Drink In Life

The Ultimate Dolomites Road Trip: Driving from Trento to Val Gardena

Posted on October 15, 2026 by drinkinlife

The Lowlands: The Terraced Valleys of Trentino

Leaving Trento behind, the road follows the broad valley north. If you’re expecting the dramatic peaks of the Dolomites to appear immediately, you’ll have to be a little patient. The mountains are coming, but first they let the landscape tell a different story.

Steep hillsides rise on both sides of the valley, carved into terraces where vineyards and orchards climb higher than I would have imagined possible. Looking up from the road, I couldn’t help but wonder how anyone farms some of these slopes. Row after row seemed to make use of every available patch of sunshine.

This part of Trentino has been shaped by its valleys for centuries. The combination of elevation, sunshine, and cool Alpine air creates a patchwork of small microclimates that have made the region one of Italy’s most respected wine-growing areas. As someone who loves wine, I found myself admiring the vineyards almost as much as the mountains that were slowly coming into view.

One of the best-known vineyard areas is the Piana Rotaliana, often described as one of Europe’s most beautiful vineyard landscapes. Surrounded by towering rock walls, vineyards spread across the valley floor while the mountains quietly remind you that the scenery is only going to become more dramatic from here.

We never planned a stop along this stretch of road. Instead, the drive unfolded one beautiful view at a time. A hillside vineyard. An old farmhouse. Light spilling across the terraces. Every few miles something else caught my eye, and before long my husband was hearing the same familiar request.

“Sorry, honey… can you find a place to pull over? I need some photos.”

By the end of the day, it had become my mantra.

Dolomites Road Trip: First Real Leg Stretch

A few miles beyond Bolzano, the road brought us to our first official stop of the day. The Cornedo Covered Bridge immediately caught my attention. Stretching across the fast-moving Isarco River, its weathered wood looked as though it had been standing there for generations, quietly watching travelers come and go. Built in the 1800s, the bridge once formed an important crossing into Val d’Ega, the valley leading toward the heart of the Dolomites.

Of course we pulled over.

At first, I thought I’d grab a couple of photos and we’d be back on the road in a few minutes. Instead, one photograph turned into another. Every angle seemed to frame something different. From one side, the bridge stood against towering cliffs. From another, it framed the rushing turquoise river below. Looking upstream, terraced vineyards climbed impossibly steep hillsides while old farmhouses seemed to cling to the landscape.

The longer we wandered, the more there was to discover.

A walking and cycling path followed the river, making it an easy place to stretch our legs after the drive. An old stone ruin peeked through the trees, a small church steeple rose above the rooftops, and tucked quietly off to one side were several colorful beehives.

I’ve always been fascinated by bees, so naturally they held my attention longer than they probably should have. While other travelers paused for a quick photograph of the bridge, I found myself watching bees coming and going as if I had nowhere else to be.

Eventually, though, the road was calling us north, and there was still plenty of Dolomite country waiting around the next bend.

The Shift: Winding Through the Isarco Valley

As the kilometers slipped by, the soft, rolling landscape of Trentino gradually gave way to something altogether different. The valley narrowed, the air felt a little crisper, and the mountains began pressing closer to the road. Ahead, the first gray cliffs hinted at the dramatic Dolomite peaks still waiting in the distance.

For thousands of years, this valley has been one of the great passageways through the Alps. Roman roads, merchants, pilgrims, and travelers all followed this same natural corridor between northern and southern Europe.

Sitting behind the wheel, it wasn’t difficult to understand why. The mountains leave you very few choices.

Not long after the cliffs began to close in around us, we arrived in the small village of Colma (Kollmann). Tucked quietly beside the Isarco River, it felt like the perfect place to step away from the car and slow the pace for a while.

It was here that we stumbled upon Oberweger Bierstube Durstkurort, an unassuming roadside stop where the mountain air carried the unmistakable aroma of warm pretzels, hearty sausages, and well-worn wood. It was exactly the kind of place we hope to find on road trips like this.

We’ll pull up a chair there in the next article.

The Fortress in the Cliffs: Spotting Castel Trostburg

Not long after leaving Colma, the road continues north through the narrowing Isarco Valley toward the tiny village of Ponte Gardena (Waidbruck). It was along this stretch that I glanced up, and before I could say a word, my husband laughed. “Don’t say it. I’m pulling over.”

Perched high above the valley, Castel Trostburg seems to grow straight out of the rock itself. Its pale stone walls blend so naturally into the mountainside that, at first glance, it almost disappears into the cliffs before revealing itself as one of South Tyrol’s most impressive medieval castles.

Built in the 12th century, the fortress once watched over the important trade route running through the Isarco Valley. Centuries later, it became home to the medieval poet and knight Oswald von Wolkenstein, whose travels and writings made him one of the region’s most celebrated historical figures.

We didn’t make the steep climb to explore the castle itself. Instead, we found a safe place to pull over near the base of the hill and simply admired it from below. Sometimes that’s enough.

From every angle the castle seemed to tell a different story. The fortress rising from solid rock. The smaller towers tucked into the hillside. Every time I thought I’d found my favorite composition, I’d notice another.

Eventually we climbed back into the car, leaving the castle to keep watch over the valley as it has for centuries.

The Moment the Dolomites Appear

Leaving Ponte Gardena behind, we turned onto the SS242 and began the climb into Val Gardena. The road gradually winds higher through forests and quiet villages, and with every bend it feels as though the mountains are drawing a little closer.

Then, almost without warning, they appear.

Rising above the rooftops of Ortisei is the unmistakable silhouette of the Sassolungo (Langkofel) massif. Even after spending the morning surrounded by dramatic scenery, nothing quite prepares you for your first real view of these towering limestone peaks. They seem almost impossibly large, their pale stone faces still streaked with late-season snow as they rise above the dark evergreen forests below.

We found a safe place to pull over, climbed out of the car, and simply stood there for a few minutes. There wasn’t much to say. This was the moment I reached for my longer lens. The mountain still felt impossibly far away, but through the viewfinder every ridge, snowfield, and jagged tower suddenly came to life.

The closer we drove, the smaller everything else seemed to become. Houses, churches, even the surrounding hills all faded into the background while Sassolungo completely commanded the horizon.

It was one of those moments that reminded me why road trips are different from almost any other kind of travel. You don’t arrive all at once. You watch a landscape slowly unfold until, before you realize it, you’ve entered an entirely different world.

Among the Peaks

The last few kilometers to Passo Gardena didn’t feel like the end of the drive. They felt like entering another world.

The road climbed steadily through the final switchbacks before opening onto a broad mountain pass where winter hadn’t quite decided to leave. The pavement was completely clear, but on either side of the road snow still blanketed the meadows, interrupted only by patches of tawny grass beginning to emerge beneath the warm spring sun.

We parked the car and did what we’d been doing all day. We started exploring.

The farther we wandered, the smaller we felt.

Towering limestone walls surrounded us from every direction, their weathered faces streaked with snow that had settled into every crack, ledge, and crevice. Every time I thought I’d seen it all, another detail caught my eye.

Scattered across the pass were reminders that this wasn’t simply a scenic overlook. Rustic wooden huts stood quietly beneath cliffs that looked almost impossible to comprehend. A weathered roadside shrine overlooked the valley, as though it had been keeping watch over travelers for generations. Nearby, trail signs pointed toward mountain huts several hours away, their arrows disappearing into a landscape.

I glanced at one of the signs, briefly wondered what it would be like to spend the next four hours climbing into those mountains, and decided I was perfectly happy admiring them from right where I was.

One of the things I loved most about Passo Gardena was the contrast.

You are greeted by a scattered collection of sun-weathered, dark timber huts. Strikingly rustic against the bright snowbanks, their hand-painted wooden signs offer a bilingual nod to the region’s blended heritage: Articoli da Ricordo and Holzschnitzereien—souvenirs and traditional Ladin woodcarvings. But it is what sits directly behind these humble cabins that steals your breath.

Looming over the pass are the Cir Peaks (Pizes de Cir). Their pale limestone walls rise almost straight out of the earth, dusted heavily with fresh snow that settles into every ledge and crevice. Standing there in the warm sunshine, listening to the quiet drip of melting snow, I realized just how different this place felt from everywhere else we had driven that day.

Nothing competed with the mountains. Everything simply existed alongside them.

I could have filled this article with twice as many photographs and another thousand words, and it still wouldn’t have captured everything that caught my attention. That’s one of the things I love most about places like Passo Gardena. Every visitor leaves with something different. One person remembers the ski slopes. Another remembers the hiking trails. I found myself lingering over the weathered wooden huts, the quiet roadside shrine, and the way the mountains seemed to dwarf everything around them. Our memories may all be different, but I have a feeling the sense of standing at the top of the world is something we all take home.

Eventually it was time to begin the drive back toward Trento.

As we wound our way down the mountain, the towering peaks slowly slipped behind us, one by one, until they disappeared behind the forests that had hidden them only a few hours earlier. What surprised me most was how different the drive felt in the opposite direction. The same road somehow offered an entirely new perspective. Mountains we had admired on the climb up now appeared in the rearview mirror. Curves we had already driven revealed views we hadn’t noticed before.

Of course, I couldn’t resist one last stop.

With a local bottle of Bolla Lugana tucked into the car, I found a quiet spot in the snow to capture one final photograph. It wasn’t about opening the bottle or celebrating the end of the drive. It simply felt like the perfect way to remember a day spent surrounded by some of the most remarkable scenery we’ve ever experienced.

This Dolomites road trip from Trento to Val Gardena reminded me that not every unforgettable day has to end with a strenuous hike or a bucket-list summit (although it doesn’t hurt). Sometimes all it takes is a beautiful road, a reliable camera, someone willing to pull over one more time, and the curiosity to see what’s waiting around the next bend.

Thank you for coming along with me on this drive through the winding roads of the Dolomites. I hope these photographs and stories have given you a glimpse of just how special this corner of northern Italy is. If the opportunity ever comes your way, I can’t recommend it enough.

Our stop in the tiny village of Colma ended up stealing my heart and deserved a story of its own. In Part Two, I’ll step inside a traditional South Tyrolean tavern, where a simple lunch of sausages, pretzels, and local hospitality tells the story of a region shaped by two cultures.

This Dolomites road trip was only one part of my time in this beautiful corner of northern Italy. Before heading into the mountains, Trento gave me plenty of reasons to linger, which I share in my Trento Travel Guide: The Best Northern Italy Base. My time there also led me into the surrounding vineyards for A Single Day in Trento Unlocks Italy’s Greatest Mountain Wines, where the dramatic landscape, people, and wines revealed another side of Trentino altogether.

Have you ever driven through the Dolomites, or is it still waiting for a place on your travel wish list? Let me know in the comments below.

About Elaine

Elaine is an international award-winning travel writer, wine writer, photographer, and WSET Level 3 wine professional who believes every destination has a story worth telling. Through Drink In Life, she explores wine, travel, gardens, books, food, and the quiet moments that make a life well lived.

Read more about Elaine →

All text and images © 2017–2026 Elaine Luxton and Drink In Life LLC. Photography by Elaine Luxton / Drink In Nature Photography. International French 75 Day™ and French 75 Day™ are trademarks of Elaine Luxton. All rights reserved.

The Best Time to Explore a Destination Is Before Breakfast

Posted on October 6, 2026 by drinkinlife

An Ode to the Early Riser

Most travelers spend months planning where they’ll go, what they’ll see, and how they’ll fit everything into a limited number of days. We book restaurants, reserve museum tickets, and carefully map out each stop, hoping to make the most of every day. But somewhere along the way, it’s easy to create an itinerary so full that the trip begins to feel like a schedule instead of an adventure. Sometimes, one of the best ways to escape that schedule is surprisingly simple: early morning travel.

Every destination has two distinct personalities. There is the busy version most visitors experience once the cafés fill, museum doors open, and tour groups arrive. Then there is the more hushed version that belongs to the people who live there, or to the wildlife that shares those first hours of the morning.

If you wake up with the sun, you get to watch a place before it fully wakes. You catch the baker pulling the first loaves from a stone oven, the street sweeper washing down the cobblestones, and the locals lingering over an early coffee before the workday begins. In Rome or Milan, piazzas that feel impossibly crowded by midday are calmer, often cool, and beautifully tranquil in the first light of morning.

It isn’t just the famous cities that change with the sunrise. Wander through an Italian village as the church bells echo across empty streets, or stroll along a fishing harbor where the first boats are returning through the morning mist with the day’s catch, and you’ll discover a side of a destination that many visitors never see.

It can’t be reserved online or purchased with an admission ticket. It simply belongs to those willing to get out of bed a little earlier. Better still, it doesn’t cost a thing.

Fortunately, that’s never been much of a hardship for me. I’ve always been an early riser. Long before I traveled regularly, mornings were my favorite part of the day. That habit naturally followed me around the world, and somewhere along the way I realized those few minutes or hours before breakfast had become one of my favorite parts of every trip.

Traveling on my own, with my husband or with friends, I love being the first one awake. If everyone else wants to sleep in, I’ll happily head out with a camera over one shoulder. I never feel like I’m missing out on sleep. If anything, I feel like I’ve been given extra time to wander or scout out new locations.

One of the great advantages of early morning travel is avoiding the longest lines, the heaviest traffic, and the crowds that build as the day unfolds. Before most visitors have finished breakfast, you’ve already experienced a side of the destination that feels calmer, more personal, and entirely different.

If you’re looking for one simple habit that can completely change the way you experience a destination, I’d suggest setting your alarm a little earlier. Here’s how I make the most of those first hours of the day, whether you’re exploring a busy city, wandering through a small village, or heading out into nature.

Resetting Your Clock: Morning Light and Jet Lag

After a long flight, it’s incredibly tempting to pull the curtains closed, shut out the world, and try to sleep as late as possible. Over the years, I’ve found the exact opposite works much better. Getting outside into the morning light, breathing the cool air, and simply walking helps my body adjust to a new time zone far better than lying awake in a dark hotel room mentally running through everything I want to see and do that day.

Here’s the simple routine I follow after almost every long-haul flight:

Get outside within 30 minutes of waking. Even if it’s just for a short walk, the morning light makes a remarkable difference.
Walk at an easy pace. This isn’t about exercise. It’s about moving your body, noticing your surroundings, and letting your brain begin adjusting to its new schedule.
Spend a few minutes in the natural morning light. Morning light helps signal to your body that it’s time to be awake and begin adjusting to the new time zone.
Enjoy breakfast afterward. By then, I usually feel like I’ve arrived instead of simply landed.

Why it works

Morning sunlight plays an important role in regulating your body’s circadian rhythm, your internal clock that helps determine when you feel awake and when you’re ready for sleep. Research has shown that exposure to natural light at the right time can help shift your body’s internal clock when traveling across time zones. Combined with a gentle walk outdoors, it’s one of the simplest ways I’ve found to ease the effects of jet lag. It doesn’t eliminate jet lag completely, but it almost always helps me settle in more quickly and start enjoying the destination from the very first day.

The “First Light” Rule for Exploring a Destination

Experiencing a destination before it wakes doesn’t happen by accident. It means choosing to treat those first morning hours as part of the trip instead of simply waiting for museums to open or restaurants to unlock their doors.

I’ve found that my first morning in a new place often shapes the rest of my visit.

Here’s how I approach it:

Keep your first morning unscheduled. Resist the temptation to book an early tour or rush to the biggest attraction—unless it’s an experience that truly requires an early start, like a full-day excursion.
Leave your phone in your pocket. Give yourself permission to wander without a destination for a while. Let your curiosity, rather than your GPS, decide which street to take next.
Slow your pace. Give yourself permission to be distracted. Walk a little slower than feels natural. Stop when something catches your eye. Look up at the balconies, down at the worn cobblestones beneath your feet, and across the rooftops instead of only looking straight ahead. You’ll be amazed how much you’ve been walking past.
Stay a little longer. When something catches your attention, stop and linger. You might notice a flock of pigeons making perfectly synchronized, almost silent loops overhead, or spiderwebs stretched through tall grass, each strand holding perfect beads of dew glowing like tiny lanterns in the first light.
When you find a place that draws you in, give it a few more minutes. Sit on a bench for ten minutes. Lean against a bridge railing. Watch the light slowly change, notice the shadows moving across old buildings, or simply observe how a place gradually comes to life. Some of the best travel moments aren’t found by walking farther, they’re found by standing still.

Why it works

This isn’t just true in busy cities. It works just as well in a tiny village, along a country road, beside a vineyard, or on a forest trail. Before the day settles into its familiar pace, every destination reveals a different side of itself. Without an agenda pulling you from one place to the next, you begin to notice the character of where you are instead of simply checking off what you came to see. Those first hours remind us that every destination has a story to tell long before the rest of the day begins.

Capturing a Destination as It Wakes

Sunrise in Tokyo

One of the reasons I love exploring before breakfast is what it does for photography. Yes, the early morning light is beautiful, but that’s only part of the story. The real gift is capturing the subtle way a destination comes to life through ordinary, everyday moments. Someone walking a dog along an empty street. Two espresso cups still steaming on an outdoor café table, making you wonder who was sitting there just a moment before. The reflection of a church in a canal before the wind ripples the water. These are the moments that tell the story of a place.

Without crowds, tour buses, and the constant movement of people, a destination has room to breathe. So do your photographs. Don’t worry about creating the perfect image or whether anyone else would stop to take the same picture. If something catches your eye, lift the camera and press the shutter. You may be surprised to discover that some of your favorite photographs are the simple moments that made you feel connected to the place you were visiting.

Here’s what I look for:

Arrive while the destination is still waking up. Walk slowly and notice the details that disappear later in the day, weathered doors, colorful shutters, old windows catching the first light, narrow alleyways, reflections after an overnight rain, or shop windows waiting for their first customers. Photograph one weathered door, then another. Before long, you may find you’ve unintentionally created your own collection of doors, windows, or alleyways, your own travel postcard series.
Work with the morning light instead of against it. Early light is softer and more directional than the harsh overhead sun you’ll find later in the day. It creates longer shadows, brings out texture in old stone, wood, and brick, and adds warmth and depth, often requiring very little editing afterward.
Look for the stories between the landmarks. Muddy boots outside a doorway, laundry moving gently from an upstairs window, or a bicycle leaning against a centuries-old wall can say just as much about a destination as its most famous landmark.

Be patient. Sometimes the best photograph isn’t of an empty street at all. It’s waiting for one cyclist, one local walking to work, or someone carrying fresh flowers to enter the frame. One person, in just the right place, can tell the entire story.

Gion District-Kyoto, Japan

Why it works

The people you photograph in the early morning aren’t there to be photographed. They’re simply beginning their day. That sense of purpose creates images that feel natural and unposed. Combined with the softer light and quieter surroundings, those first hours often produce some of my favorite photographs from an entire trip.

Some of my favorite photographs have come from quiet mornings in places like Roero, where wandering before breakfast became just as memorable as the wineries themselves.

Why Sunrise Is Worth the Alarm

Sunsets deserve every bit of their popularity. They’re easy to enjoy because most of us are already out exploring when evening arrives. Sunrise is different. It asks something of us first. It asks us to set the alarm, leave the comfort of a warm bed, and step into a world that hasn’t quite woken up yet. In return, it offers something that feels entirely its own.

I’m not suggesting you chase a sunrise every morning of your vacation. But I do hope you’ll give yourself one.

Unlike the leisurely morning walks I’ve talked about throughout this article, photographing a sunrise often takes a little planning. If I haven’t already done my research before leaving home, I’ll usually spend a few minutes the evening before looking at maps and photographs, researching the best viewpoint, and deciding whether I can walk there or if I’ll need a taxi. Somehow, that little bit of planning only adds to the excitement. By the time I go to bed, I’m already looking forward to greeting a new day somewhere I’ve never watched the sun rise before.

Here’s what I’ve learned over the years:

Choose your location the day before. You’ll enjoy the experience far more if you’re not trying to navigate unfamiliar streets in the dark.
Arrive before first light. The colors and atmosphere often begin long before the sun appears above the horizon, and some of the most beautiful moments happen while the world is still waiting for the day to begin.
Don’t become fixated on the photograph you came to take. Keep looking around. Sometimes the image you never expected becomes the one you’ll treasure most.
Remember that every sunrise is different. Some require careful planning and an early taxi ride. Others are waiting just outside your door.

One morning in Paris, I climbed into a taxi while the city was still dark, heading to the Trocadéro Esplanade with one photograph already imagined in my mind: the Eiffel Tower glowing beneath a beautiful sunrise. When I arrived, the platform was already filling with photographers and couples dressed in wedding attire, each hoping to capture the same iconic view. I hadn’t expected that.

The photograph I remember most wasn’t the one I had planned. It was a photographer carefully posing a married couple with the first light of day behind them. That unexpected moment told a much richer story than the sunrise alone ever could.

That’s one of the reasons I always encourage people to keep looking after they arrive. The photograph you’ve imagined may be wonderful, but don’t let it keep you from seeing the one unfolding beside you.

Not every memorable sunrise requires that kind of effort. One morning in Montepulciano, all I had to do was step outside my room. The vineyards were just beginning to catch the first light, the countryside was perfectly still, and for a few quiet moments, the day belonged only to those who were awake to greet it.

Why it works

You may have planned every detail or simply opened the door to see what the morning brings. Either way, those first moments remind us that every destination offers a fresh beginning, if we’re willing to greet the day before it asks anything of us.

Why Early Morning Travel Is Worth Trying Once

If I could leave you with one parting piece of advice, it would simply be this: just try it once.

What do you have to lose? Well… maybe a little sleep.

But here’s the thing. We never get those travel days back. We spend months planning them, saving for them, and looking forward to them. Then, before we know it, they’re memories. I think that’s reason enough to give yourself one morning that looks a little different from the rest.

Unexpected early morning capture from my balcony in Florence, Italy.

Early morning view over Florence, Italy, photographed from a balcony

I’m not suggesting you do it every day. Some mornings are meant for sleeping in, lingering over another cup of coffee, and letting the day unfold a little more slowly. But just once, set the alarm a little earlier than feels reasonable and see where the morning takes you.

Go by yourself or invite your travel companion to join you. If they aren’t convinced, bribe them with a good cup of coffee and a warm pastry when you get back. It just might work.

I hope you’ll try it just once.

You may come home with your favorite photograph, a new favorite place, or simply the memory of seeing a destination before it had fully awakened.

Sometimes the best travel memories aren’t the ones we planned. They’re the ones we almost slept through.

I’d love to hear from you. Are you an early riser when you travel, or do you prefer to ease into the morning? Have you ever stumbled across one of those quiet, unexpected moments before the crowds arrived? Share your favorite morning travel memory in the comments.