It was due to be one of those dreamy autumn days in the Italian Dolomites, with crisp blue skies, so Craig and I woke before the sun to make the most of it. The temperature had dropped below zero and a thick layer of ice had formed on the windshield of our rented Fiat Panda. I grabbed a bank card from my purse and handed it to Craig who kindly scraped all of the ice away. 

As we wound our way south through the valley, steep rocky mountains rose around us and the summits started to turn a fiery red colour from the rising sun. 

Our plan for the day was to hike Tre Cime di Lavaredo, which is a 10km loop around the three rocky towers. 

Tre Cime is probably the most recognisable rock feature in the Italian Dolomites. It’s a triple peak formation, with the tallest spire standing at 2999m and it’s often the image used to advertise this dramatic region. 

Up until 1919 the towers formed part of the border between Italy and Austria-Hungary, but nowadays they mark the border between two Italian provinces. 

Tre Cime has become so popular that authorities began limiting the numbers by enforcing a €40 toll road that needed to be pre-booked. 

The problem was – we like to be flexible. I didn’t want to book ahead and find out it was strong winds and torrential rain. So we winged it, which of course led to all of the tickets selling out. 

Luckily we had plan B up our sleeve – we would attempt to hitchhike, and if it failed then we’d hike up, adding about 13km and a hell of a lot of elevation to an already long hiking day. 

Our alarms began making a racket at the crack of dawn, pulling us out of our slumber. We inhaled a bowl of cereal, hopped in our car and made our way down the steep track towards the start of our hike. The meadows glistened with a layer of frost, and the mountain tops began to blush a rosy pink as the sun hit them. 

We managed to nab one of the closest parking spots to the toll booth, so we just had a short walk up the road which passed a beautiful lake reflecting the surrounding peaks. All that was left for us to do was stick our thumbs out and try our luck. 

We didn’t want to waste too much time attempting to hitch because it would eat into precious daylight hours for such a long hike, so we agreed that we’d give up and walk if no one stopped after 30 minutes. 

Much to our surprise the third car picked us up and inside was a lovely couple from across the border in Austria. They were planning a much more adventurous day than us – rock climbing up the towers! 

It felt a little surreal when we stepped out of the car and stood beneath the mighty towers. They looked quite different compared to the famous photos, but I knew they’d almost warp and shape-shift as we circumnavigated them. 

Before we began the loop trail, we peeled off on a 5km detour to a viewpoint where a grassy ledge jutted out into the valley. A narrow, exposed trail led all the way to the end, where the ground abruptly dropped into hundreds of meters of open air. It was enough to give anyone vertigo. 

Across the valley though, was the most jaw-dropping view – a mountain range composed of sharp-sawtooth peaks piercing the sky. The goal for a cool photo was to have someone standing on the ledge with the spiky peaks looming behind like stone giants. 

We found a nice patch of grass to enjoy a flask of coffee while gawping at the view, I could have sat that all day, but we knew we had to get moving. 

The main loop trail was surprisingly busy with hikers, but who can blame them, it had clearly gained its popularity for good reason. The towers stood tall to our left, but as we curved around and made our way up the first pass they quickly changed shape, becoming narrower and taller. 

There were numerous rigugios dotted along the route but we’d packed so much food in anticipation of having to walk up the road that we didn’t need to buy anything, and just found a nice spot to enjoy our picnic. 

We were getting a little fed up with our normal sandwich fillings so we went for a big change and bought wraps, falafels, bean salad, humus and cucumber. It sounded delicious and I waited in anticipation for Craig to prepare the feast, but sadly so did some pesky black birds who continuously swooped us in an attempt to grab a bite. 

Ironically, our exciting menu for lunch turned out to be disgusting. The wraps were too thick and dry, the falafels had no flavour, the bean salad had such a strong flavour that it made my face scrunch up like I was eating a lemon, and the hummus had a strange twang. 

It was inedible, so we threw some to the pestering birds, and even they stuck their beaks up at it, choosing to fly elsewhere in search of a tastier picnic. 

We still had some trail mix, apples, and chocolate bars to eat so at least we had something to keep our rumbling bellies at bay. 

A short uphill section led us to the pass where we were hit by an arctic blast. There was a huge drop in temperature so we quickly put on our extra layers. We could now see the northern face of the towers, which were dusted in a layer of fresh snow. 

Ahead of us was our next goal – a rifugio with a bright red roof and a relatively flat route led us there. 

The setting of the rifugio was spectacular with sheer mountains almost encircling it and a couple of blue lakes in the rocky basin below. The rifugio also offered the classic photo of the towers, rising like a cathedral carved from stone. 

We were roughly halfway and our legs were already starting to ache. Craig was even more exhausted as he had mild food poisoning. 

It wasn’t bad like the times we got sick in India, but his belly wasn’t happy and he had less energy than normal, so he lay down in the meadow, the towers rising behind him while I wandered around taking more photos. 

The next section had us walking beside the northern face of the towers, and it was an exhausting route which undulated up and down over rocky terrain. We began laughing that we’d originally planned to walk up the road, which was 6km additional hiking – each way – and 600m elevation gain. 

Towards the north-western edge of the loop, we stood above three small lakes, each a different shade of green or blue with a crusty layer of ice on the surface. 

It wasn’t much further until we reached the large car park that marked the start of our hike, and we were hoping the end too, so we stuck our thumbs out and donned Cheshire Cat smiles. 

Again, it only took a few cars and this time a lovely couple from Portugal picked us up. We had some interesting conversations down the winding road, mostly about the devastating fires that have hit Portugal and the fire-resilient cork trees. Before we knew if we were bidding them farewell and thanking them profusely for picking up two strangers. 

A few stiff strides got us back to our trusty Fiat Panda and we began the scenic drive towards the Austrian border where our accommodation was. 

We couldn’t have picked a better place to stay and every day I was excited to get ‘home’ so we could sit on the flower-filled balcony and gawp at the mountain view. 

The apartment was set inside a traditional farmhouse that had been split into a couple of rental properties on the top floor and the family’s house beneath, where three generations lived together. 

It was very typical of the region and next to the main house was the animal barn where the cows were milked. 

I’m not sure why the buildings were so big but when we spoke to the owner about it he laughed and said “Oh no, this is small! You should see my neighbour’s farm.” 

After he saw our shocked faces he offered us a tour of the barn where the entire top half was used to store bales and machinery. All of the hay was cut by our host and his 85-year-old dad, mostly using a machine but on the steeper sections of land, they get out their trusty grim reaper-style scythe. 

The heat from the cows in the lower part of the barn comes up through the floorboards and helps dry the hay. It was all rather interesting for us non-farmers, and we even got to meet his 15 cows, including a couple of adorable calves. 

Each cow had their name written on their ear-tag, and a chalkboard above their milking area showing they’re stats, like when they were born and when they last had calves. 

They were milked every morning and evening, and at 6am on the dot, a truck would come up the steep country lane, stopping at every farmhouse to collect the fresh milk. 

After the cows had their morning milking they were free to roam the lush green pastures. It was really nice seeing the life these cows had – in comparison, big farms might kill their cows after four years when their milk supply drops, whereas some of our hosts cows were 12 years old. 

It was quite a novelty staying at a farm and going to sleep to the sound of cow bells jingling. There was even a gingham-lined wicker basket which we could place outside our door to request freshly baked bread, eggs, and raw milk to be delivered the following morning. 

After the tour of the farm, we shuffled up the stairs to our apartment, like an elderly couple struggling without our walking sticks. 

Now all that was left to do was pop the kettle on, grab a packet of biscuits and nestle into the seats on the balcony. We stayed out until the sun had set behind the glorious jagged peaks and then it was time to conjure up the energy to cook dinner, after all, our failed falafel picnic had left us with empty tummies for most of the day.