My mom passed away in 2021. We were very close, and losing her broke me. I went through a tough time: depression, loneliness – I felt I was in a deep hole with no way out. I had thought about doing the Tour du Mont Blanc (TMB) earlier that year – a 10-day hike through the French, Italian, and Swiss Alps – but hadn't made any plans. I didn't see how I could now, in the state that I was in. A close friend told me, "Flaco, go! It would be good for you." Still unsure about it, I decided to do it. Last minute. Self-guided. Solo. Just me, my backpack, and a yearning to explore, a yearning to catch myself. I'm so happy I did.
I didn't grow up hiking or in the outdoors. I grew up in Los Angeles – a concrete jungle. My family wasn't particularly into nature, so there were no camping trips or hikes planned, not even to the nearby mountains. Possibly because my family had other things to worry about. The outdoors felt out of reach. It wasn't until I moved to Portland, Oregon, that I started immersing myself in nature. A friend invited me along on hikes, and little by little, I developed an appreciation for it. But even then, I saw hiking mostly as an activity, a challenge, something to do with friends. I never saw it as healing. Not until the TMB.
Col de la Seigne — the pass where everything changed. Day 3 of the Tour du Mont Blanc.
On the third day of the hike, crossing into Italy over the Col de la Seigne, something happened that I wasn't expecting. I reached the top of the climb and stopped. There was a huge valley, mountains on both sides as far as I could see. As I started the descent, taking one step in front of the other, immersing myself in all of it – suddenly, looking at the sprinkle of flowers here and there – deep emotions resurfaced. Feelings I'd been carrying for months.
Above the valley. The descent into Italy begins here.
I stopped. I knelt down. And I let some grief out. This huge, breathtaking valley, and I, grieving in the middle of it. It was one of the most healing experiences of my life. And I was able to continue lighter, brighter for the trail ahead.
The sprinkle of flowers. This is where I stopped.
Nature doesn't judge. It doesn't rush you. It just holds the space and lets you feel what you need to feel. That's when I understood what my friend meant, that it would be good for me. This is what the trail does: it grounds you. It doesn't fix anything. But it gives you something to hold on to, to stand on.
I finished the TMB ten days later. I walked back into Chamonix lighter than I'd left. Not because my problems had disappeared, they hadn't. But because I'd been reminded that I was still capable. Still moving. Still here.
Still moving. Still here.
Since then, I've hiked the Alta Via 1 in the Italian Dolomites. This summer I'm doing the Walker's Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt, fourteen days through the Swiss Alps.
I want to share my story to encourage people to get outdoors and experience nature. Because I want to be for someone else what my friend was for me. The voice that says: "Go. It will be good for you."
Nature always has your back. I'm living proof.
¡Vamos!
This essay was originally published by Latino Outdoors as part of their Yo Cuento series, June 2026.