The Dolomites

Cadore: North to the Mountains

We left Venice early, heading north toward the Dolomites. We took a water taxi from San Marco, and then a short train ride into Mestre to rent a car. The drive from Mestre felt like a steady climb through layers of landscape and time. My great-grandparents came from Cadore, a group of small towns in the mountains near the Austrian border. The one that matters to my family is Vigo di Cadore, which includes the nearby village of Laggio di Cadore. It's where my children and I are registered as Italian citizens living abroad.

This part of the trip was the most personal. My grandmother, born in the United States to two Italians, had visited the area more than twenty years ago. She passed away several years back, but I inherited many of her documents and photos, including the photos and notes from her trip.

My grandmother had no interest in dual citizenship herself. She was deeply patriotic and skeptical of Italy's politics, but she was a primary and only living source of some of the records I'd eventually need, particularly my formerly estranged and now long-deceased father's name change. Without her, I wouldn't have been able to complete the application.

The citizenship process took seven years and more paperwork than I could have imagined. Perhaps in some cosmic fate plugged into my own sense of humor, my citizenship was recognized and approved on Election Day in 2020 while I was biting my nails waiting for the results to come in for the presidential race. A small but meaningful moment. Soon after, I registered my son, and later my daughter. It gives me some comfort to know that they'll have the option to live, study, or work in Italy someday if they choose.

Outside of fleeting daydreams, or more recently my political nightmares, I don't romanticize the idea of moving abroad permanently anymore. Maybe this is because I'm more settled now with a family and career, or maybe because I've moved great distances before and acquired the painful wisdom that life follows you wherever you go. There was certainly a time where I believed otherwise, but I no longer believe place alone can solve everything. Surely it can meaningfully impact an underlying mindset, opportunities, and even health. But it rarely will satisfy on its own, for any length of time, pangs of longing to be someone different. But I digress. Still, I can imagine spending longer stretches in Italy someday. Half a year at a time, maybe a summer as a family.

Cadore felt different from the Italy most travelers picture. The architecture leans alpine with its wooden chalets and steep roofs, deep balconies, and neatly stacked firewood. The language shifts between Italian and Ladin, a regional dialect still spoken there. We arrived between seasons, after skiing but before the summer hikers arrived in droves, so the towns were pretty quiet.

I visited Vigo and Laggio and found the building where my great-grandparents once lived after returning from Michigan. My great-great-grandmother, Ursula, disliked life in America and brought their family back to Italy after each successive birth of their five children, including my great-grandfather. I walked the narrow streets, stopped by the small cemetery, and learned that graves there aren't permanent. When a family's connection fades, remains are moved and space is reused. Practical, though it still caught me off guard.

We based ourselves in Cortina d'Ampezzo for this leg of the trip, about an hour away. It's more polished and commercial than Cadore and closer in feel to a ski town like Breckenridge, but it was a convenient base for a short visit. We stayed at the Franceschi Park Hotel, which was quiet in the off-season and surprisingly affordable.

The room looked out on snow-capped peaks, and the breakfast spread was the kind you remember (and we still talk about it). Fresh fruit, eggs, pancetta, espresso made to order, and honey dripping from the comb.

Late snow kept us from some of the higher hikes, but we made the best of it. Lago di Braies was a highlight. The drive was a bit long but idillic, with a calm, green lake ringed by mountains that greeted us upon arrival. This was the busiest place we visited in the Dolomites, likely with higher than usual traffic due to the other locations being inaccessible. We hiked the circle on foot, taking photos and pausing just to take it in.

That afternoon we crossed into Austria for lunch in Sillian, enjoying how language and signs shifted while the scenery and architecture remained unchanged, or at least in a way that was imperceptible to my unfamiliar eye.

Cortina itself was pleasant to walk in. In the evenings I explored while my wife rested, noticing the local schools, churches, and public spaces tucked among the boutiques. As a co-host of the next Winter Olympics, I noticed signs of change as hotels readied for guests and large cranes dotted the edge of town.

The area felt quiet and a bit subdued. Beautiful but in need of the next season to wake it up again. Still, it was meaningful to finally stand in the place where that part of my family's story began. The drive south the next morning felt less like leaving and more like closing a small loop and contemplating how I'll spend future visits to the area.