The Dream Way, Part 2

Munich to Venice on the Dream Way: Part 2 (Italy)

Prologue

We’re halfway through the Dream Way (Traumpfad), a 600-kilometre walk from Munich to Venice across the eastern Alps. The German and Austrian Alps tested us with wild storms, unseasonal snow, and slopes so steep that wires and ladders are fixed to assist safe passage. They also provided us with magnificent walking and breathtaking views of some of Europe’s most majestic landscapes. Thirteen days and 265 kilometres later, we crossed the border to Italy.

The Dolomites await. They’re a Natural World Heritage Site famed for their unparalleled beauty and challenging topography. Our first stop will be Pfunders, and from there we’ll start winding our way across the Dolomites. Our final mountain range will be the Belluno Pre-alps, after which we’ll descend to the Piave River and walk across the plains to Venice. We’re pleased that we’ve made it this far, but cognisant of the arduous terrain and high mountain passes ahead. 

Day 14: Stein to Pfunders (20 km)

We wake up in Italy. The sun illuminates the snow on the high peaks and floods our room with golden light.

Over breakfast, we chat with an American. He’s tackling the route south to north, against the tide of Dream Way walkers. He says he wants to keep the sun on his back and meet different people each day. We brief him on the serious climbing ahead of him today, and he, in turn, gives us advice on the two high passes we have to cross before day’s end. 

We set off, following a glacial stream before clamouring over fallen trees to find a way up through the forest. This side of the border, the Italian adoration of the Madonna is evident. At every turn, we come across images of radiant Virgins.

The sky is clear when we start the steep 1,200-metre climb towards the 2,645-metre Gliderschartl pass. As we walk up through lush green country waist-deep in wildflowers, we look across to a harsh, grey landscape of peaks, rock slabs, and scree slopes. As we ascend, we can see Hochfeiler, the highest mountain in the Zillertal Alps, and the glacier that flows from Höher Weisszintas. There’s a great scar of bare rock below the glacier, evidence that its slow flow over the land is in retreat. 

As the cloud builds, we urge our bodies to walk faster, then we slow as the rain catches us and the climbing becomes more challenging. Keeping safe in the Alps requires a focused mental effort that makes each day seem longer than the walking time quoted in the guidebook. It’s a relief to crest the pass.

We bypass a small glacial lake. If it weren’t so wet, we would rest before starting the long descent. But the rain intensifies. As we walk, we look down into a deep green gorge. Water gushes through it at great force. Our path emerges into an open alpine valley with scattered farms and leads us through muddy cow tracks to the village of Pfunders.  

Our host at Gasthof Brugger takes our saturated shoes and promises to return them dry in the morning. We sit down to a meal of local specialties and enjoy an evening of amiable conversation with our fellow walkers, all Germans. They are pleased to be in Italy, a country that, for them, holds the promise of sunnier dispositions and better weather. Anna broaches the subject of gender. `Why are there no women amongst them?’ For open-minded men, their response is perplexing. It’s too tough a route for women, they say. Anna can only take this as a compliment.

Day 15: Pfunders to Kreuzwiesen Alm (24 km)

A delightful start to the day. Our shoes are dry, and the air is full of bird song. Fine weather is forecast, and wild raspberries and blueberries are ripe for the picking. A swift-flowing river rushes down the valley; a river very much alive.

We stop for a coffee in the sunshine and listen to the midday Angelus bells ringing out from the village below. Like all villages in this narrow valley, it’s enclosed by mountains and tiered over by rugged peaks. 

Our mood changes as we start the long, arduous 1,500-metre climb through the scarred landscape of a recently logged forest. We lose the trail but find a fellow walker, Chris, who has also inadvertently ‘gone off-piste’. Together, we scrub bash our way up a steep slope to re-find the Dream Way. By the time we clear the tree line, we’re done with the travesty of clear-felling. To restore our good humour, we seek out the remote eco-hotel we’ve read about and indulge in a gelato, one of the best we’ve tasted. 

Revitalised, we round a bend and there, right in front of us, are the fabled Dolomites. They are as magnificent as everyone says. Ice-white on their flanks. Pink where the sun lights up the peaks. They are some of the most beautiful mountain landscapes anywhere, according to their World Heritage listing. It’s the Karwendel, Tux and Zillertal Alps that the Germans pay homage to by walking the Dream Way. These are the mountains that formed them. But it’s the Dolomites that bring a lightness to their step. They regard them as others might a summer holiday; a sojourn in a dreamlike world of exquisite beauty.

The near landscape is reminiscent of a child’s picture book. Rolling green meadows. Log huts. Cows grazing in the high pastures. Farmers raking hay, tending livestock, and making butter and cheese.

Kreuzwiesenhütte, where we’re staying this evening, opened in 1933 and continues to offer accommodation in the summer season. We’re sleeping in a cosy, if crowded, dormitory, directly above the cow shed. There’s an open-air sauna that those in the know have booked in advance, but we’re more than happy with a hot shower, and afterwards, a cold beer.   

Day 16: Kreuzwiesen Alm to Würzjoch (15.5 km)

Breakfast is from the farm and includes fresh cheese, butter, yoghurt, bread and preserves. Sated, we set off across rolling green pastures and up into a world of spiky juniper bushes and stunted pine trees. The dark Alps on one side and the pale, 250-million- year-old fossilised coral reefs that characterise the Dolomites on the other. 

We pass a chapel dedicated to pilgrims, decorated with scallop shells painted with the red cross of St James. As the path curves, a serene upland lake, Lago di Rina, comes into view. Two elegant white swans glide on its glassy surface. A timber deckchair floats on a platform in the middle of the lake, reachable only by swimming.  As a German couple braves the chilly water, their teenage daughter inserts her earbuds and looks away. What she can’t see or hear won’t embarrass her. 

A stop at Maurerberg hütte, where we sit on the terrace looking out to the north face of Peiterköfel. As we savour a macchiato, we contemplate the route ahead and realise that this evening’s accommodation is closer than we imagined. Setting off down the road, we come upon cows who refuse to give ground. We have no choice but to step off into ankle-deep mud and skirt around them. Down lower, there’s an assemblage of creatures carved from wood and painted in a centuries-old folk tradition. It starts to drizzle just as we reach our hotel. We check in, arrange to have our clothes washed, and find a place to sit and admire the breathtaking views of the Dolomites, dominated by the mighty Peitlerköfel.

South Tyrol is part of Italy, but its Austrian roots run deep. 70% of its inhabitants speak German in its Austrian variant, and place names are often in three languages: German, Italian, and Ladin, the language once spoken across a vast expanse of the central Alps. It’s now spoken only in five Dolomite valleys, making it one of the rarest languages in Europe.

Day 17: Würzjoch to Puezhutte (17.5 km)

Until now, we’ve been looking across to the glittering Dolomites. Today we’ll journey deep into their heart and for the next few days, follow the Alta Via 2 route, traversing some of the most exposed and rugged landscapes of the Dolomites.

After an excellent breakfast, we’re in a buoyant mood as we step out into the sunshine wearing freshly washed clothes. The landscape is spectacular. The first climb of the day to Forcella di Putia at 2,357 metres is steep. The effort eases as we follow a contouring path that crosses lush green meadows full of grazing cows. But the reprieve is brief, and ‘don’t look further than just beyond your feet’ becomes our motto for the day.

Two more passes lie in wait, one almost straight after the other. Both are challenging. The first is Forcella Roa (2,617 metres), which we approach on a steep, narrow switchbacking path up an exposed scree slope. The second, the Forcella Nives (2,720 metres), seems unattainable from a distance. Up closer, we see there’s a ladder and a fixed cable to assist walkers and climbers alike. We calm our minds and steady our bodies before starting the ascent of the near-vertical rock chimney. The higher we go, the more broken the mountain and the more intimidating the climb. 

Our reward is the breathtaking view from the top. White glaciers, high peaks, exposed ridges, the imposing massif of the Civetta Dolomites, and Mt Pelmo. Standing alone, it’s considered one of the most beautiful mountains in the Dolomites. 

Small, delicate birds and yellow wildflowers soften the barren environment. On the saddle, we meet a group of young women. They’re walking the Alta Via 2 as part of an outdoor education program, staying in the alpine huts for the first few nights, then bivouacking. They seem confident and competent, and keen to hear about the Dream Way. Perhaps in the future, they’ll add to the number of women walking the Dream Way. 

After the ascents comes the descent. Regarded as easy, for us it feels like one too many scree slopes in an already epic day. We’re relieved to arrive at Puezhutte (2,475 metres). It’s lively with walkers sunning themselves on the terrace, waiting for check-in and a bed in a cramped, 3-level, bunk-bed dormitory. 

We eat dinner with an amiable couple from Munich who are spending the weekend walking in the Dolomites. They tell us there is a tradition of Dream Way walkers setting out from Marienplatz at 8 am on the 8th day of the 8th month, a tradition linked to the belief that eight is a potent symbol for bringing dreams into reality. 

Day 18: Puez Hutte to Rifugio Capanna Fassa (15 km)

A gentle start to the day on a path that leads us across several grassy knolls. Crystal clear upland lakes sparkle in the sunshine.

We expected less intimidating terrain than yesterday, but a rock slide has taken out a section of the track. The most viable workaround is to use a via ferrata route. Via Ferratas (iron paths) are climbing routes equipped with steel cables, rungs, and ladders. Built by soldiers in WWI to help them move around in the mountains, they are now used for recreational climbing. We haul ourselves up several steep chutes, passing groups of climbers wearing helmets and harnesses, to emerge into a landscape worn by ice, snow and wind.

Great limestone monoliths. Ice in the crevices. Deep, narrow valleys. An alien, stark environment. Underfoot, the grinding of scree on scree all day. Rocks giving way as we ascend.

It isn’t a weekend, but day walkers crowd the path, as they will all summer long. The locals protest. Tourists go home, they plead. Those walking with their dogs are of particular concern as the sheep grazing on the high plains are vulnerable to attack.

The cafe at the pass, serviced by road, is twice as expensive as last night’s remote alpine hut, serviced by helicopter. But we’re grateful for the opportunity to rest and replenish, and pay the asking price.  

It’s a long, tough afternoon in the Sella massif. The several steep climbs include a couple of near-vertical rock faces. We take what appears to be the easiest path until we come to a sign warning that beyond here, the route is only for via Ferrata-equipped climbers. We decide to press on. It’s very exposed along the edge of the steep rockface, but we focus on maintaining three points of contact at all times and never look down. 

By late afternoon, we are physically spent and have another 300 metres of steep rock to climb. We’re not sure we’ll make it, so we enquire about beds at Rifugio Boè. There are no vacancies. Left with no option, we continue up via more fixed cables to the remote Rifugio Capanna Fassa, where we have a booking. Tethered to an exposed, barren rock, Capanna Fassa at 3,152 metres is the highest accommodation on the Dream Way. The views from its terrace are magnificent. The sunset and the sunrise; the glowing Marmolada, Pelmo and Civetta; the ever-changing panorama of the Dolomites. It’s uplifting to be surrounded by such grandeur and beauty. 

Day 19: Rifugio Capanna Fassa to Viel dal Pan (9 km)

A night as black as pitch, the sky ablaze with stars. Before dawn, a torch-lit procession weaves its way up the mountain. People who slept in the hut below are ascending to watch the sunrise. We’re already outside, waiting for the spectacle. It’s a transcendental experience. The deep silence, the ethereal light, the mountains coming to life. Ancestral beings from the time of creation, stirring.

It’s a short but steep climb down from our eyrie. A rockfall has yet again taken out a section of track, and we descend on broken stairs and fixed cables. We’re almost blasé about it after yesterday’s experience. We pause at Forcella Pordoi for a morning coffee, then, fortified, we drop into a steep scree chute and zig-zag down for 600 vertical metres, walking against the tide of day trippers making the gruelling climb up. 

At Pordoi Joch, there’s a buzz of people, cars, motor bikes and mountain bikes. It’s the main access to the Sella, a majestic, plateau-shaped massif. Our path takes us along a ridge of black, gritty rocks, the remnants of an ancient lava flow with stunning views of the Marmolada; it’s just one mountain, but it has several summits, many of them over 3,000 metres. The south face of Marmolada, the highest mountain in the Dolomites, was first summited in 1901 by an Englishwoman, Bernice Tomasson. The route was regarded, at the time, as the most difficult ascent in the Alps. Her ascent took 12 hours of climbing, most of it during a storm. 

Overhead, we hear the loud stutter of a helicopter. This summer, Italian mountain rescue teams are attending up to 50 incidents a day. The unprecedented numbers of injuries and deaths (an average of three per day in the Italian Alps) are in part due to an increase in visitor numbers, lack of experience, underestimation of the risks, and the impacts of climate change. This includes extreme weather events and the melting of the permafrost, the ‘concrete’ that holds the rocks together. Enormous chunks of rock and ice break away without warning, irrevocably altering the landscape and endangering human life.

The Rifugio Viel dal Pan, where we’re staying tonight, is on an old mule path once used for trade. At lunchtime, its outdoor terrace is a sea of people. By late afternoon, the day walkers have turned for home, and calm descends on the rifugio. We sit basking in the sunshine, looking across to the ‘Queen of the Dolomites’, until a drop in temperature sends us scurrying indoors. Soon after, a wild storm breaks over the mountains. 

Day 20: Viel dal Pan to Alleghe (24 km)

A quiet Sunday morning. A lone walker silhouetted against the clouds. One last poignant look across to the Marmolada Glacier, and the north face of the Marmolada massif.  During WWI, Austro-Hungarian troops constructed an ‘ice city’ within the glacier. Now, it’s a stark symbol of climate change. A devastating avalanche in 2022 killed 11 mountaineers, highlighting its fragility. The glacier is shrinking rapidly and may soon disappear completely. 

As the sun finds its way above the ridge line, we follow the contours of the grassy Viel dal Pan before dropping into the valley below. It’s a colour field of lush greens, contrasting with the glacial blue water of Lago di Fedaia. 

Today should be undemanding, after the challenging terrain of the last few days, but it’s our 20th consecutive day on the trail, and we’re fatigued. At Malga, the Dream Way leaves the Alta Via 2. It’s here that we find the entrance to Sottoguda Gorge blocked by construction work and decide to take a taxi for the last few kilometres to Alleghe. 

Alleghe sits on a sparkling lake created in 1771 by a huge landslide that blocked the Cordevole River. Reflected in the calm waters of the lake are the majestic peaks of the Civetta mountain. At day’s end, we sit on the terrace of our hotel, enjoying a Spritz content in the knowledge that the next two days are rest days. 

Day 21+22: Alleghe

Slow, serene days. Anna has a niggling leg muscle injury, so we catch a bus to the next village for some physical therapy. As advised, we alternate between resting and wandering around the lake, its water reflecting the season’s beauty. A late afternoon drink and dinner with Elliot, keen now to be out of the mountains and on his way to Venice. The mountains haunt the minds of those who inhabit them, he believes. He talks of Kant and how he defined Erhaben as an aesthetic experience that evokes feelings of awe and grandeur, but can also evoke terror, associated with something so vast that it overwhelms the senses. It’s a concept that resonates with our Dream Way. The mountains we traverse have such a powerful presence that most days we feel we’re walking in the realm of the gods.

Day 23: Alleghe to Tissi (13 km)

From Alleghe, it’s a 1,780-metre ascent to the end of today’s stage. Easing back into the rigours of walking in high places, we catch the cable car up to the Col dei Baldi and set out on foot from there. The alternative route is subject to rock falls and misses out on views of Mt Pelmo, one of the most beautiful mountains in the Dolomites. We’re lucky, weather-wise. The cloud clears, revealing Mt Pelmo in all its ancient magnificence, along with its twin Mt Pelmitta (little Pelmo). 

Having left the Alta Via 2 at Malga, today we join the Alta Via 1, the most accessible and popular high route in the Dolomites. It’s known as the ‘fairyland’ of the Alps. For a time, we follow a centuries-old cobblestoned road, lined with grasses and wildflowers. The higher we climb, the harsher the environment. A dark grey slash in a stony grey landscape marks the traces of an old glacier.

We stop at Rifugio Coldai for a coffee and an excellent Sacha torte before rejoining the trail. A group of about 20 walkers, members of an Italian alpine club, crowd the narrow path to the picnic area above the glacial Lake Coldai. No one is swimming, but people are paddling in the lake’s shallows and sunbathing on its shore. Young boys, like young boys everywhere, skip stones across the lake’s surface.

From here, we sidle around the bases of several towering rock faces, all over 2,500 metres and some over 3,000 metres. Birds of prey hover at a great height, guarding the abyss.

Rifugio Tissi, where we are staying tonight, is on a high, isolated ridge. It has views of the Marmolada and Sella to the west, and looks out on the changing colours of the spectacular west wall of the Civetta. We expect to be sleeping in a crowded dormitory, but in a show of age-related empathy, our host assigns us to a quieter, more comfortable room. The only appropriate response to the stunning location and our upgraded accommodation is to toast our good fortune. Saluti! 

Day 24: Tissi to Passo Duran (18 km)

Heavy rain overnight and no let-up this morning. A warning of worse weather to come. The precursor to another dramatic day in the Dolomites. After a basic breakfast, we don our wet-weather gear and step out into the storm. What was the track is now a fast-flowing stream, making the rocky ground unstable and keeping our feet dry an impossibility. 

The rain clears, and for a time we wind our way through an enchanted forest of wildflowers and aromatic conifers: fir, spruce and larch. The cloud lifts, to reveal the Torre Trieste, the ‘Tower of Towers’. Dizzingly vertical, with some of the toughest climbs in the Dolomites, its powerful walls rise more than 700 metres from the base. It’s a place where only climbers and golden eagles dare to tread.  

At Rifugio Vazoller, a climbers’ hangout, we run into Charlie and Holly, two walkers from the UK with whom we shared stories over dinner last night. They’re in a predicament. They need cash to pay for their accommodation this evening, but Rifugio Vazoller’s internet is out, and there’s no way to withdraw money in this remote location. Because there’s an underlying trust between people walking the same long-distance trail, we lend them €100. Later, we realise we don’t have their contact details. If they fail to repay us, we’ll have no recourse. At heart, we’re not worried, but we’re pleased when the money lands in our account a few days later.

After Rifugio Vazoller, the rain holds off, but the trail becomes more challenging and remains that way for the rest of the day. Every kilometre we walk feels like five. For hours, we navigate rockslides, ascending and descending relentlessly. There’s thunder off in the distance and the risk of an electrical storm. The track is a tangle of tree roots and red mud. An alpinist wrote that the secret to traversing mountains is to focus on how far you’ve come, rather than how far you have to go. It’s sound advice, but on this long, tough day, it’s hard not to think ahead to Venice. It seems so far away that imagining being there is more of a fever dream than grounded in reality.

Mythical mountains. Rocks that look like they’re inscribed with ancient text. Monumental boulders that have fallen from a great height. On one side of the road, an elaborate wrought iron cross. On the other side, a photo of a farmer with his dog. Underneath is a WWII plaque that reads in part: Here G.C. of Pelsa dell Agnola Candido was brutally killed. His loved ones remember.

The rain returns, and we arrive at Passo Duran wet and covered in mud from slipping and sliding down the steep last section of the trail. Because accommodation is tight, we’re spending two nights here. It’s not ideal, but as it plays out, it spares us another wet day on the trail. The rain has dampened people’s spirits, except for a five-year-old who walked several kilometres with his family today. He’s gleeful about the rain and the opportunity it provides to ‘taste wet rocks’.

Day 25: Passo Duran

There are two rifugios at Passo Duran. Looking to entertain ourselves for the day, we wander from one to the other for a change in scenery. Mid-morning, a burly road worker drops into the remote Rifugio San Sebastiano and orders a prosecco. We’re amused. It’s not common to see tradies drinking sparkling wine in Australia (particularly not during the working day). 

The rain is unceasing. Only the cows are unbothered. Released from their wintering barns, they roam the high meadows, feeding on the lush green pasture: their bells, the soundtrack of our Dream Way. The practice of tying bells to the necks of animals is ancient and practical. The rhythm of the clanging allows shepherds to keep their animals under control. A slow, rhythmic sound marks the normal life of the herd, while a rapid or irregular ringing indicates danger. The bells are also a vital tool for orientation in fog, and an antidote to solitude. The sound breaks the deep silence of the landscape and allows shepherds to keep at ‘ear distance’ and feel connected.

Day 26: Passo Duran to Rifugio Pian de Fontana (18 km)

Many of those who slept at the rifugio last night are ending their walk here. Defeated by the mud and the inclement weather, they take advantage of the access to one of the few exit points on the Alta Via 1. The local taxi company will be ferrying people down off the mountain all morning.

With no sign of a break in the weather, we set off in the rain. Again. Today’s route takes us into the heart of the Belluno Dolomites National Park. If it weren’t for the slippery track and the rain, the path would be idyllic. It’s strewn with wildflowers and meanders through pine forests with an understory of ferns and blueberries. We pass an emergency shelter, a partially-concealed mysterious stone enclosure, and an abandoned military barracks. Up higher, the rain dissolves into mist, and dwarf pencil pines replace the tall trees of the forest. An upland basin carved by a glacier opens up. We walk around it, two insignificant specks in a vast landscape of dazzling, white scree. Rugged peaks pierce the sky. Switchbacking, we climb up to Forcella del Moschesin, then down an undulating grassy path to Rifugio Sommariva al Pramperet. The placements on our lunch table feature a quote from Walter Bonatti: The higher you climb, the further you see; the further you see, the longer you dream!

After a bowl of hot, nourishing soup, we step out into swirling mist and start the climb to Forcella de Zità Sud at 2,402 metres. It’s steep, but enlivening. We’re drawn to the wildness and harsh beauty of the landscape. The views from the top of the pass are breathtaking; a narrative of mountains if you know how to read the Dolomites. On a clear day, you can see the Adriatic and Venice from here (or so it is said). 

On the other side of the pass, it’s sunny with a deep blue sky. The mossy green world of the Van de Zità de Fora replaces the broken limestone country we’ve been traversing. It’s like stepping into The Lord of the Rings. The whistling of marmots. Chamois poised warily on the scree slopes. A long, stony descent to the Rifugio Pian de Fontana. 

At dinner, we sit with a family ending their 11-day journey on the Alta Via 1. The mother is from Galicia, the father from Scotland, but they now live and work in the Netherlands. Their engaging 9-year-old and 11-year-old (fluent in Spanish, English and Dutch) invite us to a game of cards. We spend the evening playing Switch and chatting about their days on the trail; an experience they all regard as precious. Only the gathering darkness sends us out into the night to find our dormitory. 

Day 27: Rifugio Pian de Fontana to Belluno (10 km)

Everyone is up early, full of anticipation. By day’s end, all those walking the Alta Via 1 will have finished. We still have far to go, but we’re looking forward to a day off the trail in Belluno. We farewell our card-playing companions and start the long walk down to the road. The sun is coming up over the peak behind the rifugio as we set off. A series of winding paths takes us across an alpine meadow, over a swift-flowing river, and into the forest. There, we come across a troubled-looking, bare-chested man carrying an axe. We trust that he’s here to cut firewood, rather than create mayhem. 

A quick stop for coffee and cake at Rifugio Bianchet before continuing the descent. All is quiet, except for the bird song emanating from deep within the forest. The last kilometre or two is a scramble, but we make it to the bus stop in the middle of nowhere in time to catch the bus to Belluno. There’s a gaggle of other walkers catching the same bus, young Americans in the main, coming off the Alta Via 1. Belluno is aglow with storm light when we arrive. After skipping the freezing-cold shower on offer last night, we enjoy a hot shower, put on clean clothes, and find somewhere open for dinner. We’re 27 days into our Dream Way walk now, our shoes are shredded, and there’s a weariness in our bodies that we know we’ll carry through to Venice.

Day 28: Belluno

Belluno is the largest town we’ve been in since we left Munich four weeks ago. We do little other than wander the streets and sit in bars, drinking coffee in the morning and prosecco in the afternoon. All around are fine Renaissance and Baroque buildings. The city gate we look out onto pays homage to Dante, the revered Italian poet. In his allegorical Divine Comedy, Dante journeys through Hell, Purgatory and Paradise to arrive at a place of luminosity, a place that some Dream Way walkers hope to find themselves at the end of their challenging journey across the Alps.  

Day 29: Belluno to Rifugio Col Visentin (17 km)

Leaving Belluno through Dante’s gate, we take an escalator down to the car park below the town and cross the wide, glacial-blue Piave river. Before reaching the Venetian plains, we have one last mountain to climb, and one last alpine hut to shelter in overnight. Walking up through small villages and in and out of forests, we come to the ski resort town of Nevegal. As we emerge from the forest, a wave of warm air greets us. The sun lights up the mountain pass on the other side of the valley, revealing a portal to a hidden domain. 

We follow a contoured route for several kilometres before meeting a path that takes us up the last tough ascent of the Dream Way, to Rifugio Col Visentin at 1,764 metres. As we climb, we pause to take in the superb views of the granite peaks of Tre Cime, the Dolomites’ most iconic mountains. Kestrels hang suspended, prayer-like in their pose. Their Holy Spirit flight involves rapid, slight wingbeats, a fanned tail, and a fixed gaze, allowing them to scan below for prey.

The Rifugio Col Visentin is a bizarre structure. Part lighthouse, part rifugio, and part military complex, the largest of its many high-tech communication towers belonged to Berlusconi, media tycoon and controversial former Prime Minister of Italy.

Felix, a fellow Dream Way walker whom we haven’t met before, is the only other person staying at the rifugio this evening. It’s his first long-distance walk and his first time walking alone. He says it’s been a transformational experience, opening him up to other people and opportunities in ways he never imagined.

The hosts of the rifugio are honey gatherers and foragers of mountain plants used to infuse grappa. Large glass demijohns of strange, dark concoctions at various stages of aromatisation line the walls of the bar and dining room. We get the impression that foraging, rather than hosting, is what keeps them here. 

Day 30: Col Visentin to Tarzo (18 km) 

A glimmer off in the distance. The fabled Venetian lagoon and the sea.

Leaving the rifugio, there’s a sign warning that the road ahead is ‘without security guards’. Why the need for guards, we wonder? Are there bandits or wild animals on this remote path? It’s a ‘lost in translation’ moment. Later, we realise the sign is alerting drivers that the narrow, gravel road has no guardrails. It’s renowned for being a scary drive, with hairpin bends and unprotected drops of hundreds of metres.

We follow the stony, white road as it zig zags down the mountain, then take the path that weaves its way around the green flank of a hill. Low clouds drift across the landscape. Cows graze in the meadows. Sheep huddle together in a holding pen, a shepherd’s caravan close by. We walk past a memorial to a brigade whose members died for the Resistance in 1944. Down through beech forests with an understory of wild cyclamen and white daisies. Then a steeper and rougher track. Down 1,670 metres, the last steep descent of the Dream Way. The forest is reclaiming abandoned farm land. Debris that washed down in the recent heavy rain covers parts of the track. 

Down out of the mountains, we enter a different world. The sun is warm; the morning suffused with bright green light. The Glera grapes used for making Prosecco are ripening. Once the hills drop away and our feet feel the terrain flatten, we fall into a more familiar rhythm. Cicadas and bird song accompany our walk.

In the small town of Revini, the proprietor of Bar Al Ponte picks us as Dream Way walkers. She’s impressed by our efforts and shouts us an espresso to fuel the last few kilometres to Tarzo. We arrive looking as weathered as the mountains. The owner of the Al Pini B&B is less than impressed with our scruffy appearance, but once she realises we have a reservation, she smiles and pours us a refreshing cold drink. After a shower, we enjoy a local prosecco on a shady terrace overlooking the town. 

Day 31: Tarzo to Ponte della Priuā (29 km) 

Another Dream Way walker appears at breakfast. Like some others we’ve met, he’s intent on walking every step of the way, from Munich to Venice. To avoid a short ferry ride across the Venice Lagoon, he’s ignoring the guidebook and taking a longer route to the east. 

The morning is green and cool as we walk through the undulating Prosecco Hills, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2019. It’s a serene landscape, shaped by centuries of viticulture and the interplay between human endeavour and nature. Much of the forest remains, creating a mosaic of vineyards, woods, and loveliness.

We continue to the smaller hills of San Daniele-Tombola, overlooking the Piave River. It was here, in 1917, that the beaten and scattered Italian army reformed and defeated the Austro-Hungarians in a nation-defining battle. The Piave became part of Italian legend when, in 1918, Italian troops repelled another attack in a battle that turned the tide of the war, leading to victory, the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and huge territorial gains for Italy.   

Arriving at the Piave River floodplains, we scamper up to the top of the levee bank that protects towns from flooding. On either side, orchards and crops flourish: apples, pears, figs, hazelnuts, walnuts, berries, corn, and potatoes.

For part of the afternoon, we walk alongside a busy tarmac road. Military planes and helicopters rip through the sky above us. The terrain flattens, but the kilometres are endless, and the heat intense. The epic nature of our days on the Dream Way continues.

Day 32: Ponte della Priulä to Bocca Callalta (26 km) 

A bright blue sky. A purple haze of wildflowers. The Dolomites are still visible, but in the far distance now. We walk all morning in a trance-like state, following the River Piave as it meanders towards the sea. White herons lift off from the blue river. 

A WW1 bunker, found and restored 100 years after the war. An entanglement of barbed wire. And quirky, naive sculptures, created from the detritus of war (including helmets shot through with bullet holes). The artworks are all the more poignant for being so homely.

The humidity builds, and with it, the likelihood of rain. Before long, an almighty thunderstorm breaks across the Venetian plains. We quicken our pace, but the storm outwits us. We take shelter in a barn, the lightning too close for comfort, the torrential rain too heavy to be out in. When the rain abates, two woodpeckers appear, like peace-doves. The wind rustles the leaves in the tree canopies.

Later, as darkness gathers, we ride the back country roads on borrowed bicycles, the air sultry, our mood carefree, dinner awaiting us.

Day 33: Ponte della Priulä to Jesolo (32 km) 

A sweet start to the day, with the most indulgent of breakfasts (including fruit cut into heart shapes), before setting out on the penultimate day of the Dream Way.

Tall, elegant Venetian towers begin to appear on the horizon. We walk the levee banks and byways, following the WW1 Austro-Hungarian/Italian front. It’s now a Walk of Peace, a hiking trail that connects the Alps to the Adriatic Sea. There’s a sign near Fossalta di Piave noting that at this place, during WW1, Ernest Hemingway was injured while working as an ambulance driver with the American Red Cross. That experience inspired A Farewell to Arms, the novel that secured Hemingway’s literary reputation. 

Our host predicted a fine day all the way to Jesolo. He’s mistaken, we conclude, as we trudge along a paved road between the River Piave and the Venice Lagoon in driving rain. For 15 kilometres, there’s no respite; no bar in which to seek shelter, not even a roadside seat to rest on for a few minutes. We’re forlorn. But the birds are happy. Leaning into the storm, they take advantage of the food on offer as roads turn to rivers and all manner of small creatures surface. 

At Jesolo, we take a bus back to Musile di Piave as there’s no closer accommodation. Although Musile di Piave abounds with historic sites, we’re too beaten to do anything but dry our sodden clothes, find somewhere to eat and set the alarm for an early start in the morning. 

Day 34: Jesolo to Venice (23 km) 

At first light, we catch the workers’ bus back to Jesolo to take up the Dream Way where we left it yesterday. Church bells ring out this Sunday morning. A plethora of wading birds flood the waterlogged fields.  

We walk through the rushes alongside the River Sile, following its slow flow to the sea. Large fishing nets attached to huts built on stilts over the water begin to appear on the lower part of the river. A fisherman explains how they lower the nets into the water to catch fish, squid, eels and crabs as river currents flow through them. It’s a practice with roots in ancient fishing and maritime traditions.

There’s a slowness to our footfall on this last day of the Dream Way. The flat path seems never-ending until a waft of salt air revitalises us. There, within reach, is the sparkling Adriatic Sea. We walk down to the shoreline, dip our toes in the turquoise water, and give thanks that the end of our epic journey is in sight. 

Across sand, past sparsely occupied lidos (private beach resorts), through a campground with a crowded water park and on to an asphalt path which we follow for several kilometres to the ferry terminal. 

The ferry ride across the lagoon to Venice is magical. The warm air is still, except for the soft murmurings of strange languages. Domes, bell towers and palaces rise out of the water. We disembark, marvel at the glittering city and make our way to Piazza San Marco for an outrageously expensive, celebratory spritz.

It’s sweet relief to be here. One of our fellow Dream Way walkers said about arriving in Venice: I felt everything, and I felt nothing. An enigmatic and apt response for the rush of emotions that overcome us after walking 600 kilometres from Munich, across high, exposed, glacier-cut mountains, alongside swift-flowing rivers, and through storms to Venice. After our spritz, we wander the labyrinth of lanes that lead off the Grand Canal, succumbing to the timeless, dreamlike quality of the floating city. It’s the perfect end to our journey. 

We don’t know it yet, but months after finishing, we’ll still be dreaming of mountains and shaking our heads at our audacity in walking the Dream Way.  

This is the second part of our Dream Way (the Traumpfad in German). You can read the first part where we walk across the Alps from Munich to the Italian border here

The Dream Way Part 1
The Dream Way Part 2