I’ll just have one delivered to a parcel locker somewhere.

At the station, an older ticket clerk sold us tickets to Vogogna Ossola and stamped them as validated. They would be valid for three and a half hours. Since we had some time to spare, we grabbed a coffee near the station. I was slightly confused and found myself mixing Spanish and Italian together. We ordered espresso for €1.20.

At 2:02 p.m., we boarded a train to Arona, where we needed to transfer to a bus. We’d taken this route last year as well. In Arona, a bus heading toward Domodossola was already waiting. Since Domodossola lies beyond the village we intended to visit, we hopped on.

We both managed to nap a little during the ride.

The bus didn’t stop in Vogogna, so we ended up getting off in Domodossola instead. At the station, we checked whether there was a bus to Macugnaga—the place where I had originally planned to hitchhike.

And there was.

In exactly one hour.

That worked out perfectly. We’d still have time for a short hike that evening and could spend the night in the mountains. We headed to a grocery store once more to buy fresh bread for breakfast and some fruit. Right next door was a classic Italian café, so we treated ourselves with coffee, an Aperol, and focaccia with mozzarella and tomatoes.

I couldn’t believe how smoothly everything was falling into place. I had worried so much that something would go wrong, but sometimes all you need to do is keep moving and solve problems as they come.

At 5:20 p.m., we boarded the bus to Macugnaga.

The bus ride alone was an experience. We climbed a narrow mountain road through villages perched dramatically on steep slopes. We decided to get off earlier to cut about a kilometer from our route.

At 6:30 p.m., we started hiking.

We had nine kilometers ahead of us and more than 900 meters of elevation gain. It was surprisingly cold. The thermometer on the bus had shown 18°C, while Domodossola had been a 28°C.

We immediately started climbing and topped up our water from a spring. Soon we joined a dusty road and made quick progress. At one point we reached an exposed section where fierce gusts of wind blasted dust into our eyes and gave our skin an involuntary exfoliation treatment.

The wind finally eased once we returned to a proper hiking trail.

I snacked on blueberries growing along the path. The air was cold enough to sting my nose. It was probably the coldest day of the trip. The trail climbed steadily as we passed grazing cows and old settlements with stone cottages.

A steep section awaited us, but thankfully it zigzagged upward in switchbacks. When there are switchbacks, climbing always feels easier.

The sun was beginning to set, and the temperature dropped quickly. We weren’t far from our destination, but I certainly wouldn’t have complained about having gloves.

I picked up the pace.

Soon we heard voices, and later music. A group of three Italians was trying to build a fire beside the trail. Their tents were pitched among the dwarf pines, and the music was blasting. That’s one thing I’ll never understand. Still, we were relieved they weren’t staying in the shelter and playing music there.

By the final stretch, my hands were completely numb from the cold, but the end was finally in sight.

There was one tent pitched near the shelter, and voices echoed from inside. We went over to ask whether there was still space available.

There was.

I was genuinely relieved because I had no desire to pitch a tent in that cold, and the shelter felt pleasantly warm inside. It was a new shelter equipped with a solar panel and thirteen bunk beds with mattresses and blankets—quite luxurious for a bivacco.

I grabbed my spare clothes and water containers and went to wash up as best I could. The water was ice cold. My hands went numb just scooping it up. Even so, I managed a full wash, though it took me a long time afterward to warm up again. We filtered the water just to be safe.

Jozef made me a herbal tea and then started preparing our late dinner: mashed potatoes with mackerel, garlic, cheese, and sugo sauce.

A group of six Italians bundled themselves up and headed outside. We wondered what on earth they planned to do in that cold. When we later stepped out to brush our teeth, we found out.

They had built a campfire.

Which meant they must have carried the firewood all the way up from lower parts of the mountain.

We didn’t linger outside. We went straight to bed.

I lay down next to Jozef for a while to warm up. I had intended to do some writing, but I fell asleep almost immediately. Once the Italians returned, I moved to my own bunk, zipped myself deep into my sleeping bag, and drifted off at once.