When you come to the Dolomites for winter walking, it’s with the intention of having spellbinding snow-streaked peaks that are unlike anything else in the Alps as your constant companion. But with impenetrable cloud and heavy rain forecast, it was hard not to feel deflated.
Then again, this was Italy, where it’s easy to make the best of things whatever the weather. And the 3 Zinnen Dolomites ski resort and nature park – right on Italy’s border with Austria, about two-and-a-half hours north of Venice, is always charming, with the usual jumble of cultures you see in South Tyrol. Part Italian, it’s more Austrian thanks to the legacy of the Habsburgs, who ruled this part of Italy until 1918. Hence most places have an Austrian and an Italian name, 3 Zinnen or Tre Cime (meaning three peaks) being a case in point. It’s the home of Ladin, an ancient Romance language, too.
Illustration: Guardian Graphics
Of the five villages that make up 3 Zinnen Dolomites, I was staying in the largest, San Candido (or Innichen), which looked as Austrian as could be – onion-domed church and pastel-coloured, richly detailed houses you would see in Salzburg. Even under leaden skies, it was a pretty place, its pedestrianised centre filled with classy shops selling cashmere and leather goods and, happily, an impressive number of delis stocking high-quality (but not necessarily high-priced) regional food. The sort that makes you want to move to Italy.
San Candido is in the shadow of some of the Dolomites’ most dramatic peaks. Photograph: Matteo Martinazzoli/Alamy
Keeping an eye on the weather was simple from my balcony at Hotel Leitlhof overlooking San Candido, with a view of the village’s ski slope and snippets of the Dolomites between the clouds. All five villages are connected by bus and some by train, with links to 3 Zinnen’s various ski areas, cross-country ski trails and high-altitude walking trails that don’t even require snowshoes.
One of those buses took me to Signaue, where I caught glimpses of faintly blue sky as the cable car whizzed me up to Stiergarten at 2,100m. Turning my back on the skiers at the top, I followed a signposted walking trail that took me slowly back down the mountain. The only other prints in the fresh snow were of a four-legged creature, possibly a hare or a fox. Occasionally, the clouds would swirl and a rugged peak would poke into view before being obscured again. But in this winter wonderland, those atmospheric clouds were playing as much of a starring role as the mountains they were shrouding.
The only sound was my boots in the snow as I descended into pine woods. Light snow was falling again and it whetted my appetite for lunch at Skihütte Henn-Stoll (or Baita Pollaio) at the foot of the cable car. I fell on a plate of Knödel/canederli – dumplings packed with cheese and melted butter served with a cabbage salad flavoured with caraway seeds. This was classic Ladin mountain comfort food.
The writer on the path down from Stiegarten. Photograph: Adam Batterbee
March’s longer days meant the sun hadn’t quite set on San Candido when it was time for the early-evening passeggiata and aperitivo. Thrillingly, it actually made an appearance, bringing a warm glow to the mountains rising behind those beautiful Austrian-style houses before dusk exposed the full moon to midnight-blue skies. Pure magic.
The next morning I took the bus to the cable car in the neighbouring village of Versciaco (Vierschach), another 3 Zinnen ski area. At Helm (or Monte Elmo), I stumbled into Narnia: a trail through pine woods. It was soothing to shuffle gently through the snow and think about lunch.
At the rear of Helm Restaurant, beyond the self-service area, was the gourmet section, which was only about 10% more expensive and a lot quieter. Chunky ridged swirls of maccheroncini pasta came with a veal ragù, porcini and a dusting of hazelnuts, and the South Tyrolean rye flatbread called Schüttelbrot which zinged with fennel and cumin. The robust flavours were a perfect match for the misty mountains.
Opening the curtains on my last morning was like waking up on Christmas Day. Snow had covered everything. I was on the bus to Val Fiscalina to follow a trail through larch forests. As it was Saturday, I seemed to have been joined by half the population, all apparently with the same destination – Talschlusshütte, a charmingly rustic restaurant in the woods (open Christmas to Easter). I had been warned not to be late and lose my table; since San Candido local boy Jannik Sinner became the world No 1 tennis player and word went out that his father had been the chef at Talschlusshütte, the restaurant’s popularity has soared, even if Sinner Senior is no longer in the kitchen.
Spinach dumplings (knödel) with cream cheese and speck are a local speciality. Photograph: Fabrizio Troiani/Alamy
Whoever was in the kitchen knew how to make a mean bacon knödelandthe clear herby broth it was served in. The penne with the house ragù of aubergines, courgettes and mushrooms was piled high, turning me into a contented dumpling.
Buoyed up by grappa that tasted more like herby génépi, I walked back to the bus. The clouds were on the move. I turned round to catch a glimpse of a mountain, then another, then another. Finally, just hours before I was to go home, the 3 Zinnen – or Tre Cime, three peaks – revealed themselves in all their jagged glory. I whooped in joy, then turned round again and they were gone.
On the lamp-lit steps of a sombre gothic church, a young woman stands before a microphone. Beside her, a man plucks a slow melody from his guitar. Arrayed on chairs and cobblestones in front of them, a large crowd sits in an expectant silence. From a nearby balcony, laundry sways in the sultry Calabrian breeze.
The guitar quickens, and the woman issues a string of tremulous notes with all the solemnity of a muezzin. She clutches a hand drum, beating out a rhythm that draws the crowd to its feet. As people surge forward, stamping and whirling around the square, the singing intensifies and the drum’s relentless thud deepens. The festival of Sustarìa has begun.
“Sustarìa is a word in the dialect of Lago,” says Cristina Muto, who co-founded the festival in summer 2020. “It is a creative restlessness, which doesn’t let you sit still.” We’re speaking at a drinks party the evening before the annual event, on a terrace overlooking Lago’s clay-tiled roofs, when her brother Daniele appears with a jug of local wine in hand. “Welcome to Lagos Angeles, Calabrifornia,” he winks, pouring me a cup.
‘Creative restlessness’ … The festival of Sustarìa, in Lago.
Lago is a hilltop village in the province of Cosenza, overlooking the Mediterranean. It’s surrounded by sprawling olive groves and small plots where families cultivate figs, chestnuts and local grains. Cristina and Daniele were born and raised in this grey-stoned hamlet, a medieval outpost of the Kingdom of the Lombards. Although their pride in Lago is palpable, few of the Laghitani I meet live here all year round. Like many young people from southern Italy, they have left in search of opportunities that are scarce in Calabria.
It’s against this backdrop that Cristina co-founded Sustarìa. “The trend is longstanding and severe,” she tells me, “but people still live here, and there are communities that thrive despite the problems. If more people stay or return, things will get better.” By spotlighting the allure of the region’s heritage, she hopes to play a part in this.
With agriculture historically shaping Calabria’s economy and its inhabitants’ daily lives, many traditions have agrarian roots. The dance that erupted on the festival’s first night was the tarantella. It features distinctive footwork, with dancers kicking their heels rapidly. “It’s a dance of the field workers,” Cristina says. “Some say it began as a way to sweat out venom from spider bites during harvests; others say tired workers in need of a creative outlet danced slowly and just with their feet, and over time the pace and range of movement increased.”
Olive groves at Agriturismo Cupiglione which offers guest rooms close to Lago
The vocals on display that night told of another aspect of the region’s history: its frequent colonisation. Calabria was variously conquered by Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Normans, Arabs, Lombards and Bourbons. The folk songs we heard were replete with Greek scales and Arabic cadences, a melting pot of Mediterranean timbres.
After the concert, the crowd migrated to a field by a small waterfall on the outskirts of Lago for dinner featuring regional dishes: rosamarina (the pescatarian version of nduja, known as “Calabrian caviar” made from tiny fish); fried courgette flowers; cipolla rossa di Tropea (red onions from the popular beachtown of Tropea); and pecorino crotonese, a sheep’s cheese from the Crotone province.
Over dinner I spoke with two other festival organisers, Claudia and her husband Alberto. Claudia, a Lago native, returned permanently, after a career in aerospace engineering, to run the B&B Agriturismo Cupiglione with Alberto. Nestled in woodland a few kilometres from Lago, Cupiglione was founded 25 years ago by Claudia’s parents as a restaurant with guest rooms. After closing during the pandemic, it was renovated and reopened in 2023 as a B&B with seven rooms for up to 18 guests (doubles from €40). The change in direction paid off, and Cupiglione has since welcomed hundreds of visitors to the area, evenly split between Italian and international travellers.
During my stay, I’m lodging in a house on the edge of Lago, thanks to the Sustarìa team. Hospitality runs deep during the festival; organisers open up their homes and those of their relatives to anyone who enquires through social media. Other options abound during the festival and year-round, including B&Bs such as Cupiglione and A Casa di Ely (doubles from €60), a short walk from where I stayed.
A musician playing the zampogna, an ancient form of bagpipes. Photograph: Valentina Procopio
The following afternoon, I return to the field before aperitivi, where I meet up with Cristina, who explains the growth of her initiative: “Initially, it was just locals who came to Sustarìa, but then people from other parts of Italy and even other countries started coming. Every year it grows.” This year, there are nearly 600 people in attendance.
Eric, a Londoner studying in Zurich, is one such international guest. Eric also attended Felici & Conflenti, a festival in late July hosted by friends of the Sustarìa team, which focuses on preserving and reviving the region’s ancient music. It has held 11 editions over as many years, each one featuring a winter and summer instalment, to which more people flock each year. It takes place in Conflenti, a small inland village nestled at the foot of the Reventino mountain, at the confluence of two small rivers (hence its name).
“Thanks to their work and research, instruments that were becoming extinct, like the zampogna [Italian bagpipe], are finding new life,” Cristina says.
The three of us sit chatting over plates of crisp taralli(wheat crackers)as twilight fades, and a reedy piping starts up from across the field. I stroll over, and catch sight of someone playing the zampogna, which looks like a set of bagpipes improvised from foraged materials, and is truly ancient – it counts the Roman emperor Nero among its historical admirers.
The next morning, we head to the hilltop town of Fiumefreddo Bruzio, a short drive from Lago and officially recognised as one of “Italy’s most beautiful villages”. Clinging to the western slopes of the Apennines, this medieval village offers panoramic views of the swelling coastline, which traces the Tyrrhenian Sea. Its narrow, meandering streets are lined with squat houses made of the local grey stone, quarried from the surrounding mountains. We wander around Il castello della Valle, a sprawling 13th-century Norman castle partly destroyed by Napoleonic troops, but retaining a splendid portale Rinascimentale – or Renaissance gate – still in excellent condition.
Castello della Valle in Fiumefreddo Bruzio, one of ‘Italy’s most beautiful villages’. Photograph: Yuriy Brykaylo/Alamy
At Palazzo Rossi, on the edge of town, we take a seat at a cafe and sip local craft beer as we admire the view of the active volcano Mount Stromboli, across the water.
“You should see it in the winter,” Cristina says. “The air is cooler, so it becomes even clearer. Everything here is completely different in the winter, but most people don’t see it as visitors come mainly in the summer,” she adds with a note of regret.
The sun starts to sink into the horizon. In the square, a band starts setting up for an evening gig. A waiter brings over a plate of bread and olives to our table, on the house. “Things are quieter but not empty. There are almost as many events as in summer. And you get to see how the locals live during the rest of the year.” Cristina tears off a piece of bread. “And, of course, the hospitality never changes – people are always welcomed with open arms.”
Sustarìa will return to Lago for its sixth instalment on 1-3 August 2026. There is a winter edition of Felici & Conflenti in Calabria on 27-29 December 2025; its next summer instalment is in July 2026
Tropea in the Calabria region of Italy has recently been voted the prettiest village in the whole country
Tropea has been voted Italy’s most beautiful town
Few places can be beaten for splendour than the duomo in Florence, and turning a corner to be greeted by the Colosseum in Rome would take anyone’s breath away.
Travel to Italy and you’re never far from a spectacular sight – be that the shores of Lake Garda, which as a dyed in the wool Cumbrian even I have to admit looks like the Lake District on steroids, to the canals, gondolas and majestic cathedral of Venice, and Verona’s amphitheatre and Juliette’s balcony to the high end shops of Milan, there really is something for everyone.
But venture a little of the beaten track, and escape the hordes of tourists battling for an inch of beach in the Amalfi coast, to travel south to the untapped and undiscovered region known as Calabria and you’ll step into the ‘real Italy’ – and back in time.
One of the crown jewels of this region, which is Italy’s poorest, is the stunning medieval town of Tropea, where I was lucky enough to spend a blissful week. And it’s not just me who’s a fan, the town was recently voted the prettiest in Italy, which I think we can all agree means it was up against some stiff competition.
Nestled into the cliffs above the Tyrrhenian Sea, this ancient town tumbles down the rock face and into the turquoise blue of the ocean.
Surrounded by stunning golden beaches with plenty of room to feel like you have them to yourself, this town has a magical dream-like quality.
Tropea has survived it all – invasions, earthquakes and bombings – to stand proud on the clifftops. Its array of noble palaces and stunning churches, all contained within the winding, cobbled streets of the old town.
I was lucky enough to spend a week in Calabria with Tropea as my base. A glorious sunny October afternoon spent strolling through its streets, with secret, hidden alleys at every turn, and sampling the delicious food from the region, including the sweet, red onions and spicy ndjua, was an utter delight.
Stopping for one of the most delicious ice-creams I’ve ever eaten while overlooking the awe-inspiring Tyrrhenian from one of the many viewing points in this quaint little town quite simply took my breath away. Meanwhile, stopping for a crisp, white wine in an ancient tavern half way up the cliff face on my way back from the beach was the perfect way to while away a few hours.
If it’s history you’re after, then Tropea has it in bucketloads – from the cathedral to the Sanctuary of Santa Maria dell’Isola, the church on the rock, gazing out into the wide expanse of azure sea.
From the incredible viewing points, you have an amazing view of Stomboli, the still erupting volcano which lights up the night sky every evening off this part of the coast of Italy.
I have but one complaint about this undiscovered, Italian hidden gem – and that’s that I don’t live there and only got to spend a week wandering its beautiful streets.
