A couple of weeks ago I would have word-associated “Tyrol” with Austria, sausages, lederhosen, flower-drenched chalets, folk dancing and brass bands. And “Dolomites” would have conjured stark, monolithic limestone cliffs and high-level refuges linked by precipitous via-ferrata trails. Putting the two together, and discovering that the South Tyrol is in fact in Italy, and that the Dolomites bear little resemblance to my pre-conceived image, has been a revelation.
After driving 7 hours from Juan's CH flat (via Innsbruck) we arrived at Val di Funes – or Villnösstal, 45 minutes NE of Bolzano, almost as far north in Italy as you can go. A light goes on and I begin to understand my Googling confusion: Val di Funes and Villnösstal are the Italian/German versions of the same place. Even Juan – better historically educated than me – is surprised that the language and culture of this corner of Italy is quite so evidently Germanic. How come? (Skip next four paragraphs if history isn’t your bag.)
The South Tyrol was part of the Austro-Hungarian empire until 1918. After the First World War an agreement brokered by the US gave Italy 150,000 Tyrolese German-speakers. Until the 1920s the Italian authorities didn’t interfere with Tyrolese cultural activities, traditions or schooling. But, in October 1922, the new Fascist government implemented an Italianisation program, decreeing:
- exclusive use of Italian in the public offices
- closure of the majority of the German schools
- incentives for immigrants from other Italian regions.
Then, in 1939, Hitler and Mussolini gave the German-speaking population a choice: they could emigrate to neighbouring Germany or stay in Italy and accept complete Italianisation. After the War the Allies decided that the province should remain a part of Italy, with German and Italian both made official languages, and German-language education permitted.
After a large of argy bargy, cut to… a new agreement signed in 1969. Since 1972 the Tyrol has had a considerable level of self-government and is the wealthiest Italian province. It has strong relations with the Austrian state of Tyrol, especially since Austria's 1995 entry into the European Union, which has led to a common currency and a de facto disappearance of the borders.
In a nutshell: the German-speaking population is in the majority and it feels as though you’re in Germany. For the entire week I think I heard Italian spoken just once. This was all very good news for Juan, who lurves the language. (And bad news for Rebecca, who doesn't speak a word...)
As we drove up Villnöss valley the peaks of the Geisler range gradually emerged above the emerald pastures, and forest. Many of the vast farmhouses have been converted into tourist accommodation. But agriculture is still very present, and haymaking – largely unmechanised on the steep meadows – was in full swing. At our destination, “Putzerhof”, the air was perfumed with the sweet smell of drying, flower-rich grass. We were welcomed by our hosts, Herbert Fischnaller and family (settled at that site since 1258).
The stunning view from our flat faithfully replicated the website images. We enjoyed it in all weathers, the rock colours changing according to temperature and time of day. The flat was to prove an ideal location for exploring the ridges and valleys of the Puez-Odle Nature Park.
The UNESCO status conferred on the Dolomites in 2009 has strengthened the conservation movement. It seems unlikely that the desire by some in the community, to open up the area to skiing, will have a future. And how refreshing that is – coming from the French Alps – to see no ski infrastructure whatsoever: no ugly seventies blocks of flats or ski lifts, none of the associated scarring of the landscape. There isn’t even a campsite. The view across the valley from our eagle’s eyrie can’t have changed in centuries.
The Dolomites… are not, as I had assumed, a single coherent massif. But nine mountain systems spread across five Italian provinces, comprising part of a national park and several regional and provincial nature parks. “Dolomite” is a dense, white-to light-yellowish rock that takes its name from the French naturalist Deodatus de Dolomieu. In 1789 he was the first to describe the chemical composition of the rock. In 1864 the name was coined by English writers in a travel book entitled The Dolomite Mountains.
The variety of spectacular vertical forms (pinnacles, spires and towers), and contrasting horizontal ledges and plateaus; the constantly changing rock colours; and the completely bare mountain crags rising abruptly from the gentle contours of the meadows have lead to claims that the Dolomites are “universally considered the most beautiful mountains on Earth”. I could quote at length our tourist literature on the early travellers, the romantics, and notions of the sublime. (And at even greater length about the geology – how hundreds of millions of years ago the Dolomites were islands in a tropical sea.) But the short story is: accessibility. You can gaze at the jagged, other-worldly rock faces from the comfort of your own balcony, “reassured” by familiar agricultural scenes. There is no arguing: the Dolomites are drop-dead gorgeous. And – unlike our French Alpine stamping ground – you don’t need to make much of an effort to get to the most idyllic spots.
The result? The paths were not as crowded as you might expect, because the network is extensive and walkers were well spread out. So on some days it was possible to be alone for several hours without encountering another person. Within range of the car parks was another matter: hoards of (mostly elderly) trekkers would typically walk a kilometre or two to a mountain hut and enjoy a hearty lunch of cured ham, cheese, dumplings, and apple strudel.
So here’s a summary of our week in the South Tyrol (most photos © Juan as I’m a cable short of being able to get them off my camera, but can claim © photo-editing!):
St Magdalena and St Johann church
an idyllic route through traditional hamlets to St Magdalena and St Johann, probably the most-photographed scene in the Dolomites:
from Russis Kreuz along the flank of the Aferer Geisler range to Würzjoch
From Würzjoch we hitched back to our starting point:
circuit from Zanseralm
via the Gampen Alm and Schlüterhütte/Genova refuges and down via Medalgesalm:
Bolzano – beautiful, but impossibly hot
It was thrilling to see Ötzi, the 5000-year-old mummy, displayed in the archaeological museum. Curious to view the video of him being retrieved in 1991, hauled amateurishly onto a stretcher. The text explained in the politest possible terms how forensic scientists had been thwarted from gaining a full interpretation of events by those who got there first:
wet-day walk from Puzerhof to Munt Weisen
and lunch at Herbert's little restaurant:
Mt Tullen
I didn’t make it to the top – handicapped by my footwear (sandals helped me cope with damaged toes but they have their limits…):
around Der Peitlerkofel
a popular route with constantly changing panoramic views:
On our last day we drove back to Switzerland through a smorgasbord of scenic areas, starting with the wine-growing areas on the border, then through charismatic Glurns, an unexpected bonus...
Then up hill and down dale for the rest of the day… finishing with a tour of big-name CH ski resorts and back south of Zurich and Lucerne, foot firmly on the pedal. Switzerland is a bigger country than I realised – over 5 hours from the Italian border to Yverdon. Phew.
It’s time to stop and find a lake. I’ve been way too long on the computer today.
