After about four hours of uphill hiking I have reached a mountain pass. Valleys extend outward in front and behind me, and I am surrounded by nothing but meadows, rugged rocky peaks, and the small mountain hut back down the trail from where I came. Scarcely forty-eight hours after arriving in Italy, I have left the modern world.

I am a few thousand feet above Cortina d’Ampezzo, the small town that acts as my home base for excursions into the surrounding area. After flying into Venice, I took a three hour bus ride north to Cortina. From Venice, the Dolomites build like a crescendo, starting from the marshy plains near the coast, through flat vineyards and farm fields, and then up to the Alpine region. As the bus weaved its way through the foothills I felt the fatigue of my travels drop away and a sense of belonging that rose with the elevation.

On the trail I take frequent pauses to marvel at the scene. The valley unfolds like a treasure map, a visual compendium of possible risks and potential discoveries that will make me rich in ways outside the realms of material wealth. Far off peaks suggest unknown sights, unfelt emotions, new ground, fresh perspectives. Cortina’s streets and structures mark the valley floor, but they seem small beside the grandeur of the mountains. Beyond Cortina is the mountain pass I tackled my first day. I try to imagine what it would have looked like to see myself there from my current vantage point, a small figure scrambling up the scree. From this far it seems like such a small obstacle, nothing like the endless slog that it turned out to be.

I remember the joy of finally making it to that pass. For over an hour I had been staring at dusty rocks and my own feet, trying to making my way up a shifting pile of gravel that continually slid out from under me, but in the instant that I crested the last part of the slope I understood why. Everything that existed on the other side of the pass, hidden from view until the last possible moment, was suddenly and dramatically revealed. I saw valleys and mountains, unknown places that beckoned me to explore them. Emotions crept into my throat, primal noises that bubbled up from the middle of my chest and reached out and echoed from the mountains.

That feeling is why I stand now at this pass on the other side of the valley. There is something to be found in the pursuit of these places. The struggle and the reward are intimately connected.

After admiring the view for a few moments longer, I backtrack down to the hut, Rifugio Croda da Lago. The rifugios, or refuges, are a series of huts scattered around the Dolomites, each one less than a day hike from any other. The huts provide soft beds, warm food, cold beer, and hot chocolate so thick it could be melted fudge. With them there, there is no need for a heavy pack. A person is free to wander unencumbered. This means that my ultralight approach to hiking is a luxury instead of a hardship. The hut is equipped with electricity and running water. Dinner is a hot, home-cooked meal, accompanied by wine. If there is a better way to end a day of hiking, I haven’t found it.

The following day will be a full one. I aim to hike my way around to a number of different peaks and rifugios, taking in as much as I can of this place before my obligations carry me away from it. These few days in the mountains are a spiritual retreat for me. The trails here are like a meditation — every step a mantra, every breath a prayer. If souls exist, they are forged in the mountains.