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Dolomites

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Climate Change in the Alps: Snowmaking Machines

As a traveler, I see signs of climate change everywhere. Europe is grappling with unpredictable weather in lots of different ways — and in the Alps, that means artificial snow.

It’s summer here now, and this area is filled with hikers. But in the winter, this is ski country — and the local economy depends on ski tourism. All across the Alps, ski slopes are being plumbed for artificial snow. Take a look with me now at some of the reservoirs that supply water to this mountain’s snowmaking machines.

A round-trip flight to Europe emits roughly as much climate-changing carbon, per passenger, as six months of driving. I own a tour company, and we profit by taking about 30,000 people to Europe each year. Standard accounting practices allow our company to ignore the environmental cost of being in this business — but we believe it’s more honest and ethical to pay our share of that cost. So, at the expense of our profit, we’ve made a yearly commitment to invest $1 million in a portfolio of nonprofits that are making a big difference. 

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Europe’s Charm at Your Doorstep

We’re high in the Italian Alps, in Castlerotto — a town I love because it’s right in the midst of mountain splendor, yet doesn’t have that empty ski-resort-in-the-summer feeling. Our hotel — the Cavallino d’Oro — is a great example of the Italian/German mix characteristic of this region (the Dolomites, in the far north of Italy). Our group is just finishing up breakfast before loading up the bus. And just outside the door of our hotel is the cobbled town square. For our tours, we favor hotels where the charm of Europe is literally at your doorstep. On our My Way Alpine Europe Tour (which I’m leading now), we spend a dozen nights in unforgettable mountain towns in the Alps of Austria, Italy, Germany, Switzerland, and France.

This is Day 59 of my 100 Days in Europe series. As I lead tours, research my guidebooks, and make new TV shows, I’m reporting on my experiences and lessons learned in Vienna, the Alps, the Low Countries, England, and beyond. Find more right here on my travel blog.

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Kraut in Italy’s Alps

I’m in Kastelruth, in the Italian Tirol. My chalet–sturdy as a bomb shelter, yet warm and woody–comes with a generous fluffy down comforter and serious German plumbing: Ka-chunk…ahhhh.

High in the Dolomites, tourism is huge. But April is the limbo time between the skiers and the hikers. The lifts are still. Most hotels are closed. It’s a lousy time to be researching. I survey the town from my two-chair balcony. There are no tourists…just busy-as-a-beaver locals getting things ready for the coming rush. A man in blue overalls swings a pickax. Children run free in the guest house lounges and gardens — learning to rollerblade, playing rollicking games of foosball.

As I sat down to lunch today with four representatives from the tourist board, they asked me, “Do Americans know this region as Südtirol or the Dolomites?” I answered, “the Dolomites,” and complimented their town as the only one that didn’t feel like a ski resort in the summer. We were presented with plates of shaved cabbage sprinkled with bits of bacon. Ignoring the meat, Günter, the man across the table, said, sadly, “Kraut.”

I’ve been on the road nearly a month. I’ve had just two hours of rain. I’ve enjoyed meeting countless Americans. All seemed to be having a great time (except a woman who shut the car door on her coat and needed a cleaner, a man whose wife was forcing him to tour the Siena Pinacoteca, and a kid from Michigan State who just couldn’t accept the fact that “pepperoni” was green peppers and not spicy sausage).

And during this month I’ve had absolutely no news. When at home, I consume news as entertainment — probably an hour a day. And for 30 days now I have not seen a TV or newspaper. I read a brilliant rant from Lee Iacocca (Lee Iacocca Excerpt). And I heard about the massacre at Virginia Tech…but only because so many Europeans wonder why we let anyone — even nutcases — own a gun, yet do things like legally requiring bikers to wear helmets. My news-fast will continue. It feels somehow healthy.

Enjoying this little eddy in the whirlpool of Italy, I’m savoring a quiet evening in my room. Freshly showered and in bare feet, I “cook” dinner: my tiny post-9/11-sized Swiss Army knife, a champagne flute from my minibar, and a paper bag ripped open as my tableware. The menu tonight: rough, bakery-fresh German bread, salami, carrots, a tub of yogurt, and Apfelsaft (apple juice). Everything’s in two languages here: I believe there’s a dot of yogurt on the bridge of my nose — it’s both frutti di bosco and Waldfruchte… that’s “berries of the forest.” The fact that my feast cost less than €5 makes it taste even better.

I dig out my iPod. Music takes me home — dancing with memories of family, friends, things non-European. Then, I turn off the iPod and return to Europe. With a happy soundtrack of German-speaking Italian children playing just out of sight, I watch a slow show as darkness settles on the Dolomites. Slowly those rugged limestone peaks and gaily painted chalets become two-tone, then gone.