For almost a decade, the Dolomites lived quietly on my bucket list, one of those places that tugged at me every time it flashed across my screen as its popularity grew online. The jagged peaks, the soft light, the stillness… I was desperate to experience it for myself.

But we’re not a big hiking family.

I love hiking, the kind where your legs ache and your mind slows, but as a family we’ve always chased sunshine over summits. Relaxation over adventure. Pools over peaks. Because let’s face it… life with a young family is adventurous enough, and downtime feels easier in the familiar beach, pool, lounger scenario.

And so the Dolomites stayed where it was… bookmarked, saved, waiting.

I told myself that when I finally went, I’d go alone, that way I’d appreciate it more. That it would be everything I’d ever hoped. I wouldn’t be rushing snacks out of a backpack or negotiating tired little legs. It would be slow, intentional, mine.

But the truth is… I just couldn’t leave my kids.

Not when they were little. Not when they still needed me for everything. The pull to go was strong, but before I knew it they had started school, and then more years passed. Yet the pull to stay only grew stronger.

And so I waited.

Until they were older. Until it finally felt possible.

Until almost a decade had passed.

And here’s the part where I messed it up.

I was so focused on how I’d feel leaving the kids that I didn’t actually plan the trip very well at all.

I went in May, right in that strange in-between period the Dolomites sits in after winter season ends and before summer fully begins. The shoulder season. I didn’t realise quite how literal that “in-between” feeling would be.

Everything was closed.

Gondolas. Mountain cafés. Rifugios. Restaurants. Many of the hotels. Whole villages felt like ghost towns, paused between chapters, waiting for the next wave of visitors to arrive.

And what I hadn’t understood was how much those little stops are part of the hiking experience there. The pastries at altitude. The Aperol spritz with a view. The wooden cabins dotted along the trails that make long hikes feel slow and indulgent rather than remote and exposed.

Without them, the hikes felt… emptier. More functional than magical.

I also massively underestimated the sheer size of the Dolomites and how long public transport would take. On paper it looked manageable. In reality, buses between valleys ate up hours of the day.

A car was one hundred percent essential, and I just wasn’t confident enough to hire one and drive solo in the mountains.

I think I’d convinced myself that because I’d seen the trip so many times on Instagram, I’d naturally experience that same trip when I arrived.

But the reality was… I experienced only a fraction of the Dolomites I’d longed for for so long.

But here’s the thing…

It was still an amazing experience.

Because even though I’d planned it badly, even though half of what I’d imagined wasn’t accessible, I was still there. Standing beneath those peaks I’d stared at through a screen for almost a decade. Breathing in the stillness. Hearing the quiet. Watching the light move across the mountains in real time, not through someone else’s lens.

And there’s something powerful about realising that a place can still leave you in awe, even when you experience only a fraction of it.

If anything, it made me respect the Dolomites even more.

It taught me that this isn’t a destination you “wing.” It’s vast. Expansive. Spread across valleys that each deserve time. It’s a place that asks you to slow down, to plan intentionally, to move through it properly, ideally by car, with the freedom to stop wherever the view asks you to.

And season matters more than I realised.

Those mountain rifugios, the gondola rides, the long lunches at altitude, the pastries mid-hike… they aren’t extras. They’re part of the rhythm of the experience. Go too early and the mountains feel closed. Go in full season and they come alive.

So no, it wasn’t the trip I’d spent years imagining.

But it was the trip that taught me how I want to return.

Because next time, I’ll do it completely differently.

Next time I’ll go in peak season, when the lifts are running and the cabins are open and the trails feel alive.

Next time I’ll hire the car, even if it pushes me out of my comfort zone.

And next time…

I’m taking the kids.

Because now that I’ve been, now that I understand the scale and the magic of it, I don’t want to experience the fullness of it without them. I want them to see what I saw. To hike a little, snack a lot, and grow up knowing adventure doesn’t only live by the pool or the beach.

It lives in the mountains too.