dove sono tutte le penne?

// where are all the pens?

I am typing this next to a little fountain, the water tripping over the edge of the rocks and stumbling along the path cut for it down the grassy hill. There are shady trees, birds, flowers and secret pathways and above it all, Monte Bianco is the dancing Salome, with the clouds as her seven veils.

Monte Bianco (or Mont Blanc in French) taunts the surrounding peaks with her pale majesty. All through the four seasons, she is dressed resplendently in snow while the other mountains don shades of green and brown for the warmer months. The little town of Courmayeur (where I am today) rests at her feet and caters for the hiking and skiing desires of Europe's very rich. In summer, hikers are everywhere. One imagines they will give way to the skiers in a few months time. The shops here are Cartier, Armani and Mikimoto getting cosy with Timberland and small hiking boutiques. There are many familiar brands and many others I've never heard of, but I have not seen a single Mont Blanc pen.

By now, I have admired Monte Bianco from almost every angle possible in Italy. This morning I saw her from the Valle d'Aosta, casually drifting along at 870 metres above ground in a hot air balloon. I was booked in with others but the rest of the group pulled out, so it ended up being a private flight just for me! I felt very bourgeouis. I was collected from my hotel at 6am by Margot, a friendly girl the same age as me, and she took me to her grandfather, the balloon pilot. I helped them fill the balloon by holding the base wide so that a big fan could blow air inside it. After about 15 minutes they turned on the gas and the balloon began to float.

The first minute or so left me light-headed, it's a strange sensation to float so high, so suddenly. I stared at the ground beneath us as it became further and further away and turned my face to the wind.

The three of us sailed through the valley, dropping and ascending depending on which wind we wanted to catch. Nestled in a tiny basket in the middle of the sky, we watched the sunrise over the mountain peaks. Margot pointed out different places to me, the local prison which she is sure must be empty because there is no crime here ‑ if someone tries to rob you, you just threaten to tell his mother ‑ her apartment, the dairy fields and the cows. She told me that the cow is the symbol of the valley of Aosta and that ever year in September there is a "cow battle festival" when they dress up the cows and bring them into the town to do battle... Not too sure what kind of battle it is but it sounds like fun.

After we landed (with a bump) Margot took me to a bar she used to work at and we had breakfast together, which ended up being free! Then she gave me her email address and told me to write to her when I am back in Turin because she works there. So, in the middle of the clouds I made a new friend.

Now, after a lunch of prodotti tipici (of course) I am going to wander Courmayeur some more and then head back to Aosta. Tonight there is a jazz party in the main square so I'll sneak some wine and a cup and check it out. Tomorrow, rafting and then back to Torino on Sunday.

It hasn't been a cheap trip to Aosta, but it's been worth every centissimo.