By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
I feel like the only person alive as I walk along a winding, desolate highway in the mountains of northern Italy at 3 a.m. The rhythm of my breath and footsteps are all I hear, like a mantra. The soft glow of my phone map guides me through the warm, moonlit summer night. The staggering Monte Toc mountains are my quiet witnesses. Known as the “walking mountain” by locals due to frequent landslides, it was host to one of the worst man-made environmental disasters in history. To reach shelter, I will need to walk 18 miles from Longarone to Belluno through these mountains all night until sunrise. The locals couldn’t have picked a more apt name. I would have much preferred the 30 minute car ride over the seven hour walk. Back home in San Francisco, I could easily make a stranger appear and give me a ride using just my thumbs and a phone. There are some things can only be learned after an unplanned evening of drinking with friends, such as taxis don't run late and hotels close for the night. Younger me would have slept in front of the train station like the 20-year-old dreadlocked European backpacker girls did that night. Late-30’s me knew that a treacherous walk through the night along a highway was a much better idea. I don’t hitchhike nor do I pick up hitchhikers. As an introvert, I detest forced conversations with no easy exit. But in a moment of desperation, I half-heartedly stand by the road and stick out my thumb, resulting in another lesson best learned at 3 a.m in the mountains of Italy: drivers don’t stop to offer rides to disheveled men with hesitant thumbs. A police car drives past and circles back to question me, eventually sending me on my way after taking pity on my poor attempts at speaking Italian. After walking for some time, my map takes me off the main highway onto a dirt path leading into what looks like a pitch black forest. The light from my rapidly dying phone becomes my only guide. Right on cue, I hear rustling in the bushes and scurrying sounds of either animal or human feet, leading to an insight best learned alone in a creepy forest: technology can do many things but it cannot prevent the feeling of true fear. I trudge ahead and the map miraculously guides me safely back to the main road. Only after my adrenaline subsides do I realize how hungry and thirsty I am. As the mountains give way to the orderly streets of a small town, there appears, like a mirage in the desert, a vending machine on the side of the road. As I approach, my eyes start to well up with tears: it’s stocked with healthy juices and fresh fruits. I have just enough money in my pocket to buy a few items. Slowly savoring each delicious organic strawberry under the moonlight of a nondescript town, I am overcome with the feeling that everything is going to work out. Then my phone dies. With no map, no people to ask for directions and no signs to guide me, I go with my gut and pick a direction to walk towards. Relying on my instincts and senses makes my thoughts broad and expansive like the terrain. I start to be able to discern the different shades of night in the sky. I imagine the mundane tasks people do everyday in each small town I pass through. I wonder how many of these warm breezes, moonlit hills and earthy aromas I miss everyday as I zoom by in my car. I see signs for Belluno at the moment when I feel my feet are going to completely give out. I hobble into town as the sun is rising. Roosters are crowing and old Italian men drink their morning espressos in the sun dappled shade of 14th century Baroque churches. Although beyond exhausted, I feel more alive than I have in a long time. I have a realization one is bound to have after walking all night: life may be about the journey, but it sure feels good when you reach the destination.