Northern Italy and the Dolomites

Position: 46°38’54.1″N 11°36’09.2″E

Careening down a mountain road in our rental car, we reflected on the charming oddities of Italy. You see, our car was on top of a flatbed tow truck and held in place by a couple of ratchet straps. Because there wasn’t room in his cab, the tow truck driver had indicated we should sit in the car. Dubiously we clambered up, sat down, and strapped ourselves in.

Wearing a seat belt seemed prudent as we swayed around the corners. If the car flipped off the rig and rolled 300 metres down the mountainside, at least we’d stay put. Lurching around each bend and swerving to avoid a lorry or two, rolling over didn’t seem that far fetched.

The very idea you could put two people in a car on top of a truck sounds like it ought to be illegal. It must be in America and England. But in Italy…? Sure, why not? As long as the passengers aren’t playing cards, it’s all good.

Wait! What was that about playing cards? Surely, playing cards isn’t illegal in Italy? Hah! I say. Hah! It is illegal alright. So is importing playing cards, even if you don’t play with them. We discovered this in a bar in Aprica, a town nestled in Lombardia (the middle part of northern Italy). More on that in a moment.

Cervinia

There are two sides to every mountain. High above the tree line, Cervinia sits at the base of Italy’s side of the Matterhorn and caters to serious skiers who don’t want to pay Swiss prices for the privilege. Zermatt owns the mountain’s familiar biscuit tin image on the other side.

Our stuffy hotel room felt like the furnace had been left on by accident. Throwing open the windows invited in the sharp metallic tang of chilly mountain air, along with cigarette smoke wafting up from the doorway below. Stuffy beats ciggy any day, so we wrestled the window shut again and went down for dinner.

In the cool of the clear morning, we woke early and walked uphill to ogle at the town’s centrepiece before the clouds marched up the valley and obscured the view. You can ski into Switzerland from here via the long, long gondola that lifts you up onto the barren glacier straddling the border.

Heading downhill we were surprised at the bustle of activity in town. The fire department was out in force and hunky men wore muddy, knee-high boots. At the river, large pumps moved huge volumes of cloudy water around, attempting to clear the mud and debris from a flash flood the week before. Climate change, the news said.

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Puckered

Opting for the slow road meant a long day driving through countless villages. Each with a series of roundabouts, a church, a narrow, one lane city centre bordered by 16^th century stucco buildings in various shades of taupe. Oh, and a cemetery, situated a dozen yards from a sign thanking you for your visit.

Then the road narrowed puckeringly, with barely enough passing room for two Fiats. Dropping away precipitously to a river on the right, lush green mountains teetered above us on our left. It was scenic beyond belief, but a little too slow given our aggressive schedule.

If you come this way, however, I recommend tossing your itinerary and following your heart. Take your time. Stop and explore. Drink an espresso in every gas station you can. While you’re there chat with the locals. You’ll love it! If you’re on a schedule, like we were, it’s time to burn up the Autostrada and marvel at how many lanes a single black Lamborghini SUV can occupy simultaneously – including yours.

Skipping along like a pebble over a pond, we paused briefly in Lugano, just over the Swiss border. Although larger than most northern villages, the city followed the familiar pattern of a quaint downtown surrounded by boxy condominiums. It has the benefits of overlooking a big lake, pedal boats and all. Thus, it looks like a nice place to launder money, but it wasn’t our shot of schnapps, so on we pressed.

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Aprica

Finally, we pulled into Aprica and sized it up. A modern-traditional Italian ski village in the winter, the little community was slowly evolving into a year-round destination. Historically, ski resorts that are off the professional downhill racing circuit were owned and operated by farmers looking for a little supplementary income. Nowadays, snow is scarcer but rich doctors rent bikes and go on supported regional tours in the summer. What’s good for the doctor is good for the farmer.

At a pub near the main ski lift, we ordered a local microbrew and sat down for a game of cribbage. We weren’t even through the second hand when the proprietor/barmaid levelled her sharpest Sister Mary Elephant gaze on us and wagged a long, sinewy finger in our direction. No! No carte! Illegal! No? Carol stared at her slack jawed. My foggy, road weary brain kicked up a dusty memory about playing cards being illegal in parts of Italy. Probably from when I skied in Courmayeur years ago. Deciding she was serious, we put a pin in our electronic scoreboard, downed our beers and left.

There you have it: the great contrast in Italian jurisprudence. Feel free to roll the dice riding downhill on a swaying tow truck, but don’t draw, play or discard in public.

Gudon Us

Thanks to a little forward planning the night before, we simultaneously landed on the same Airbnb apartment. One of those rare 5-stars with a 50% discount that was available for the three nights we wanted it. Winding up the valley to the little village of Gudon, we keenly followed our hosts instructions and parked in the designated spot.

The converted barn was big enough for four apartments. Thick stone walls held the afternoon’s heat at bay and we settled into our temporary digs. Light and airy, the shiny white kitchen cabinets nicely offset the rustic feel of the preserved wood walls in the living room. But for the hum of bees circling the giant hydrangeas bordering the patio, the place was wondrously quiet. It proved a good choice. Close enough to the trailheads, but just outside the frenetic heart of local tourism.

Dyn-o-mite!

The Dolomites are in a region once known as the South Tyrol, a part of Austria. It was ceded to Italy at the end of the First World War. The folks living there clearly didn’t get the message and speak German to this day. That makes for a low-tension mashup of cultures and cuisines. A Grüner Veltiner to accompany your lasagna? Kein problem! A Barolo for your wildschweinbraten mit pilzen? Molto bene! Such treats are easily found and best enjoyed after a day hiking around any of the huge limestone-dolomite pinnacles in the area.

I learned recently that to make dolomite, start with limestone and karst in a bit of magnesium. (In case you were wondering that’s a geological pun.) So unique is the topology that UNESCO has registered it for all the world to marvel at. Crowds swarm over the hills this time of year. And who can blame them? These illustrative photos speak for themselves:

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Tyresome

For the next three days we hiked and repaired flat tyres. Not always in that order. Our trusty Volvo’s nearly new Michelins might have been molded from papier maché. Almost any pointed object punctured them. How we had gotten this far became something of a mystery.

The second blowout was the more serious one. Something pierced the sidewall so cleanly it missed the rim and the base tread. Down we went with a hiss. Wittily, Hertz no longer provides renters with a spare tyre. Not even the annoying bike wheels that are so popular these days. Instead you get a pressurised can of something that spits goo out of your puncture with a squeal of joy. Thankfully Volvo has emergency roadside service and in due course our gruff tow truck driver had us loaded and wobbling downhill.

Despite our rotational challenges, we loved the area and can’t wait to go back. Perhaps in winter or spring if there’s enough snow for skiing. Or in the fall to ride bikes and paraglide. The Dolomites are completely dialed into year-round sports.

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