Dolomites to the Julain Alps

The Dolomiti burst vertically from the flat, green valley floors. They stand arrogantly, dominating their environment. Humanity clings on to their coat-tails in tiny villages on hillsides and in compact towns, squashed into any available space the on the valley floors.
Molveno, hemmed close by hills, feels cut off from the world, like a secret that hardly anyone knows. It’s turquoise lake lies unruffled by wind and behind the village rises the awesome backdrop of the Dolomiti Di Brenta.

One morning I climb up the valley to a hut called the Rifugo Croz dell’Altissimo. It’s a beautiful day and I hike upwards in the heat, always with the slab like towers of Cima Gaiarda straight ahead.
I reach the hut mid afternoon and eat lunch in this incredible amphitheatre. With Cima Gaiarda straight ahead, the cold, dark cliffs of Cima Roma loom to my left. In contrast the vertical cliffs of Cima dei Lasteri shine in the springs’ bright sun. Pure white ribbons of snow cling to a few ledges but the sheerness of the cliffs has shrugged off all but a few splashes of white.

I decide I’ve been neglecting my mountaineering these last few years and decide it’s high time I got back into doing the ‘good stuff’. Back in Scotland the choice of mountain too often depended on the following quandary:
“Now, do I go west, and get some huge rice crispie squares and Irn Bru from the bakery in Callander; or do I go East and get a fried egg and square sausage butty at the truck stop café in Ballinluig?”
That night the moon is so bright as I sit by the lake eating fresh Italian pasta and tinned pears (not in the same bowl) you can see the silvery trails left by jets as they fly south to Rome.

It’s just a days ride to the Julian Alps and the picturesque lakefront town of Bled. Down the fabulous winding SS49 out of Italy, through Austria and into Slovenia. The whole journey I am surrounded by rugged alpine peaks. It’s a good day!

Bled is much as I remembered it. Picturesque, indeed almost Disney-esque, it is nevertheless real and therefore exponentially better for it. On the little emerald lake is a tiny island with a tiny church. Above the lake looms a squat castle atop a sheer cliff. Behind the castle towers the commanding snow capped bulk of Mount Triglav.
I spend several days here, Soaking up the atmosphere, hiking around the local area and spend a day at Lake Bohinj, another beautiful lake in this most beautiful of countries.
One night it rains torrentially. The following morning, exiting my tent (which has soaked up groundwater through the groundsheet, soaking everything) in foul mood, I find a bottle of red wine and a soggy note: “A present from the wine fairy. Enjoy your travels!” Amazing how a little thing like a bottle of plonk can brighten ones outlook immeasurably!