Arriving in Bolzano just before noon, I still had some time before my train, scheduled to depart shortly after two. Feeling a touch of familiarity, I found myself once again heading toward Walther Square. I recalled that the cathedral stood beside the square. As always, the interior of the church was cool and hushed, and even for a non-believer, it evoked a sense of quiet solemnity. Sitting for a while, I gazed at the altar ahead and gave thanks for the safe journey I had been granted—though, in truth, it was a place I should have visited first.
Stepping back out into the square, the midsummer sunlight was dazzling. Though it was still daytime, the long journey was nearing its end, and with a sense of relief at having come this far without incident, I took a short rest at a café, enjoying a glass of beer.
Looking back, I recalled my arrival in Bolzano—the difficulty of finding the apartment, the kindness of those who helped me, and the small inconveniences that turned into warm memories. The air conditioner had been broken and replaced with a fan, yet the host had offered breakfast the next morning as an apology, which turned out to be excellent. At another hotel, though there had been no kettle, they kindly prepared tea upon request. I had also been given a Ritten Card, allowing easy travel throughout South Tyrol. It was a city filled with quiet hospitality. With a lingering sense of reluctance to leave, and a hope that I might one day return, I boarded the train.
After changing trains in Verona and traveling along a route that seemed almost to run across the sea, I arrived in Venice at Santa Lucia Station in the evening. For my final night, I chose a hotel just a few minutes’ walk from the station and close to Piazzale Roma, considering my journey to the airport the next day. Though somewhat old, it had a bathtub, and I was able to ease the fatigue of the trip.
After a short rest, I set out for an evening walk. Even after eight o’clock, the sky was still bright, making it feel hardly like night. Following the flow of people, I made my way to the Rialto Bridge, the only place I vaguely remembered from a previous tour. It was as lively as daytime. As dusk gradually settled over the city, I wandered on toward St. Mark’s Square, which was also filled with people.
After strolling for a while, I stopped at a café with a live band. Sipping wine, I listened to the music late into the night—familiar film scores, Beatles numbers, and dance tunes, all gently blending into the atmosphere. Couples danced to the music in the square, perhaps a scene unique to Europe. Nearby, a jazz band was also playing. With the Alpine journey now safely behind me, I felt I could have remained there indefinitely, immersed in the music. Though I wished to stay longer, I left a little after eleven, mindful of my return journey.
The next day, I took a vaporetto and made my way again to St. Mark’s Square along the canals. In the afternoon, I headed early to Marco Polo Airport, completed check-in without difficulty, and felt a quiet sense of relief—the journey had come to a safe and uneventful end.
And so, my Alpine travelogue comes quietly to its close.
Italy—and the Dolomites in particular—left me with a lasting desire to return someday.
English version prepared with AI assistance
(Originally written in Japanese)
Japanese version:
https://hifuka-otibohiroi.net/アルプス紀行 (１)/
