Wild (of a place or region) uninhabited, uncultivated, or inhospitable.

That’s what the Dolomites inspire in me. A mix of restful vastness and mystical sheerness, that both attracts and intimidates. For years, each passing photo has rekindled the dream, this hint of desire and frustration that tickles me, each time a little harder. Here I go. Six days in the heart of the massif, from lakes to passes, tent and huts, up to the Tre Cime and beyond. 

Base camp will be Dobbiaco, small village on a long plateau, a handful of kilometers from the Austrian border. Here people speak German and Italian, eat spätzle and drink 5€ Spritz, fall under the spell of the smallest church’s splendour and take refuge in the taverns (hi Winkelkeller) in the warmth of the stoves as soon as the weather changes – and over there, it changes fast. 

The sky is low and grey on the first morning. We set off in a drizzle, walking along Lago di Braies which looks no less beautiful under the cloudbanks. The climb is long and abrupt, the backpack heavy, I’m inwardly delighted by the damp coolness that makes my bare arms shiver. One landscape follow another, between forests and screes, the sun makes a few appearances then the fog swallows us up once more. What a joy it is to see the Rifugio di Biella coming into view, and with it the promise of a hot lunch.

The afternoon is spent crossing plateaus, their reliefs peeking through the haze. Free-ranging cows, fields of massive rocks and vibrantly colored flowers. The sky is getting heavier, we can feel the storm, we seem to be the only souls around. The green of the forests is dark, like in storybooks. We reach the Rifugio Fodara Vedla at the same time as a cold rain, and take the opportunity to have a cup of tea, watching through the window as the sky clears, the blue suddenly responding to the bright green of the grass field. 

The descent down Rifugio di Pederü is incredibly steep, a real treat for my knees – 10 life points off, easy. Sun peeks through the branches sometimes. But thunder crawls at the bottom of the valley, and we still dare to believe that the storm is not coming our way. Ah ah.

While it’s pouring outside, we find comfort in delicious gnocchis, keeping alive the secret hope that the hut, which is fully booked, will find us a little spot for the night. It’s that exact same hope that trickles down my neck an hour later, as I try to brush my teeth in the shelter of a large fir tree. Note for later: fir branches are not very watertight.

Lying in the tent, I pray that everything won’t get soaked in the morning. And the storm tears through the evening, in a succession of flashes and roars, but surprisingly, I’m not afraid.

The morning is clear and cold. Humidity rises in compact smoke that frays on rocky peaks, we can see some blue sky, but we know it won’t last. We gonna have to change our plans. Two more nights in a tent at over 2000 meters altitude and at the mercy of the whimsical forecast will be the death of us. Or at least, of our morale.

After a hot cup of coffee, we start the climb up to the Rifugio di Lavarella, just for the ride, under a superbly dramatic sky. I’m silently delighted by those clouds that give relief to the light. We enjoy another excellent lunch with our feet on the grass. Then we head back down to Pederü to catch a bus, then a train back to Dobbiaco.

This unexpected day of rest is a perfect occasion to go visit Innsbruck, which is only a couple of hours away. Let’s get our fill of vitamin D. 

Day four. Fresh start. We hop on another bus that take us to Misurina – it’s great that the area is so well-served by transports! The weather is still grey and rainy, but tonight, we have a spot reserved in a hut. Hallelujah.
From Misurina, it doesn’t take long for us to catch sight of the long awaited Tre Cime. The ascent is made between forest and mineral path, with the majesty of these gigantic rock always in view. The excitement is at its peak. 

We finally put down our belongings in one of the dormitories of Rifugio Auronzo, currently under renovation. The view from the restaurant is simply breathtaking. It’s not so late, we have enough time to go explore a little the surrounding area. Admire the sight on the mountain range opposite, on the valley, on the Tre Cime. Everywhere you look, it’s a spectacle. Clean geometry, agressive peaks, voids that make you feel dizzy.

It’s uncluttered. Impressive. Enthralling.

Day five. Seems like luck in on our side, finally. 6am, I open my eyes to a fabulous dawn.  I can’t believe I’m seeing this from my window. It promises to be a splendid day. 

We bid farewell to our lovely shelter and to our roommate – a young 21-year-old American travelling alone. It’s time to make our way around the Tre Cime, before heading back down into the valley, and then climb again up to Prato Piazza. The sun is beating down just as hard as the heavy rain, we can feel it on our bended necks. We pass from forest to river bends, the path getting wider and wider. Let’s fill up on the flat while we can, because after that, we’re in for an arduous climb, on a winding path in the shade, narrow and full of roots. Typically the kind of path I love. We walk briskly, ignoring the heat as much as we can. I concentrate on the sweet smell of resin and warm herbs. 

The last half-hour before reaching Prato Piazza plateau is hard. My energy deserts me, my entire body aches, I’m too hot, it never stops, we can see the summit but it fucking never stops. The intensity of my relief when the slope finally curves to become flat is indescribable. We make our way quietly down to Rifugio Vallandro, where a large, empty dorm awaits us. We soak up the sun, we eat some good charcuterie, I swing on the swing to the sound of cowbells. Life is sweet. 

Last morning. A long and beautiful stage on the agenda to reach Dobbiaco. First through Prato Piazza, then an unexpected and intense climb up the mountainside, on a fairly vertiginous trail punctuated by a few crossings of gigantic screes. Again and again, this feeling of being alone in the world. I’m surprised at how few people we cross path with. I feel privileged. Except for famous and easily accessible areas, like Lago di Braies or Tre Cime, tracks are nearly empty. Forests are dense and silent, disturbed only by the chirping of birds. We wouldn’t be surprised to see some elves showing up. 

The weather alternates between sunny and grey, cool wind and muggy tepidness, before settling down for good to the summer frequency. I thought the slope linking Fodara to Pederü was uncommonly steep, but it wasn’t that bad compared to the one from Pico di Vallandro to Lago di Dobbiaco. A bloody torture, in insane heat. It’s okay only because we know it’s the end, and we decide to laugh about it – and wonder how the hikers we pass in the other direction, who have to struggle up all this, are doing? 

Chocolate and biscuits we nibble on a bench at the bottom of this hell of a descent taste like deliverance. We’ve still got an hour to go. Past Lago di Dobbiaco, the village comes into view again, along with a few pretty farmhouses with bright geraniums. Then, the delight of unloading the bag down for good. To grab hot toastie and ice cream. To put on sandals. And above all, to give my armpits a wipe.

We leave the valley under a generous sun, happy and proud, and with no regrets. Except, perhaps, that we weren’t able to take up the challenge of walking for six days, to truly tour this mythical massif. But in the end, isn’t this exactly how I pictured the Dolomites. Indomitable.

Bonus: some Accidentally Wes Anderson vibes from Peschiera del Garda marina, after some delicious truffle pasta on our way to Tyrol.

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To accompany the reading…