Even if it might not seem so, until a few years ago reaching Lake Braies did not carry the hallmarks of the heroic undertaking it does today. You would set off at your leisure from your hotel, happy to reach one of the most evocative spots in South Tyrol, follow State Road 49 of the Pusteria valley to the turn-off towards the Braies valley, and then continue on to the lake, ready to follow the path running alongside it. Trying to relive those memories today is very difficult: in 2017, seven thousand cars were passing through the valley every day, and in 2018 more than 10,000, making it necessary to introduce a series of changes to protect a rather fragile natural environment.

Where once a single car park sufficed, trees and meadows leading up to the lake have been destroyed over the years to make way for more parking spaces, without, however, solving the problem of visitor overcrowding. For this reason, from mid-June to mid-September, lazier visitors arriving after 10 am are required to leave their vehicles at the beginning of the road leading to the lake and use public transport, or else bicycles or their own two feet.

The problem is not confined to the highlands

Those who wonder where all these people have suddenly come from in recent years tend to blame the fame brought by the Rai drama series "A un passo dal cielo" and, in parallel, the photogenic nature of the place, which has made it one of the favourite destinations for Instagram users in search of the perfect shot. The only "drawback" is that the situation Lake Braies is experiencing is rapidly being replicated across much of the highlands — not only those of South Tyrol but throughout Italy — and it worsened further during this summer, still grappling with the pandemic. Far-flung destinations became unreachable and we finally had the time to devote ourselves to places closer to home that have never fallen short in terms of beauty.

In July of this year, Il Sole 24 Ore reported that, according to a survey on the impact of the coronavirus emergency carried out by Isnart-Unioncamere, of the 24 million Italians who would travel for their holidays, 86 per cent would stay in Italy, while 4.8 per cent — compared with 26 per cent in 2019 — would venture abroad.

Queues, overcrowding and litter

Every year the issue of excessive numbers of people in the mountains resurfaces, and this year too the images circulating online wasted no time in prompting the first reactions. They were gathered together in an article by "Il Dolomiti", which saw in those photographs a place growing ever more similar to a seaside resort.

At the waterfalls of Riva di Tures, in the Aurina valley, hundreds of hikers are queuing along a path meant to be walked with slowness and wonder, few wearing a mask or keeping a safe distance, as is also the case in Val di Rabbi and at the via ferrata on Monte Paterno in front of the Tre Cime di Lavaredo, where long tailbacks to reach the toll road to Rifugio Auronzo have now become the norm, and again at Lake Sorapis, where large quantities of abandoned litter are a regular sight. The list is long, and the downsides of proximity tourism are also hitting Lombardy, Piedmont and Abruzzo, the Alps and the Apennines.

The rules of the mountains

It is not only the ecosystems subjected to enormous pressure that are bearing the consequences of these high numbers, but also the Alpine and cave rescue service, which records more and more call-outs every year (in 2019 there were as many as 10,234, seven per cent more than the previous year). And it is above all in August that rescuers struggle the most, so much so that their Facebook page recently published an almost exasperated post, setting out a series of guidelines to follow regarding litter, respecting silence, safety, rescue personnel operating in the mountains, and above all an appeal to common sense.

Finally, the most important ingredient: the common sense that must always accompany any excursion in the mid- and high mountains.

The most passionate mountain enthusiasts hope that these events will teach us something, that someone will soon back the proposal put forward by the more hard-line voices to introduce a suitability test, and in the comments beneath the post we mentioned, there is every shade of opinion. Yes, the numbers of people and their behaviour point to the need for a change in how we approach the highlands, but above all to a greater awareness of the situation we have created and continue to fuel.

The wrong approach

There came a moment in recent decades when we realised that the same capitalist system that held sway in the city could be adapted to the mountains too, extracting profit upon profit from them while ignoring the place itself, its needs, its traditions. We rolled up our sleeves to close the healthy gap that separated the two worlds, narrowing it further and further with concrete, infrastructure, hotels, panoramic terraces and glossy marketing.

In recent decades we realised that the same capitalist system that held sway in the city could be adapted to the mountains too, ignoring the place itself, its needs, its traditions

We began to project a distorted image of these places, as though they were on a par with an urban park, and we started treating them accordingly.

What do we intend to do?

We do not see the ecosystems that are suffering, the weather events that are worsening, the seasons that are growing alike where they were always distinct from one another; instead we see the perfect shot for recognition on a social media platform, the new activity to launch where once there was a meadow, a wooden bench and silence, a body without limits that believes it can climb a mountain in flip-flops. We have got the proportions wrong: we are not the giants here — those rock faces are, and we are the infinitely small ones, who will eventually be gone, while they will remain. In these months we have rediscovered respect for the older generations decimated by the pandemic; these places deserve no less. What do we intend to do?