What happens when you take five Italians, one American and drive 500 kilometers to the north of Italy? “White Days”, that’s what!
A month or so after I arrived in Ancona I met a guy named Stefano through our mutual friend Massi and we happened to start talking about my snowboarding trip to Chamonix earlier in the year. He mentioned his family had a house in the Dolomites and would be happy to invite me out sometime. I didn’t think much of it until a couple weeks ago when an email arrived inviting me to “White Days”, a guy’s ski weekend scheduled for the last weekend in January. Time to zip-up the puffy coat, strap on the board, shred the pow-pow and hit some sweet jumps.
For the drive, we go north through Bologna (remember the arcades?), on through Brescia, turn right and head 40 or so kilometers into the Alps. The last part of the drive follows roads so narrow they give goats the creeps. On your way you’ll pass turns for the Gavia and Mortirolo passes. The Gavia is one of the most famous climbs of the Giro d'Italia. The Mortirolo is considered by many to be the toughest climb in Italy and on the list of the hardest climbs in all the Grand Tours. I admit I geeked out a bit when I saw the signs, especially knowing that on Saturday, 29 May, the second to last day of the Giro, Stage 20 will be following much of the same route as it races up the Gavia, through Ponte di Legno and on to the finish in Tonale. Road building philosophy seems to dictate going through, not around the mountains. The tunnels are endless. It’s not very Zen, but it is very efficient. Past village after village, each one smaller and a bit more charming than the last until you think you’re lost and driving in circles and you would swear you just saw that house and cobbled street minutes ago. And then you’ve arrived.
The village looks like a cliché to be honest but an Italian one, not Austrian or Swiss and takes its name from the bridge (Ponte) in the center of town. It's a nice enough little bridge that leads to the main piazza and church. As you cross, you see the birth of the Oglio river through the joining of the Frigidolfo and Narcanello streams. The Oglio eventually makes its way to the Po River and then the Adriatic Sea. In terms of size, the town feels a bit bigger than Government Camp but more developed and done in the style of Rustic Alps instead of Pioneer Pacific Northwest. There are the requisite souvenir and clothing shops for the tourists and butchers, bakers and candle-stick makers for the locals.
For you nerds, let me tell you a bit about the ski area. It’s really two areas in one, Ponte di Legno and Tonale separated by a ridge of mountains but joined by a 15 minute cable-car ride or an impressive 11 kilometer ski track. Together they make up a pretty big ski area. It is almost all above the tree line piste skiing. The runs are all quite long which encourages that particular European trait of stopping every 100 meters or so to gather and discuss life, turns, melancholy and fashion (or something like that). One piste is called "The Wall" (although that might just be Stefano’s personal name for it) and is supposedly one of the steepest on-piste runs in Italy at 62 degrees or something.
Saturday, Sunday and Monday followed a familiar routine. Greet the sun around 8 and eat a breakfast of fresh pastry and bread from the bakery, get dressed and be on the lifts by about 9. It was cold (down to -16 on Monday) but bluebird (a new expression for the Italians, along with the concept of a Butterface) with no wind and no new snow. Perfect for the on-piste skiing which they love but less than ideal for me and my hope for lots of fresh powder and off-piste shenanigans.
Our first night there we checked out the pizza and club scene, both disappointing. The beers in one liter mugs were not. On our second night we went to Cà del Re, a restaurant chosen by Stefano and that he has been visiting for years. The building and interiors were hand-made from stone and wood and the contrast with the white linens, cutlery and crystal was stark, forming a great setting for the meal that followed. Dinner was informed by suggestions from the chef and a few special made dishes: a bottle of red wine from the region, bruschetta with tomatoes and anchovies, tagliatelle with chestnuts and shaved radicchio, stuffed gnocci, steak fillet, venison with polenta and more porcinis, chestnut torte with chocolate sauce, cremalatte con mousse di fragole, winter fruit in a warm chocolate soup, grappa. It was a fantastic dinner that in this case supported the on-going boasting I constantly hear from my Italian friends regarding the superiority of Italian cuisine. We returned to Ancona late Monday afternoon and in the setting sun saw Lake Iseo surrounded by the glowing Alps, a fitting backdrop for a long weekend of snowboarding with five new friends.
The past two weeks in Italian lessons I’ve been learning the passato (past tense). It's just like French and makes sense but takes a bit of thinking to figure out the right combination of verbs and endings and of course most of the most common verbs are irregular so they don’t follow the standard conjugation rules and have to be memorized. This week I started learning all the exceptions to the rules. But now at least I can not speak in the present and the past.
Up next we take illegal photographs in the caves of Frasassi and eat wild boar in Genga.
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