postcard 7: we found wonderland

Larches and all the pasta in the Italian Dolomites.

I literally shriek when the mountains appear out of the clouds, looming above the highway before us. Once Topher’s recovered from the panic I’ve induced, we turn down our true crime podcast and marvel at the massive peaks that surround us as we drive into the Italian Dolomites. The narrow roads hug the mountains and in each valley we climb into a new set of breathtaking views spills out before us. The leaves are changing and the hillsides are covered in a collage of oranges and reds and yellows. I half expect a dragon to fly overhead.

We’ve come to this corner of Italy on this particular weekend with the hope of catching the larches turning. We managed to time it just right and we drive through a forest of the Dr. Suess-looking coniferous trees that turn yellow and loose their needles every fall as we approach the hotel. We order Aperol spritzes in the bar and watch the sun fade out the window. The bartender makes us grilled ham and cheese sandwiches to go with our drinks and doesn’t charge us. My love for Italy was cemented long ago, but I can tell it’s already won Topher over.

The sun hasn’t risen yet when we set off down the mountain and the world is just starting to lighten when we park at the trailhead. We’ve once again mistimed the cafes. I swallowed a cup of thick instant coffee made with water as hot as the tap would go (read: lukewarm) while Topher drank a Red Bull, so we’re at least minimally caffeinated as we start hiking straight uphill.

As the sun rises the mountains play peek-a-boo with the clouds. We’re hiking through larches and every bend reveals a new vista of the Cortina d’Ampezzo valley that has me swooning. I declare it’s my favorite place in the entire world before we’re even a mile in.

While we huff and puff up the steep incline, Hazelnut seems to only be energized by the climb and the cold mountain air. She gets the zooms as we cross an expanse of half frozen mud and coats all three of us in it as she runs circles at the end of her leash. We’re laughing so hard we can’t breath, as is everyone else on the trail. “We’re all dirty,” says an older Italian man as I try to pull her away from giving him a muddy hug. He pets her anyways.

The still waters of Lake Federa reflect the curved horn of Becco di Mezzodi and a ring of larches, glowing yellow gold in the morning sun. A baby duck looses patience with the ring of photographers trying to capture the scene and makes a splashy attempt at flight, sending ripples across the water. We soak in the views and head to the rifugio on the lake’s shores. If I was torn about whether I liked the slightly less wild-feeling European trails with restaurants on every hike, a real cappuccino instantly convinced me. The picture-perfect setting and ricotta cake definitely didn’t hurt either.

We eat homemade pasta and tiramisu tucked into the back of a cozy little restaurant in town and walk back to the car in a carb coma, marveling at the cold that has us bundled in puffies and beanies.

Armed with cornettos, Topher guides the rental car up a rough mountain road boasting an 18% grade to avoid another steep hike the next morning. A Land Rover has pulled off and abandoned the journey but we’re in the fastest car in the world: a rental. The pavement ends at another rifugio, this one shuttered for the season. Above it loom Cinque Torri, the five towers. Up a long road we hike to their base and then we follow a path down into a trench. Hidden from view in the moody mountain landscape is the Italian front from WWI. We wander through the restored trenches as it begins to lightly snow.

A highway sign pointed to Prosecco on the way in and some research revealed we’d driven through the region of Italy known for my favorite sparkling wine. A detour off the highway leads us through terraced hills covered in vines, charming towns clinging to the hills, half obscured by clouds. At the world’s most introvert-friendly vineyard we park the car between the vines and buy a bottle of wine, some prosciutto and half a loaf of bread from a vending machine. After a slight moment of panic, we find a bottle opener screwed to the awning and pop the cork. In a gentle drizzle we sit at a picnic table on a hill amongst the most lauded vines, only hand-picked since machinery won’t fit up the slippery hills.

The drive in let me suss out the highway situation and I decide I can handle getting behind the wheel of our manual rental for a bit. Darkness falls at what feels like an unreasonably early hour to us, though we’d later realize daylight savings time had somhow happened without our notice over the weekend. I manage just fine until we hit the toll booth and a sea of brake lights signals all hell breaking loose. A bus had chosen a lane too short for it and was attempting to move through the stopped traffic sideways. I navigate the stop and go until we get to the booth where I have to juggle the parking brake, ticket, payment, window and exiting all at once. I stall twice trying to get out before the barrier goes back down and proceed down the highway with the windows down screaming to the next rest stop while Topher laughs so hard he cries.

When Halloween rolls around we buy a mixture of American and Croatian candy and watch Rocky Horror in bed with Hazelnut and order a pizza.

We found tofu and fish sauce and a new path by the sea to walk the dog without too much trash. When we need olive oil we drive to the next village and stop at a farm to get it from the source. We’ve met people and it feels like maybe we’re slowly settling in, just a bit.

Arrivederci,

Mikaela