The Grande Traversate delle Langhe, or GTL, is the sniggering, roguish younger brother to the Grande Traversate delle Alpi, or GTA. The idea is similar, and the signposts even sport the same red and white flag, though the scope is much smaller.
The thing that separates these two paths in quality is the ease of following the signposts, and their strategic placement before and after forks in the road. Sitting now in the shade, with a full belly and a slight breeze tickling my arms, it is very hard for me to conjure once more the extreme frustration and venemous bile that this path brewed deep in my soul. More than once I found myself screaming out loud to my imaginary companion (don't leave home without one) about the awful and irrational placement of these stupid signs.
I'll give you an example, in the form of a game, kind of like Where's Waldo. Try looking for the flag in this picture..... Give up? I'll help you: it's on the far right side, hidden by the shade. Now, tell me which way this flag tells you to go: left, straight, or right. Well, logic says that since the sign is on the right, and since there are no confirming flags visible IMMEDIATELY AFTER the fork on the road, my guess is to go right. Wrong! Ten minutes of walking a steep downhill later, there is no confirming signpost. Still, even this isn't completely out of character, but the cardinal direction seems off, so I better head back the ten minutes of steep uphill, and try a different way. 
The right answer, friends, is the middle path. How do I know? Because 50 yards in, you can clearly see this signpost, expertly placed in the shade four feet from the path, under the trees. I put it in the middle of the photo, just to make it easy for you.In the beginning I had been full of hope, and embarked on the trail at San Bovo. Within fifteen minutes I had lost the trail. Going straight instead of turning left, I had walked more than a half mile uphill on someone's land. No matter, I figured: I would just turn left now and cross onto the next hill. This was impossible; a deep valley of forest separated the two hills. Still, I walked amidst the hazelnut trees, trying to find a path across, and even succeeding at laughing this first one off, as I walked all the way back to where I had started in order to make the correct turn.
In fact, I even blamed myself for this one, realizing that I could have walked 100 yards in the other direction and seen the confirming red and white flag. But why, may I ask, would they place the flag 100 yards down the path? Why not place it AT THE FORK IN THE ROAD?
Then things went pretty well for a while. Large groves of hazelnut trees gave way to beautifully manicured vineyards, which in turn gave way to fragrant and shady forests. Also, I should add that I did not see a single soul on these trails, but had them all to myself. Sure, I was getting lost all the time, but at least it was in the midst of a beautiful landscape!Toward late afternoon, I found myself lost again, despite having followed the red and white flags.
As it turns out, the path split, both paths containing red and white flags, and the GTL was now about 3 or 4 miles away from where I had left it. Having heard of a campground in Bergolo (along the GTL, now out of the way), I decided to get there as quickly as possible, since there was a good distance still left for me to travel. So, I abandoned the forest paths, exchanging them for the trusty roads, and made my way toward Bergolo.By 6 PM, I was tired from all the mishaps that I had endured that day, and so I started to take shortcuts whenever I found them. At one point, I even skipped about half a mile by cutting right through a vineyard, climbing down terrace after terrace until I had made my way back to the road. Imagine me in the middle of a huge vineyard, much like the ones you see in these pictures, picking my way down three or four hundred feet through vines and brambles all the way to the bottom.
By the time I finally reached the road to Bergolo, I saw that I had 3 miles of uphill walking left before I would get there, and there was no guarantee that I would even find the campground, or that it would be open.
Fortunately for me, I found a lady walking her dog at the bottom of the hill, and asked her if she knew anything about the campground. She told me in a foreign accent (which would turn out to be Swiss) that she was pretty sure that the campground was closed, since the owner had been trying to sell it for some time. I was ready to abandon all hope, and camp on the vacant land if necessary, when she offered to drive me up the hill to see.
I have been very faithful to my path, and have skipped nothing for an entire month. If anything, I have even done more, walking parts of the trail more than once. At 6:30 in the evening, 15 miles into a day that had been up and down hills for hours, with a 3 mile uphill hike left to go, I must say that I finally gave in. "I would love a ride," I said, defeated.
My moment of weakness would not, however, create a blank spot of shame on the trail. As it turns out, the campground was indeed open, but there were no restaurants in the town except one that required reservations. Meanwhile, the Swiss lady, whose name I found out was Susanne, mentioned casually that she rented a room. Since the food situation was sketchy, and I felt no small gratitude to Susanne for sparing me these last three miles, I decided to go to her house instead, where at least there was a pizzeria nearby. Best of all, it was along the part of the trail I had already traveled, so I would not be skipping anything.
It was fated to be this way. Susanne and I quickly became friends, and shortly after getting to her house, I was with her in the garden picking fruits and vegetables for the evening's dinner. I had mentioned to her that I missed cooking, and would love to help, and she took me up on my offer. Soon I was cutting up tomatoes, cucumber, zucchini, basil, and other wonderful home-grown produce, and together we cooked a delicious pasta, together with a salad. This dinner, which was almost entirely from the garden, was just what the doctor ordered, and we ate it outside with some delicious wine and a spectacular view of the surrounding hillside. Susanne and I then spoke until the late hours of the evening, sharing travel stories and life philosophies over some heavenly Grappa.In the morning, I was sad to leave her and her beautiful dog Carino ("cute" in Italian), but was thankful for the good night's sleep in a comfortable bed.
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