I’ve always been fascinated by watching how nature changes. There’s something special about its slow, almost imperceptible shifts: the neighborhood chestnut tree, which just a few days ago lay dormant, today already shows its first green shoots, like that new wrinkle on a loved one, like feeling that the phrase that once defined you no longer defines you so much. In a world where pausing means staying behind, those who pay attention to the background details win. Those are the details that anchor us to the present and build memories as unique as the ones I keep from my first time in the Dolomites. Because, sometimes, the best way to understand a “three thousand” is to start by discovering what grows at its feet.
It is undeniable that reaching the highest peaks brings its reward. From there you contemplate the immensity, as well as other mountains that, against the light, seem like stacked cutouts one in front of the other. Who could fail to be left speechless at Tre Cime di Lavaredo, with its iconic silhouette? But even with this panorama before me, and after letting out a couple of wow’s, I stop walking, drop the backpack to the ground, and approach a flower (whose name I never learned because of the blessed lack of signal) with a different kind of curiosity, almost turning into an insect, and I think I should have brought a microscope. A silly idea, because my intention was to walk light and keep a roughly fluent conversation with the one who was my adventure companion on this trip, Ana Grau.
We weren’t close friends, but the proposal to spend a week traversing the Italian Alps in summer was the perfect plan for someone who prioritizes the mountains over “beach months.” I was going to translate my passion for the outdoors, learned in my homeland of Soria, to one of Europe’s most attractive destinations. I remember getting everything ready at home with Ana on the other end of the phone, making sure we didn’t forget anything. Everything was planned: by car from Milan (although I recommend entering the Dolomites from Venice) and a route that ended up being worthy of elite athletes, with days that felt like 48 hours. And then…
