We reach Col de Verde before 11.00 where we take a rest at a tavern that offers sandwiches - made of nothing but a third of a flūtes and some ham (Lonzu), salami or cheese - for 22 FF! We treat us to three of them nevertheless, because we haven't had breakfast yet expecting to be able to buy something more pleasant than muesli here (and of course to save our supply, too); as a kind of revenge we don't drink anything but water, and that's available for free from a well nearby.
When we're done with our sandwiches the radio group arrives. After the usual hand signs and grins they tuck into some bags of crisps and have some drinks; money doesn't seem to be that important for them, considering everything is really expensive here.
Col de Verde offers a small refuge hut for those who don't want to go on to Capanelle or Prati, but we decide to make it for Capanelle today. It's a march of 15km (10 statute miles) on a well passable way (except for 3 short sections where the way ascends steeply). A brook with a suspension bridge (they get higher and more interesting the further you get to the north) invites us for a foot-bath. The water is very cold; you can't keep your feet in it for long if you still need them the same day.
Besides the brook, today's march offers lots of sources; you don't need to take more than a liter per person with you if you happen to hike this way, because you'll be able to refill your bottle long before it's empty.
A cow gets out of our way
Short of our destination (at least on the map) the way ascends stupendously much more than the map told us in advance. After strenuous 150vm we reach a Bergerie, but they don't offer anything but water there. Putting the head in the stream does us really good, especially with our mouths open; the way up was very sudorific.
Bergerie Capanelle
After a short break we head for Capanelle, a ski lift base station with some Bergerie houses, a "hotel" with a shop and accommodation on mattresses for hikers, two tiny refuges and some very poor spots to put a tent up on, and all that combined with a narrow dead-end street. We replenish our supplies (no methylated spirits but lots of different gas cartouches, the usual thing) with as much as we need for dinner, such as two tins that - according to the label - contain a mixture of white beans, sausages and sliced salami. Those who follow us take it from me: it tastes awful and causes heavy wind. Markus and I have us some drinks of Pastis (the cheapest drink in the hotel, a 45% anisette that you dilute with cold water at a ratio of 1:5) before we have some shuteye. Of course we meet the radio group in the pub. Passing out is being torpedoed by an extremely loud motorbike, the gabby landlord saying good-bye to a guest for only half an hour and of course outside the pub, and the landlord's weakness for horse-breeding that keeps his dog and his son busy beating them up and keeping them together the whole evening. Besides that, a diesel engine is running half the night to produce the electricity needed for those in the hotel who have to go for a piss (and can't find theirs in the dark).