Some weekends begin even before you leave home. My human had that light in his eyes — the one that appears when he needs to breathe a bit of nature, and I, as his loyal dog, notice it immediately. So when I heard the words “Madonna di Campiglio,” I started wagging my tail without even pretending to play it cool.
It’s a long, elegant name, one that already smells like real woods and real trails. And let’s be honest: if there’s a place where dogs like me can feel like we’re in our natural kingdom, it’s the mountains.
We arrived on Friday afternoon. The air had that freshness that doesn’t sting but wakes you up. Madonna di Campiglio welcomed us with its tidy center, wooden balconies, the smell of strudel drifting out of cafés — and that special calm you only find in places surrounded by nature, even when people are around. I sniffed here and there: dry wood, old snow hiding in the shade, traces of other travelling dogs. Excellent start.
On Saturday morning, we set off early toward Lake Nambino. From the Patascoss parking area, the trail enters the woods like a promise: tall larches, soft silence, and ground that feels perfect under my paws. My human listened to his thoughts, while I listened to the earth. The mountain speaks, you know — you just need to lower your nose and it tells you everything. Tracks of roe deer, a fox that had passed by early, and — personal achievement — a pinecone freshly chewed by a squirrel.
The climb is short, and suddenly the forest opens up and there it is: Lake Nambino. Calm, deep green, surrounded by mountains like in a photograph. My human stopped and widened his eyes. I approached the water and sniffed the tiny waves. The refuge was just a few meters away: warm wood, bright windows, the smell of polenta drifting out, almost begging you to stay all day. We took a break — he warming his hands around a hot cup, me stretched out at his feet, perfectly content.
In the afternoon the pace changed. We took the gondola up to Monte Spinale. I’ll admit it: I’m not the number-one fan of gondolas. But I discovered that if I look at my human instead of the floating floor, everything becomes easier. Once we reached the top, the view was the kind that quiets even the chattiest dogs: the Brenta ahead of us, the Adamello peaks behind, and wide meadows full of scents all around. We walked slowly toward Malga Fevri; he took photos while I carried out my official olfactory inspection. The smells up there are different: cleaner, broader, as if the wind kept everything tidy.
That evening, back in town, we wandered among the warm lights and mountain shops. The atmosphere felt almost cinematic: soft voices, glowing windows, the scent of damp wood and good food escaping from restaurants. My human was happy, and so was I. In the end, you don’t need much more.
Sunday was our “real explorers” day. We didn’t do the entire Five Lakes Trail — I’m not a marathon dog — but we walked the section heading toward Lake Ritorto. Breathtaking views, a wide path, and a sky that looked hand-painted. When we reached the lake, it felt like standing in front of a postcard that breathes: clear water, reflected peaks, and that real silence you feel more in your paws than in your ears.
In the afternoon, we continued toward Vallesinella to see the waterfalls. Here the mountain changes its music: the woods become moist, the scent grows deeper, and the voice of the water follows every step. The waterfalls were spectacular — fine mist, wooden bridges, mossy trunks. For me, it was like entering a new world. My human smiled every now and then without saying a word. That’s how he tells me he feels good.
When we returned to Madonna di Campiglio, the sun was already low and the peaks glowed orange. I walked slowly beside his leg. It was one of those moments when you realize you don’t need to do anything special — you just need to share a trail.
And so our weekend ended with that simple, beautiful feeling that stays with you after two full but unhurried days.
Campiglio welcomed us with its natural elegance, its deep forests, and those tiny details a dog notices instantly: distant noises, marks in the soil, scents that tell the story of a place.
And as I climbed back into the car, I thought: yes — places like this should be prescribed by veterinarians. For the heart, for the breath, for the bond with our humans. And for those of us who live by sniffing the world.
