On the first day in the italian alps the old man (papa as it is in french, not sure in italian) struggles to keep up with the pace, we were reduced to a speed of 1km/ph or so it felt. After finally reaching the hut of Chabod we our greeted by stares and a tired and grumpy receptionist who pushed us off as soon as she could. While trying to enjoy the evening we tried a very sketchy game of boules, where I (Harry) managed to chuck a rock/boule off the cliff to a look of concerned faces. The most pleasant part of the stay at this refuge was the dinner which was as always in Italy pasta for the starter and then less normal meat and mash potato. the sleep for others was made hard as my father’s constant snoring as I’ve told him many a time kept everyone up but himself.