Ciao e bentornati in Italia per la seconda parte della nostra avventura nelle Dolomiti!
For this half of the trip, we had based ourselves in Santa Maddalena in Val di Funes. Once again, thanks to Beth leaving me unsupervised to pick the accommodation, we were based on the outskirts of the village, a not-so-short walk up the steep side of the valley. Of course, once we got up there, the views were lovely, overlooking Santa Maddalena below, with the mighty-toothed Odle mountains imposed against the sky at their rear before us.
Or at least, they would be lovely, once the weather had cleared. By the time we had arrived on Tuesday, the famous mountains were already obscured from view, and not long after did a matching swathe of thick cloud climb quickly up the valley and engulf everything else. It then began to rain and did not stop for almost twenty-four hours. Thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed around us, and it was all very cool…at first. However, after waking up the following morning to find the storm still bouncing around and not daring to leave for fear of being struck, the novelty began to wear off. By midday, it’s fair to say that I had gone a bit stir crazy. This was partly due to the fact that I just don’t do very well stuck indoors with nothing to do, but also partly due to finding ourselves on very limited rations until we could safely make it down to the little village shop. After a limited lunch, I decided to go for a depressing nap. Fortunately, by the time I woke up, the rain had stopped, and the valley was the clearest it had been since the day before. Beth was all too ready to get me out of the apartment by this point, and enthusiastically swept me out the door. We made it to the shop and back, and whilst it did start raining again after, we did at least have a better stock of food (and beer!), and the weather was on the turn.
Late that night, following a day of napping and low exercise, I was struggling to sleep. I popped to the kitchen and glanced out the window instinctively to check the weather. In the night, I saw the twinkling of stars. Forgetting everything else, I unlocked the door and burst out. The darkness twinkled with diamonds, as countless stars shone through a clear sky. My eyes sank to the horizon, and I gasped. Ahead, the jagged silhouette of the mountains was lit up by the glow of the Milky Way. I ran indoors and convinced a fast-asleep Beth to come outside. I am pleased to say that she immediately understood my enthusiasm, and together, we took in the majesty of the universe. It had been a long day, but our patience had been rewarded a thousand-fold.
And so we arrive at the morning of hike number two. We found the day as clear as the night, sun shining from a blue sky, and we headed down to catch the bus optimistically, which took us to where the road ended, at the Puez-Odel Nature Park, home to the peaks which we had seen from a distance glowing with starlight the night before. Several different routes were shooting off in every different direction, of which Beth had selected for us the “Adolf Munkel Trail”.
The day may have been clear, the sun bright; however, the cold, wild conditions had left behind quite the surprise: snow. As we made our way up the stony trail into the park, the path was lined with icy white flurries, the branches of pine trees steaming and dripping as their covering slowly melted in the still-chilly morning. The sheer volume of water fallen had also resulted in not only a rushing river to accompany us on this first stretch, but also actively flowing streams swallowing much of the path; a feature that would continue throughout much of the day. This was no problem though; we quickly warmed up, and just a little extra concentration meant tackling the worst of the water was no bother and gave Beth a chance to push her EXTREME boots to the limit. As we climbed, the towering peaks began to poke over the canopy, and in a break in the trees, we got our first clear view of the mountain’s heights. They loomed above, much more immediate than they had seemed from Santa Maddalena, and even from there they had seemed like standing giants.
As you might expect from a route in such a place, even a circular one, it was very much divided into two: the up half, and the down half. We climbed consistently, but generally quite gently, through snow-dusted woodlands with the mountains looming over us. About halfway up (a quarter of the way around), the route reached the point where it led us closest to the Odles themselves. The steep, grey, rocky scree surface was suddenly at our boots. Of course, we took the opportunity to wander on, touch the stones and stare straight up at the peaks. The path continued to climb for a while, with continual views of them (they were impossible to miss), but at no point did we come this close again.
We shared the winding path with a fair few others (the route was clearly popular, but not over-crowded at this time of year), passing more snow, endless trees, fantastic root networks and gigantic boulders as we journeyed ever upward. Finally, we crossed the brow of the hill with nothing but blue visible over the top, and a wide, gentle meadow rolled down and away before us. And so we began the descent.
Turning our backs to the mountain, we crossed the meadow still patched with snow. Only a few minutes on, we stopped at a place called “Geislerkino”, a little mountain-side restaurant with an open terrace out the back. Within this area are a collection of fancy benches and sun loungers. We found ourselves a couple of vacant ones, and settled ourselves down to soak up the sun and appreciate this angle of the mountains for a while. Whilst here, we also shared a couple of complimentary biscuits we had been given on the Train to Dobbiaco earlier in the week (I had lemon, Beth had caramel).
After this break, we began the trip down in earnest. Much like the way up, this was a long, winding path through the woods, although with the mountains now behind us. The running water continued, although the snow began to vanish, until finally it was nowhere to be seen. We also passed a herd of contented-looking goats, as we steadily picked our way downward over slippery roots and stones. Fortunately the going remained smooth all the way down, until Beth accidentally cleared the route from her phone. However, we were so close to home at this point that it didn’t matter, and we followed the well signposted route all the way back to the visitor centre, and the end of the trail.
The timing was good, as by this point, we were both getting hungry. Before descending back to Santa Maddalena, we stopped for lunch in the restaurant, where Beth ate some fancy dumplings, and I had a Weinerschnitzel. This was then followed by a visit to the museum, where Beth learned about the geographical history of the area, whilst I pondered how a sculpture of a giant, unborn baby half submerged in a plastic block was at all relevant, who decided it should decorate the ceiling at the entrance so it’s the first thing you see when you walk in, and also, why? We then caught the bus down the mountain, got another beer, walked back up to our chalet and sat outside in the sunshine, admiring the mountains around which we had just walked.
A few days later, our Italian adventure came to an end, and we returned to reality. We had had a lovely time which we won’t forget. However, I did learn three important things:
- Don’t rely on Italian public transport – it’s not terrible, but neither is it Swiss.
- OS map doesn’t work like it does in the UK – not every marked path is public, and it is sometimes private property.
- Always listen to your wife – this is directly linked to point two.
Matthew G. Huggins 