January 25, 2019, I set out on a two-month journey to discover the vast crystalline lakes and breathtaking Alps of the Trentino-Alto Adige. I was enchanted by the narrow winding roads neatly tucked into the mountainside. I found myself hyperaware of my altitude as a sat in a window seat on the local public transport heading back to my little home in the village of Cadine. I could see the birds soaring above me, the clouds tightly hugging the crisp snow-covered mountain peaks- thousands of feet below me sat the quiet city of Trento engulfed in a myriad of dazzling lights. I clutched my biodegradable bag filled with an assortment of delectable cheeses from a family owned coop close to my chest in an effort to keep them from cascading onto the floor of the bus. The driver sped around the edge of the cliff sending pebbles plummeting down the mountain. The bus made a loud screech as we edged close to the thin railing. How exhilarating! I chuckled to myself as I wondered if I would make it to my stop alive. Daily life was filled with many things to discover, a short bus ride or a few miles walk welcomed another small town. I quickly discovered that comfortable walking shoes are a must after I blooded my toes smashing my fashionable boots into the merciless cobblestone. Cobblestone is the construction material of choice, some is smooth and newly laid, while others are historical artifacts worn into the ground jutting out haphazardly. The fresh brisk air was an invigorating change from the pungent odoriferous urine tinged eau de toilette of Milano, reminiscent of the trash filled streets of Manhattan, NY. I felt grounded and connected to my human experience as just another being in nature as I walked alongside apple orchards, fig trees, grape vines and ubiquitous rosemary. Almost everyone seemed to have a personal garden. Food was always fresh, homemade, locally sourced and organic- there was no need to seek it out and pay additional fees. The citizens show their value of low waste and low emissions by patronizing public transport, buying small cars, walking, religiously separating waste from recyclables, offering only biodegradable grocery bags made from plant material at a fee and encouraging the use of reusable totes readily accessible at the cash register. I delighted in joining the community effort of minimizing our carbon footprint. There’s a plethora of museums, monuments, and catholic churches with open visitation, but it was Le gallerie di Piedicastello that elevated me to an emotional plane. From its view from the road, it doesn’t immediately strike you as a gallery. It’s composed of two tunnels set inside a mountain. The entry tunnel on the right is black and the exit tunnel is white. Once inside, I was greeted by their welcome team who provided me with my free entry ticket, then I set off on my journey. Instead of the quiet meditative setting of a classical art gallery, I was met with dimness contrasted by strategically placed lighting fixtures, sound, projections and long canvas prints hanging from metal rods. It felt very industrial and modern. The photos and projections featured detailed captions in Italian. The highlighted theme is the history of war in Trentino-Alto Adige. The gallery spared no detail displaying the gruesome nature of war and its casualties. I peered deeply into the sorrowful eyes of the soldiers showing their poorly bandaged blown off limbs to the photographer and videographers. The images are in black & white, but there was no mistaking the blood and dirt that soils their garments. The display of thin metal helmets collected from the battlefield strewn with holes from fatal headshots brought me to tears, beckoning more emotion than the pretty paintings I had viewed in previous venues. My heart shattered as my tears crashed into the floor- my sniffles echoed, breaking the tension of the deafening somber silence. The gallery offered some relief with cheeky illustrations of sex workers who serviced the soldiers, a photo of men openly defecating in a trench, and plentiful propaganda posters. I tried desperately to compose myself, but the previous imagery stained my thoughts like blood on cotton.