There’s always a strange feeling at the beginning of a journey, a space between where you’ve been and where you’re going, when everything still feels familiar, but the promise of somewhere new has already begun to give way to anticipation.
Beneath the familiar glow of departure screens and the steady rhythm of travellers, we boarded our flight east. Leaving England behind, the landscape below gradually shifted as we moved towards the mountains. A few hours later, Venice greeted us with warm evening air and a rhythm entirely its own. But Venice was only the beginning. From the airport, we continued north towards Cortina d’Ampezzo, the roads twisting through pine forests until, without warning, the landscape opened. Pale limestone cliffs rose from emerald valleys, catching the last light of the evening, seeming too vast and improbable to belong to the same world we had just left.
The next morning, we hiked to Lago di Sorapis. The trail climbed steadily through fragrant woodland, each turn revealing another glimpse of white rock against an endless blue sky. Then the trees fell away, and the lake appeared. Its water seemed to glow from within, suspended somewhere between turquoise and ice, as though the glacier itself had dissolved into liquid light.
The following day took us to Tre Cime di Lavaredo. If Sorapis is delicate, Tre Cime is monumental. The three towers dominate the landscape with complete confidence, shrinking every sense of scale until people become tiny figures moving through a landscape measured in millennia. Clouds drifted across the cliffs, revealing their sharp edges before hiding them again, while old wartime tunnels disappeared into the mountainside, serving as reminders that even the most remote landscapes carry traces of human history.
Leaving the dramatic peaks behind, we travelled west to Bolzano and on to Ortisei, where the Dolomites revealed another side of themselves. Jagged rock gave way to rolling alpine meadows, flower-filled pastures, and wooden mountain huts.
Eventually, the mountains were replaced with water as we returned to Venice. Canals replaced hiking trails, and gondolas drifted where mountain streams had rushed only days before. Looking back, I don’t remember every kilometre we walked. I remember the colour of Sorapis, the silence beneath Tre Cime, and the smell of pine after the storm. I remember the feeling of standing so small beneath mountains that had existed long before us and would remain long after we were gone.
