The Widows of the Frontier: the Engravings (2)

 Near the pass and along the mule tracks leading up from Ceresole Reale, it is still possible to identify the ruins of the former barracks and stone military posts, - and the engravings

When the waiting finally ended

There’s a second date worth setting beside Chaberton’s, further along the same wall of concrete and silence, three years later. On the night of 8–9 September 1943, hours after Italy’s armistice with the Allies was announced, a GAF colonel named Giovanni Jon — a Piedmontese, in command at Tarvisio on the wall’s opposite end, facing not France but the sudden, unwanted new enemy of Germany — sounded the alarm and gathered his men on the barracks square. He read them Marshal Badoglio’s proclamation and told them, in effect, that their war was starting now. None of the roughly three hundred men present objected. They held the position against an attacking Waffen-SS regiment for six hours. Twenty-four of them died there; forty-eight more were wounded.

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The Widows of the Frontier: Waiting for a War That Never Came (1)

 Emotional toll of Alpine Warfare. Look up. The mountains before you represent more than just indescribable beauty. They represent the pain and toil of their defenders.

Above Lago Agnel, at 2,300 metres, the ground stops pretending to be gentle. To the right, Punta Violetta climbs to 3,031 metres. To the left, lower and less dramatic, Colle Agnel sits at 2,510.

And somewhere between the two, tucked along the old military track before the Colle del Nivolet, a square of broken stone and concrete is still holding its shape against the mountain.

It doesn’t look like much. A collapsed wall here, a firing slit there, half-buried in rock that the retreating glaciers polished smooth ten thousand years before anyone thought to build on it. You could walk past it and mistake it for a shepherd’s ruin. It is, in fact, a listening post — a small fragment of one of the strangest defensive projects Italy ever attempted: the Vallo Alpino del Littorio.

A wall that was never tested

In 1931, with the memory of the First World War still raw and the newly built Maginot Line rising across the French border, Mussolini’s general staff ordered the construction of a defensive system that would eventually stretch the length of Italy’s Alpine border — from Ventimiglia on the Ligurian coast to Fiume on the Adriatic. It was meant to make the frontier, in the language of the original directives, “hermetic.” Impenetrable.

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It Takes Very Little to Become a Believer, in the Alps

 A classic survival yarn: the mountain has been testing people who think they own a piece of it

Up on the plateau, where everyone goes, there are lakes scattered everywhere. Normal people climb up from Rifugio Savoia and walk straight ahead, toward whichever lake the trail signs point to that day.

I, as usual, did not do what normal people do. I decided I wanted to see the other lakes — the ones off to the right, the ones nobody mentions.

It seemed only fair to start at the rifugio, since the rifugio itself is not quite what it looks like. Today, it’s a place where you buy a coffee and a slice of cake before a hike. A century and a half ago, it was a royal hunting lodge — one of the wooden houses Vittorio Emanuele II had built across this plateau in the 1860s, after declaring the entire Gran Paradiso massif his private hunting reserve. The king wanted the ibex for himself, and he wanted it badly enough to ban anyone else from touching it. It is one of those details history hands you for free: the same selfish decree that let one man shoot as many ibex as he liked is the reason the species survived at all, while it vanished from the rest of the Alps. 

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The Pagan Magic of the Walnut Tree

 There’s something about Italy that makes people want to believe in magic again. On witch-hunts, wish-granting, and what happens when modern women chase ancient magic

There is a walnut tree that grows over a gorge in the mountains between Salerno and Benevento. I know this because I danced around it with four other women on a Thursday afternoon, and the universe answered back.

Italy’s ‘Child Queens,’ Sealed in Stone

 Across northern Italy, some of the oldest stones in the region hold secrets from a distant past, where children were interred with reverence and ceremony.

The path through the woods above Roppolo is carpeted in copper leaves, and the winter light falls thin through the bare chestnuts.

The Hierarchy of Mountain Gods

Walk into any landscape that's bigger and more powerful than you are—any mountain, any ocean, any desert, any forest dark enough to remind you that you're not actually in control—and boots up.

Where Triangles Point to Heaven

The wild boars weren't expecting company for dinner. Neither was I hoping to find myself clinging to a rocky slope in the Italian Alps.

No proper path beneath my feet, just brambles and determination, chasing a mysterious temple that hung somewhere above my head like a promise. But that’s what happens when you follow Federico Rosazza’s ghost through the mountains near Biella.

In 1850s Italy, while most politicians were content with Rome’s marble corridors, Senator Federico Rosazza was building roads through impossible terrain. Not just any streets—sacred paths connecting the Sanctuary of Oropa to the Sanctuary of San Giovanni, including a tunnel carved through solid mountain. Along this route, perched on a scenic overlook that only a man possessed by grief and mysticism would choose, he built something strange: the Tempietto del Belvedere.

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Tagliere — The Mountains' Shared Board

In Italy, time isn't chased—it's shared. The tagliere, a rustic wooden board laden with simple abundance, invites you to slow down, one bite at a time. 

A Weekend in Acqui Terme: Time Slows Where Warm Waters Flow

In the Piedmont hills, where Romans once soaked their weary bones, a small town keeps ancient secrets bubbling just beneath the surface.

Mountains Are Born from The Graves of Oceans

Water that tastes of vanished oceans, flowing toward a sea that inherited the dreams of Tethys. The green stones of Monviso are not alone in their exile.

[Continued from "The Stone Heart of Italy"]

 

The Stone Heart of Italy

From the hills above Turin, from the ancient terraces of Biella, even on the clearest days, from the distant spires of Milan, one mountain alone commands the western horizon.

Not the highest peak in the Alps—that honor belongs to Mont Blanc—but the most imperious, the most solitary, the most impossible to ignore.

A Secret Germanic Tribe That Hid in Italy's Mountains

 That's like finding a Viking who still worshiped Thor during the Renaissance. So I went full Indiana Jones to uncover their story… and it's wilder than Game of Thrones.

Theodolinda Cycle (scene No. 10) by ZAVATTARI, Franceschino

Adventures in the Alps: Discovery, Height Limits, and Hidden Charm

Life’s most incredible adventures often come by chance, and my recent trip through the breathtaking Alps was no exception.

Colle del Nivolet

The Ancient Secrets of Two Aosta Valley's Castles

Forget the crowded canals of Venice or the endless queues of Florence. There’s a quieter, more ancient Italy waiting to be discovered, nestled deep in the northwestern Alps: the Aosta Valley

A Silence of Stone: Giovanni Fieschi at the Castle of Saint-Germain

 Those were hard times, and neither side was made of “saints”. Iblet de Challant had a reputation as a hard and pragmatic man, not “courteous” to enemies. Giovanni Fieschi was not an innocent victim.

The Hippopotamus on the Mountain: An impossible journey of the Italian soldiers of the WWI

High in the Adamello range, where the wind howls and the snow never truly melts, stands an ancient sentinel of war—a cannon known as “L'Ippopotamo.” For nearly a century, climbers ascending Cresta Croce at 3,300 meters have stumbled upon this rusting relic, a silent witness to a feat of sheer determination and madness.