While I will lament my sporadic absence in Tramin in the time of late harvest and other festivities, I already am grateful for being able to continually return home
The Zebru and the Ortler are among Sudtirol’s most magnificent mountain peaks. Pic/Rosalyn D’Mello
It seems logical that we should be now nestled at the beginning of September, and yet it feels untimely. I wasn’t ready for the beginnings of Fall to already announce itself. Even though I delight in attending to the shifts in seasons, anticipating summer’s warmth or winter’s chill, or the advance of spring and how it transforms the earth, I feel as though I’ve been caught unaware. The transition is subtle. You find you need to carry a light jacket or a sweater. The mornings feel nippier and the evenings are blatantly cooler. On cloudy days when the sun peers through the fluffy white you feel struck by its intensity, but the instant it is glazed over you feel the need to wear your jacket again. It’s confusing for my body that is still not acclimatized to Alpine weather. I am never sure when I leave home whether to carry an extra layer or if the jacket I’ve worn is already excessive. It is in the midst of these indecisions that I experience myself as still a newcomer to where I am. I know there will come a time when I will be able to correctly intuit how covered or bare I should be, but until then I am that dependent person annoyingly asking either my partner or my in-laws what constitutes appropriate clothing.
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I have made great strides, though, as a trekker. Yesterday we took the Sesselbahn from Sulden to the K2 hut to arrive at an erstwhile glacier. It was my first time on this particular transportational mode. I’ve been before in a basket in which you stand and, airborne, are transported vertiginously from one point to another. The Sesselbahn is infinitely more exciting. You have two-seater units that move continuously from a lower height to a much higher one, and, unlike a cabin car, there is nothing that separates you from the world outside. You can even touch the trees you pass. It’s a common mode in ski regions. Once at the top, we walked through an expanse that was once a glacier and continued until we reached a mountain hut, where we were meant to have lunch. From there we were privy to an astonishing view of three of Südtirol’s most magnificent mountain peaks, Königspitze, Zebrù, and the highest, the Ortler. It was the first time that I didn’t feel overwhelmed trekking. I felt sure I could trust my body’s ability to navigate the landscape, to climb, when necessary, and to regulate my breathing so I didn’t feel defeated by an ascent. Most notably, it was the first time I steered my feet through steep downhill descents with relative ease. The regular exercise I have been doing had really paid off, my knees felt so much stronger and could really absorb the weight of my body during the descent.
On our way back home, we stopped at a Kneipping spot. Kneippen is the term used for a specific way of walking bare feet in ice cold water. It was a technique evolved by Sebastian Kneipp that relies on the curative properties of water. It is uncanny how cold water feels like a burn on the skin. I get operatic when my feet are immersed, unable to hold myself from the extremity, unable to get to the end of the brief Kneipping area. But when you recover from the shock of it, your body feels surprisingly relieved. Some of the fatigue from climbing and trekking seemed to vanish instantly. I was brave enough to also put my arms in the ice-cold water, but I couldn’t bear more than a few seconds. I saw some people walking gracefully, with so much seductive poise it was hard to imagine there being any great difference in temperature.
Tomorrow we move into our apartment. Next week I travel to Graz and Vienna and am excited at the prospect of having access to other cuisines. If all goes as planned, later this month I will see my parents in Dubai. By the time I am back in Südtirol, it will already be time for me to spend two weeks in Innsbruck where I will begin a residency at Künstlerhaus Büchsenhausen. When I return, mid-October Fall will have settled itself. Tramin will look different, the Blood Beech tree will have begun to shed until it is almost bare. It will be a time of late harvest and other festivities. While I will lament my sporadic absence, I already am grateful for being able to continually return home.
Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D’Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper.
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