A Beginner’s Guide to South Tyrol

PART 4:

Bringing up baby, Alpine style

When our kids were young, every Saturday morning we used to spread one of those old-fashioned topographical maps of South Tyrol out on the table. The kids would point at a random spot, and off we’d go. Never did any one of those destinations, chosen by the jamsticky finger of fate, turn out to be anything less than spectacular. Loyal readers of my column will recall, however, that the world is divided into two types of people: mere mortals and South Tyroleans. Please know that this rule goes doubly (nay, triply) for their offspring. It could easily happen, for example, that you meet a local family while skiing and decide to enjoy a few runs together. Feel free to do so. But do not, I repeat, do not attempt to keep up with even the youngest of the kids. I’ve been there. I get how tempting it is. She can barely walk!! How fast could she possibly be? I guarantee you that it’s not going to end well. South Tyrolean kids also learn to hike before they can walk. “That’s impossible,” I hear you saying. But Alpine babies learn by osmosis, spending long days in soft infant carriers, nodding off to the expert, reassuring, rhythmic footsteps of their hiking parents. I do remember hiking with our kids in backpacks… but then we somehow jumped right to the age where they were way too heavy to carry but plenty old enough to stage a munity.

I used to call it the Walk of Shame. You’re maybe 600 meters from the trailhead. You have that dogged look on your reddened face as you trudge up the hill, trying to pretend that there’s not a screaming threeyear-old firmly affixed to your lower leg. You know very well that you can’t make it more than a dozen meters like this. She knows, by some perverse instinct, that going limp makes her all the heavier. And you both know that her capacity to scream her head off will outlast your capacity to tolerate her screaming. Parents of happy Mini Me hikers stream past, trying not to watch. Trying not to be amused. Trying not to judge. The local kids, meanwhile, just seem totally confused by the very concept of refusing to hike with Mommy and Daddy. One beloved South Tyrolean family activity that my kids could “The world is divided get behind is sledding. In my New York world, though, “sledding” into two types conjures up visions of a child pullof people: mere ing a plastic disc to the top of a hill mortals and South Tyroleans.” (defined as “a naturally raised area of land, not as high or craggy as a mountain”) and descending at an elevated velocity, until such time as the grade tapers off and the speed of said child slows, until they eventually come to a stop. They then repeat this process about 80 times until their noses are red and snotty. In South Tyrol, meanwhile, the process of “sledding” involves a strenuous first part: hiking up the mountain. Interestingly, my children have few objections to this kind of hiking. Because they love what comes afterwards: You pile your beloved progeny onto wooden sleds with aluminum runners, and off you go down a long, steep, narrow trail through dense forest. You will undoubtedly be swiftly overtaken by a South Tyrolean family, who will wave at you in the most placid