The first stage of MADE begins at Cima Sappada.
There are deeply human moments, like this one, when a group of friends, though separated by different lives, comes together to spend time with each other. It feels almost strange to write about it and to have lived it in an age where digital realities and constant overlapping seem to dominate everything.
Strange, yes, because our Western lives appear increasingly complex, made of overlapping layers that, at best, we try to make sense of.
But that's exactly the point: to uproot ourselves from this complexity and rediscover what's essential.
The Reunion
That's why on August 14, 2025, Michele, Matteo, and I—three friends with backpacks on our shoulders—came together to experience something that wasn't filtered through a screen or dictated by algorithms, but depended only on the honesty of our steps, the quality of our conversations, and the authenticity of the trails we would cross.
The journey to get here was already an adventure. Matteo and I crossed half of Italy by train, from Lugano to Pordenone, between conversations, ideas, and new energy. Michele, on the other hand, came from London. Different origins, different paths, but today the same destination.
The first day is always about adapting: moving from cities like London or Zurich, made of concrete and buildings, to natural settings can be a shock. But trekking is also this: moving away from yourself to find yourself again.
Leaving from Cima Sappada
We walk through the village looking for the first landmarks together with the others. The excitement is palpable in the air, even after just the first steps. The traditional houses recall the Friulian mountains: sloping roofs, paintings on the walls, straw mannequins. They're images that seem to come from ancient times, yet still preserve the essence of this valley today.
The weather is perfect, the air fresh. A start that couldn't be better.
The Sources of the Piave
The trail follows the direction of the Piave springs. The forest welcomes us immediately, with its balsamic scents tickling our nostrils, with that sensation of freshness that only a pine forest can offer.
Going up, the path branches off and becomes more intimate: just a few steps and we're already in front of the river, flowing clear over an intense blue riverbed. It's a surprise that comes early, almost too early. I had heard about these blue rocks, but seeing them in person felt like landing on another unexplored planet.
Further ahead, we're surprised by a waterfall with a small natural pool beneath it. Matteo and I wanted nothing more: the icy water was the perfect antidote to the midday heat. I believe that water, especially cold water, has a miraculous power: it shakes you, wakes you up, makes you feel alive.
We walk over enormous roots, cross small bridges that look like they were built for an explorer's film, and it's impossible not to let your imagination run wild. The trail is well-maintained, well-marked, but never loses its wild soul.
Every time the forest opens up, I look up and see the peaks around us: silent, majestic, as if they were watching us patiently. Who knows what they think of us.
The Ascent
The climb begins to get steeper. The soil is wet, slippery in some spots. You need to pay attention, but this too is part of the game: nature doesn't offer comfort, it demands respect. The smell of moss becomes more intense, fills the lungs and accompanies our steps.
We resume walking in silence. It's a simple but powerful practice, almost revolutionary in a world that pushes you to shout everything to exist. Walking in silence means listening: to your thoughts, your breath, the sounds of nature. In that moment everything was there: life in its purest form.
Then the forest opens up and vast meadows appear before us. We cross them like a group of explorers, meeting almost no one. Some grazing animals watch us curiously, distracted. This is the mountain in its purest form: alive, but discreet.
We continue along the mule track that winds in zigzags. The higher we climb, the more rock replaces trees. The surrounding mountains cut through the sky, sharp and powerful. We hear marmot whistles, some rustling in the grass. Then, suddenly, two donkeys grazing peacefully: we stop next to them for a break, drink some water and laugh, with that enthusiasm born from small things.
The Marmot Trail
In the distance, the refuge finally appears. It stands there, high up, just below the summit. The Pier Fortunato Calvi. I look at it and think about how much it still has to tell: stories of mountaineers, struggles, friendships. A refuge like those from the old days, preserving the true essence of the mountains.
The climb presents us with two choices: continue on the gentle zigzag of the mule track, or follow a huge painted rock that indicates "Marmot Trail." It's the steeper route, made of stones climbing along the mountainside. Naturally, we choose that one. In some sections we help ourselves with our hands, but it's nothing impossible: even those less experienced manage well.
Then, suddenly, the trail rejoins the mule track. Just a few meters left and the refuge opens up before us.
Arriving at Rifugio Calvi
The last steps are light. We pass by a small shrine, a cottage used as a warehouse and henhouse, among chickens pecking at the ground as if they were guarding travelers. Then there it is, the Calvi.
We take off our backpacks. In front, the view is an interweaving of mountains chasing each other, dark pine forests resting on their backs, clouds moving quickly around the peaks. Inside, the smell of wood, the buzz of light conversations, voices at the counter, sounds coming from the kitchen. It's a living, welcoming place.
Climbing up here we encountered landscapes that seem straight out of a movie: an immense forest, ancient and wise. A waterfall cascading tirelessly, filling the air with freshness. Blue rocks like I'd never seen before, as if from another planet. Smooth walls, gray and brown shades bearing the marks of time. Even old windows carved into the rock: traces of war, improvised hideouts, signs of distant stories.
Next to the refuge, the remains of a fort remind us that these mountains have been borders and outposts. The landscape speaks even in silence.
Anna and the Mountain's Lesson
Welcoming us is Anna, who has managed the refuge for over forty years. A woman who has become mountain herself: kind, strong, rooted. She tells us about her husband who strongly wanted to build this refuge, about the family that expanded with children, girlfriends, grandchildren. And now she, alone but never truly alone, continues to care for it with love.
"When winter comes and we close," she tells us, "I already can't wait to return. This is my home. Not down there in the village."
Her every word is a life lesson: here you learn to share, to greet, to take care of others. The mountain unites, strips away vanity, reminds us that we're all equal. At the top it doesn't matter if you're a lawyer, worker, or student. We all arrived on our own legs, with the same breath, with a backpack on our shoulders.
In the evening, a young couple at the next table joins our conversation. Anna offers us grappa, the young people smile, and in an instant we're one group. When they get up to leave, he looks at us and says: "This is the beauty of the refuge," making a circular gesture with his hand, indicating everyone.
This is why Dolomist exists. To live authentic experiences. To meet people without labels. To feel like you truly belong to something bigger.
This climb awakened me. It reminded me why we started. The mountain never stops teaching.
Who knows what else I'll find on the trail. Who knows what else you'll find.
Mandi.
