June 20, 2016
After two grueling months
of meticulous ascent and several daring dances with death, I took a single victorious step onto the top of the treacherous peak and with a guttural call heard for miles I planted my flag upon the crown of Cristallo.
Okay, not really. But even though the top of Monte Cristallo can be accessed by successive rides in a couple cable cars (the first of which is adjacent to a bar/restaurant), getting up there proved to be more of a challenge than I anticipated.
-Three days earlier-
I stood dejected at the edge of a humid rail platform. The train that should have carried me into Italy became smaller by the second as it mockingly disappeared into the hazy distance, its burden lightened by one unintentionally empty seat. After deciding that anything was better than spending the rest of the day sitting bemused and alone in a Slovenian train station, I hopped on the first train that seemed to be going in the right direction. Miraculously, my shot in the dark paid off, the proper connections were made, and I soon found myself standing under the harsh mid-afternoon sun in the middle of an empty Italian byway. Okay, technically I was still in Slovenia, but the flags of green, white, and red hanging from every window I passed begged otherwise. I had just under an hour to catch a bus across the boarder to Gorizia Centrale, the Italian central station, and there wasn’t a soul around to ask how I might do this. Keeping with the serendipitous theme I had established for the day, I haphazardly jumped on the first (and only) bus around and crossed my fingers. Of course, the bus took me exactly where I needed to go and after just one more 2-hour train ride, I reached the town of Belluno and the end of the line as far as trains were concerned. That’s where my plan (and my itinerary) ended. From there I needed to improvise a plot to reach Domegge di Cadore, a small commune 40km into the Italian Alps, before nightfall.
After about an hour of waiting, and a slew of broken conversations with many bus drivers, I found one that would take me to the the town just south of Domegge for only 5 euro. Close enough. It was getting late and I was out of options; this was the last bus leaving for the night. I eagerly hopped on board and began calculating how long I’d be walking after we arrived. Fortunately, these plans were made unnecessary. I rode the bus to the end of the line. As I exited, the driver stopped me. His shift had ended and he had to drive through Domegge to get home. He was offering me a ride! I graciously accepted and climbed into his car. We had pleasant, albeit broken, conversation on the way up the mountain. The ride was short and sweet and within 20 minutes I was where I needed to be. After profusely thanking the kind man I was off to discover where I would be staying for the next three nights.
The Albergo Adelia is a small bed and breakfast, situated at least 30 meters off the road, tucked behind some small buildings, and run by a kind old Italian couple who don’t speak a lick of English. I was initially timid entering the place because I thought I had walked into someone’s private residence. This qualm was immediately mollified by a warm and hearty “Buongiorno!” Even in his ripe age the old man was much taller than me and he bore a welcoming smile. Through a combination of broken sentences that rarely landed, befuddled hand gestures, and (mostly) Google translate, he was able to introduce me to the comfy lodgings and show me to my room.
It was small, just large enough to contain a twin bed, an old dresser, and a tiny wash basin with brass handles that had long lost their luster. At the end of the room was a small window concealed behind wooden shutters that faced a narrow ivy laden alleyway. After briefly washing up and updating those back home, I collapsed on the stiff, narrow mattress. Breakfast was at 8.
I was ready to go the next morning promptly at 8 o’clock. Not so much for the continental breakfast but because of my excitement to explore the Italian Dolomites! After an inaugural “Buongiorno!” for the morning, I ate lightly and stuffed my day pack with a few croissants. With a friendly “Ciao!” I was out the door and into the day.
A 45-minute bus ride brought me to Cortina d’Ampezzo, a popular ski destination in northeast Italy, and the perfect launchpad for exploring the Dolomites. Asking around led me to a small hub for cable cars. Even though it was mid-June, it was cold and the woman behind the counter cautioned me about afternoon rainstorms. I bought a ticket anyway; I certainly hadn’t come all this way to call it a day so early and spend the afternoon in a coffee shop. I was here to explore and had limited time. As I approached the large cable car that would take me to the first mountain checkpoint, I couldn’t help but feel a sort of childish excitement. Growing up, my friends and I would fill our backpacks with snacks and wander off into the forest under the pretension of being explorers. Albeit a couple decades older and a few thousand miles further, I felt the same now.
Without second thought, I knew I wanted to go as high as possible; that meant getting on top of Cristallo. Its four peaks loomed over the landscape from every perspective. I leisurely wandered about an endless web of alpine trails and ski slopes that lay dry for the summer season; needless to say, my laissez-faire navigation didn’t get me anywhere very quickly.
After breaking trail to see some live deer and encounter some fire ants on an uncomfortably personal level, I found myself at a decommissioned chairlift; naturally, I jumped onto the iron ladder and climbed to the top. The endlessly parallel rows of seats disappeared over the horizon and into the mist near Cristallo. In this direction I also noticed a rapidly approaching rainstorm descending in thick grey sheets. I thought it peculiar that I could see the individual drops from so far away, but once nickel sized balls of hail began pelting the top of my head, I immediately realized this was not a testament to my vision. I clumsily clambered down the cold metal ladder and ducked under the chairlift’s awning. In an instant the afternoon had turned from cheerful exploration to abrupt stranding. I stood planning my next move while the cacophony of hail pounded on the corrugated metal above, attempting to derail my thoughts.
Far in the distance, a lone road tangled itself into the side of a hill of questionable length. After hesitantly snuffing the consideration of turning back, I decided to reach that road as quickly as possible. Fortunately, the distance wasn’t as far as it looked because I ran the whole way in jeans and sneakers and the hail had turned to rain. Unfortunately, the road merely marked the half-way point to my goal and the chairlifts that led to the summit of Cristallo were shut down due to high winds. After hitchhiking back to Cortina, catching a bus to a neighboring village, and then walking roadside 2km back to my temporary home in Domegge, I resolved to return the next day.
The next morning was identical to the last, only I retired the scenic route and got to the now operational Cristallo chairlift to in record time. The first lift was traditional: you sit, the bar comes down, you dangle your feet and enjoy the ride. The second lift was a bit more unique. To reach Cristallo’s summit requires a 45-minute ride spent standing in what is essentially a rusted metal coffin on a string. Now, the view is spectacular and the ride is novel, but the thing moves at a snails pace and could seemingly plummet you to a beautiful demise at any instant. All things considered, the view from the peak made not only the sketchy coffin ride worth it, but also the two days of trial and error leading up to it.
Ten and a half thousand feet of elevation is no Everest experience, but it supplied a satisfying panorama nonetheless. The thick grey clouds that day made for dramatic lighting as the sun broke though to highlight the speck Cortina had become; it lay protected by the surrounding mountains, which stood as titans in endless rows outlining the many valleys visible from my lofty position. There were multiple viewpoints to enjoy and I made sure to keep a constant rotation. I enjoyed each perspective many times over, each time felt like the first, and each time brought about an uncontrollable smile. I genuinely could have stayed up there all day, but I was up to my ankles in snow, wearing cloth shoes with holes in the bottom. I stared until I couldn’t feel my feet, stared some more, and then began my reluctant decent.
Wander&Wonder 