The Alps Ⅳ

In Saint-Dalmas we face the ultimate choice: follow the GR5 to Nice, or take the GR52 variant to Menton — 100 kilometres through remote valleys and over mountain passes nearly as high as the highest we've walked, passing only one small town: Sospel.

We choose Menton. We can't get enough of the mountains.

The GR52 is a different beast from the GR5. At the Baisse du Basto we climb the steepest stretch of the entire journey: 300 metres of ascent in one kilometre, on hands and feet over bare rock. We enter the Vallée des Merveilles — the Valley of Wonders — with 5,000-year-old rock carvings, strict park rules, and a mist that makes everything mysterious. Malou slips several times on wet rocks. It becomes dangerous, and we decide to flee the weather.

At night the red deer bellow from all directions — it's rutting season. The next morning we descend in rain and mist, accompanied by an invisible chorus of dozens of bellowing stags. Then the sun breaks through and we see them: males with magnificent antlers clashing head to head.

At Sospel we discover strawberry trees with edible fruit. And then the moment arrives: the very last stage. We climb two cols, drink coffee and eat chausson aux pommes at the summit, and then — through the white mist, whiter streaks appear: boats. The clouds break. There below, 1,100 metres down, lies the Mediterranean Sea.

We descend to Menton, take off our shoes, and step into the water. 2,005 kilometres, 92 stages, half a year of walking. We're here.

And then, five days later, we walk along the coast to Nice — through Monaco in our hiking boots, past the mega-yachts and Ferrari showrooms. On the Promenade des Anglais, at the Rue Cronstadt, stands the endpoint of the GR5. Heerlen – Nice is complete. 2,040 kilometres. We float the last kilometre.