Our valleys are rich in hidden villages and pristine landscapes, so let’s start with the first one, one of our favorite places.
In the midst of the forest, between Borgo Preplans and Navaros in Val Colvera, there lies an abandoned cluster of houses known as ‘Borgo Galìna’.
Little is known about this group of abandoned houses that have now surrendered their walls to the voracity of nature.
It is even believed that the name may have some Celtic origins: Galìna is identified as a Celtic surname used and originating from Bulgaria. Indeed, it is supposed that Celtic populations once lived in our territories, and this has been confirmed thanks to some findings, particularly those discovered in the areas of Montereale Valcellina.
The hamlet was inhabited until the 1960s, and the last residents were two lovely and welcoming old ladies. Until that time, especially during the summer, the village was full of life. People from surrounding villages would come as guests, and the main activity was haymaking for livestock feed. Compared to today, the whole area was rich in well-kept meadows, and the forests were confined to certain areas only. The landscape was much more open, with vineyards and fruit trees.
My mother, Graziella, nostalgically tells me that she also spent some days in those houses. They were happy days, full of joy, immersed in a serene environment and the most beautiful nature. They would sleep in the barns and spend their days in the flower-rich meadows.
Reaching Galìna is not a complex task; often, the path is marked by old trails bordered by expertly crafted dry stone walls that withstand the test of time. Grandma Caterina used to narrate to me how, in the past, the inhabitants of the hamlets would gather once or twice a year to dedicate a day to maintaining the paths that connected the various settlements. It almost makes me smile to think about it because the significance of this gesture hides multiple nuances such as a sense of community, mutual support, and the essence of living together. These initiatives arose spontaneously out of necessity, but also out of a strong sense of responsibility, respect for the surrounding environment, and consideration for those who inhabited it.
I love going to this place. Usually, the goal of a mountain hike coincides with a beautiful landscape to admire, a work of art, a fruit to gather, or an animal to encounter. But in this case, it is different for me. The journey itself becomes the destination!
Each time, the path unveils a concentration of emotions and sensations that culminate in reaching the hamlet, emanating a particular energy. Nowadays, the concept of forest bathing is in vogue, and I practice it in my own way along this trail.
I adore going there alone because only by traversing the path with an open heart and a free mind can I truly embrace what the forest wants to communicate to me.
Once I enter the forest behind Borgo Preplans, I automatically shift frequencies. My senses amplify, thoughts slow down and purify, and the perception of time becomes slower, almost absent. Nature embraces me and begins to communicate.
The birdsong accompanies my exploration. The trees observe and envelop me. As soon as the rhythm of my body merges with everything around me, I immerse myself in a new dimension. Once again, I realize that I am part of it all. There are no artifacts, no filters… only being.
The wilderness of the surrounding forest, often referred to as “wild” in marketing language, does not detract from its charm; rather, it enhances it, giving me the opportunity to savor its essence even more.
When I proceed on my journey at a slow pace, I always want to understand if there is someone accompanying me on my path. I listen to distant noises and try to perceive movements.
Suddenly, I spot my first companions of adventure: a young deer gracefully maneuvering through the trees, occasionally pausing to observe the intruder invading its habitat.
However, it is not the sole inhabitant of the forest that I often encounter. At the foot of a grand tree trunk, I observe dry leaves moving imperceptibly. There it is, an alchemical symbol: the salamander. Although it is common to find them in our woods, it never fails to fill me with wonder. Its movements are slow and contemplative, displaying hypnotic colors: a glossy black background with deep yellow spots.
I walk beneath the forest canopy, listening to its sounds, swaying with the rustle of trembling leaves and the gentle whispers of wind caressing its edges.
Midway through the journey, I am invariably greeted by the muffled cry of an old chestnut tree. It played an important role in the past, serving as an anchor for the cableway that transported timber downstream. Sadly, it sacrificed its life to serve humankind, but it harbors no resentment. It remains there, bearing witness to the strength it once possessed.
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The salamander and its colors. -
Autumn mushrooms. -
The chestnut tree, a mighty arm for the cable car.
The path winds through beech forests, chestnut trees, ash trees, and hornbeams. Sometimes it is also blocked by fallen trees from the recent storm. The scents alternate, bringing forth memories, fueling desires, and continuously playing with our senses. The tree lying on the forest floor returns its energy to the earth. Thousands of living beings find refuge there, and it gives life to a variety of mushrooms.
The cyclamens, almost invisible amidst the yellow sea of dry foliage, stand out for their brightness. The distant stream provides the soundtrack as the air becomes fresher, and our nostrils perceive its humidity while the mosses release their fragrance.
Arriving in Galìna, I feel a whirlwind of emotions: on one hand, the melancholy of an abandoned place, of a history that no longer exists; on the other hand, I sense the energy of the past and the nature that surrounds it.
A small handmade iron artwork depicting the Virgin Mary welcomes me. It is a creation and gift to this land by Gigi and Meni, two icons of Borgo Preplans. The artwork bestows upon the traveler a special touch of light aimed at the spirituality of creation.
Looking ahead, the development of the hamlet comes into view. Some houses have collapsed under the weight of time, while others still retain their original architecture. The windows seem to release the voices of the inhabitants, the sounds of daily life. The walls, strictly made of stone, still stand tall, albeit showing deep wrinkles carved by the years.
Inside, the mezzanines have collapsed, and the roofs are now adorned with the crowns of trees. The once destroyed hearth still bears the marks of the extinguished flames, while the stone sink – present until a few years ago – has been greedily taken away.
I sit on what remains of the perimeter wall of a house and silently observe the forest in all its depth. I quickly realize that the place is not uninhabited at all. While humans have abandoned it, nature has settled in. The woodpecker knocks loudly, the deer has left its footprint, and perhaps the fox comes to eat the grapes that fall from the vines, still productive despite being a hundred years old.
I immerse my senses and try to understand the message. I decide to take the way back. However, I come across new and spontaneous signs placed during the pandemic period. I realize that I am not at just any point on the map. It’s a crossroads: on one side, I could reach Navarons, Lake Redona, and on the other, Meduno and Preplans, and further on, Forcela, Valdestali, and Frisanco.
In the end, I realize that Galìna is no longer a remote place; the pandemic has rediscovered forgotten corners, and the nearby places have once again gained their deserved beauty. Sensibility has awakened. Someone has once again had the courage to feel the magic that our territory can offer!
Long live Galìna!
