Aug 25th, 2024: Italy Part One
SUd tyrol: Still Sprechen Deutsch
Here in Sud Tyrol, we’re still in Italy, but not quite. It’s an autonomous German-speaking region, delegated to Italy after the dissolution of the Austrio-Hungarian Empire. Our favorite dish, knodels, are also written as candereli; everything here has two or three names: a German, an Italian one, and sometimes a Ladin one, the local dialect.
Quentin’s cousin Julie arrives to hike with us for a few days, and without meaning to, she brings the entire wave of August tourists with her. Or at least, it feels that way. Together we begin honing our “alpine hoof,” and make for the Dolomites. Lago di Braies is our first destination, part of the UNESCO Dolomites world heritage. Sweating our way up to the shores, we realize most of the visitors came by car, confirmed by the enormous parking lot full of cars and tour buses. Our lake visit lasts as long as it takes to walk the trail on the southern end of the lake. As soon as we began the climb up towards Ütia Fojedöra, at the top of a mountain pass, we see no one for hours.
And we hoped the Tirol would go like this: in the valley, many people, in the heights, alone. But no. Another tradition of this autonomous region, full of high plateaux, is to build roads and cut hay at high altitudes: some communities drive their tractors to nearly 3000m to cut hay on impossibly steep slopes. And August is prime high-altitude hay making season. There are more families cutting hay and men on tractors moving hay than there are tourists hiking. Our hope of sleeping in alpine pastures would have to wait, because the pastures were trimmed down like a golf course.
It seemed the universe wants to apologize for this invasion of human exploitation, and so those same humans who kept their cows indoors all year never fail to offer us a place to sleep full of grass for the horses, and usually a beer for us. Julie immediately shows the same enthusiasm for sleeping in the hay as we do. Together we cross the Dolomites, mountain by mountain. Still, by the time she takes her bus back to Bolzano, and we begin climbing the steep path out of Clausen, we’re cooked.
On the last part of the climb, Brando nearly wiped out when his metal shoes slipped again and again on metal grates, the steepness of the climb making it extra difficult for him to scramble. When we arrive at Markus’ farm, Ashley’s harried expression and exhaustion is enough for him to offer not only a place to sleep for the night but to suggest we borrow his alpine hut for a few days. Our horses can go out with the cows, and we can pitch the tent nearby. For us, this offer could not get any better.
But it does: the day we ride up to the pasture, Markus drives up with the tractor, and the key to the chalet. “Here are the beds, here’s the wood for the stove, and help yourselves to the cartons of beer.” And then, he leaves, leaving us alone with the horses to witness a spectacular sunset over the Dolomites. Waking up well-rested in the cabin the next morning to see the horses peering in at us is by far the greatest gift of the trip so far.
Apple Valley
Leaving the comfort of Markus’ chalet behind, we spend a full day descending down to Sarentino. There is a saying that each hundred meters you go up, you lose a degree. It works both ways. And as we worked our way down, the afternoon got hotter and hotter.
A feeling creeps in, we can call it: beginning of August. It feels like, “I know the heat will crack but I know it won’t be tomorrow or the day after that. We’ll have to adapt.”
That night we reach the Halfling Alm, and sleep overnight in the cool temperatures. On the map we can see that once we reach Val d’Ultimo, we’ll be able to stay above 1500m for more than 100km. But we’ll have to cross the Etach Valley first. Only to us, the name doesn’t fit. As wide and as long as the valley, stretch intensive apple fields. We rename it Apple Valley.
In Apple Valley, it’s so hot, you must wake up at 4 am, to find your horses already sweating. You must walk down another 300m in altitude, a sweet synthetic smell wafting up: this is whatever chemicals go on the twiggy apple trees to make them grow perfect, enormous apples. Then, when you reach the highway, the smell goes away. You’re not sure if you should rejoice because the smell is replaced by the odor of hot cars and asphalt. Around the town of Lana, you grit your teeth through the heat, while the horses drink water and vacationners have their morning coffee, and once again, block your way to take photos. Who are they going to show these photos to?
Finally, finally, after a long break in the shade of a singular, heaven-sent chestnut tree, you’ll reach a road that no one drives on, a road built just for you and your three sweaty horses, and the rule will ring true: each hundred meters up, you lose a degree. Finally, some air. Finally, some mountains, alone, with our horses.
Seeking the Heights
Horse, who, despite the hot days, are bursting with energy. The alpine grass has added a layer of fat to Brando and Fidel’s sides, and we have to press down a little bit to find their ribs. Chai, for the first time in his life, has no visible ribs, and just the two little lumps of his hips. And he is a pest. Each evening in the alpine pastures, he runs up behind Fidel and Brando, nipping them until they’re riled up enough to play with him. Sometimes he forgets he shouldn’t nip the humans and invites us to play as well. To apologize, he sleeps as close to the tent as possible, his needle sharp dream whinnies waking us up at least once a night.
Maybe they need a little more work. Would another 1000m+ climb do? For Fidel, 10% climbing grade is the sweet spot - any more and he’d prefer not to go up, thanks. But magically, once in the alpine pastures, he has the energy to graze, nap flat out on the ground, and get up and go for a gallop.
So, we do what we’ve dreamed of doing: a mountain pass a day. Sleeping up high, with the horses loose to do what they’d like until bedtime, and then passing through the valley the next morning to climb again for the afternoon. Passo di Rabbi, Passo Cercen, Forcellina di Montozzo, Pianaccio: we’re surrounded by mountains, out-of-use military roads and nature. Each pass means a new valley to discover. It’s our favorite part of itinerant travel; we don’t climb to the pass and turn around, but go over. Over the edge, to find a new valley, a new culture, a new way of life on the other side.
Italy part one tested us, but treated us to the type of mountain riding that was exactly what all five of us needed after a month in urbanised Austria. Next week we’ll enter Switzerland - can we keep the same freedom and happiness we found in Italy?
