“Le otto montagne” is the book that made us dream of living amid wild, untamed nature. Its author, Paolo Cognetti, tells us about his zero-waste mountain refuge project, fully in keeping with the principles of circularity.
It is a simple yet special story — that of a boy who grows into a man in the city yet is so deeply tied to the mountains that this place, where he spends his summers learning what friendship means — and solitude too — becomes part of him, defining and completing him. This is the story told in Le otto montagne, the book by Paolo Cognetti, one of the most acclaimed contemporary Italian authors, which in 2017 earned him the prestigious literary award the Premio Strega and has since been translated into 37 languages. This young writer with a fascinating life — "like the mountain folk who head up with the thaw" he spends half the year in an isolated chalet in the Aosta Valley Alps, the very setting of his book — has made us fall in love with an unspoilt, bare and even harsh mountain, so unlike the one overrun by tourists that has become reality for many Italian resorts, and beyond.
Born in Milan, Cognetti is also a mathematician, documentary filmmaker and alpinist who made his debut as a writer in 2004 with Manuale per ragazze di successo. Between the ages of 20 and 30 he was deeply drawn to New York City, in the United States, where some of his books are set. That period was followed by his "escape" to the mountains, to his chalet in Brusson, in the Val d'Ayas, the village that hosts the cultural festival Il richiamo della foresta, held for the first time last year, of which he is one of the founders.
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In recent years he has also devoted himself to exploring Nepal, whose peaks are the most majestic and sought-after in the world. This passion recently took him to the Dolpo region to retrace the journey recounted in the book Il leopardo delle nevi by American author Peter Matthiessen, who in 1978 — the year of Cognetti's birth — published the story of his adventure in pursuit of the elusive feline on the plateau at 4,000 metres, one of the most remote areas in the country.
The reportage produced by Cognetti was published in the bimonthly magazine Meridiani Montagne in January, and he is now expanding it "to turn it into a book that will come out in autumn", as he revealed to us at the presentation of the Festival dei diritti umani — an event running from 20 to 24 March 2018 at the Triennale di Milano. He was invited to the occasion because, he explains, his most recent books "have been taken as accounts of a different way of life".
Why did you decide to help create the festival "Il richiamo della foresta"?
For several reasons. One is that we talk about repopulating the mountains and ask ourselves how to bring people there in a more respectful way than mass tourism. The idea is that it should be peacefully invaded and inhabited with respect. Also because these themes of returning to the mountains, the new mountain dwellers, environmentalism, interest a great many people who want to talk about them — and we talk about them in the middle of the forest. And also because it is where I live, and for me it is a way of helping it, of giving it new possibilities.
In your imaginary letter to the writer Mario Rigoni Stern you speak of the drought affecting the area where your chalet is. How do you experience the transformations that mountain landscapes are undergoing as a result of climate change?
For the first time in ten years I had no water: I draw water from a spring, and it was truly striking to see that at a certain point nothing came out of the taps any more. It makes you think about what would happen if that occurred in a city. It really is a tragedy. I see the phenomenon of climate change — I am very close to glaciers and I see how much they are retreating, how quickly the snow disappears in spring, how scarce the water is at the end of summer; September and October have become very dry months. These are the things I see every day living in the mountains. This winter is unusual because there has been an enormous amount of snow, but it has begun to fall from ever higher altitudes. In early January I saw rain at 1,500 metres; a great deal of snow came but only from 2,000 metres upwards.
In the letter you wrote for the launch of this year's membership campaign of Anpi (Associazione nazionale partigiani d'Italia), you say we should become the "new partisans". In the current political climate, what should we be fighting for?
More than what we should fight for, it is the duty to fight. It seems to me that ours are times of indifference, of retreating into the private sphere, of minding one's own business. So the idea of going up into the mountains, metaphorically, of gathering in bands and defending one's own land — which is what the partisans did — is the idea of returning to active politics. I have also said that I did not vote in this year's general elections, but not because politics doesn't interest me. Because for me politics is what you do every day, with others, through your choices, through your way of working together with others. I would like the politics we practise to be this kind — the politics of the partisans.
The mountains as a tourist destination are becoming increasingly accessible. We can cite the cable car that takes you to the summit of Mont Blanc, but also the most glaring example, in full view of the whole world: the hordes that reach the summit of Everest, the highest in the world. What do you think of this trend?
It is very sad because it is consumption, it is an invasion. I see it in winter: in a place that is deserted all year round and even all week long, suddenly on Saturday thousands of people arrive, then leave on Sunday, leaving behind everything that a passing mass leaves behind. There is no love, no respect in this way of moving through the mountains. I am far more interested in a slower approach, in inhabiting them rather than passing through, consuming them and moving on. What is happening on Everest is almost grotesque. Hundreds of people arrive at base camp, causing an enormous problem with waste. And impacting these cultures in such a violent, invasive and disruptive way means destroying them within a few years.
Did you really find a place that is still unspoilt in the Dolpo region of Nepal?
I found a mountain far more emptied of people — there, in a region as large as the Valle d'Aosta, fewer than 5,000 people live. So it is purer because there are far fewer people, fewer resources, and nobody is interested in it. A small high-altitude desert where I went to see what an authentic mountain looks like.
What did this expedition leave you with?
A closeness to a primordial state of life. I slept for 22 days in a tent doing nothing all day but walk, and in that way you realise how your life can truly be based on very little. How our needs are truly essential: a little food, a warm place to sleep and not much else. And so all this exploitation of the planet that we have set in motion is in reality based on the superfluous things with which we have surrounded ourselves and which we think we need — but if for a week you are thrown into Dolpo to eat lentils and drink boiled stream water, you realise you can live perfectly well that way too.
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