3 Weeks in Northern Italy With a 7-Year-Old

We took an overnight flight from Portland, Oregon, to Milan’s Malpensa airport via Heathrow, landing at around 6:30 p.m. and driving an hour and a half in the dark to Arboerio (not to be confused with Arborio, where risotto rice is grown). It’s an 80-person village — closer to 50 in the winter — in Italy’s northwestern Piedmont region. You won’t find it in any guidebooks; we discovered it only because Ariana and Nick G.’s Milanese friends, Mike and Elé, have a vacation home there. Ariana and Nick G. stayed with Mike and Elé and their two sons, and we rented an apartment from one of their neighbors that’s next door to this one. You could also stay in Varallo Sesia, a town nestled in the foothills of the Alps about two miles down the road. We went to the Tuesday market there and bought yellow plums and arancini wrapped in foil; I saw an old woman open her wallet so a farmer could take out what she owed for her produce (which is to say, you can leave your RFID-blocking money belt at home).

Because our friends arrived four days before we did and we wanted the option to split up, we rented two cars: a Fiat Panda and a Lancia Ypsilon. Every morning, we made espresso in our Moka pot and drank it while sitting at a little table by the window overlooking Varallo; every afternoon, we went swimming in the clear-blue Mastallone river for hours, taking breaks to watch teenage boys cliff-jump. On our third day, while Nick P. went fly-fishing, Ariana and Nick G. and I took the girls on a chairlift up to the Alpe Campo Rimasco Fun Bob, a hand-brake-controlled sled that runs on an aluminum monorail, half an hour away. It was so much fun, we immediately paid to do it a second time.

Nick G. and I drove 45 minutes west to the village of Alagna Valsesia, the starting point for our eight-mile hike up to Orestes Hutte (loc. z’Indra, 11020 Tache AO), a mountain refuge on Monte Rosa we’d all decided to stay in for the night. (The rest of the group took a gondola followed by an aerial tram, then hiked the remaining 2.5mmiles.) I’m used to switchbacks, but this trail went straight up, and even though I work out seven days a week, my hamstrings were screaming. We covered more than 5,000 feet of elevation gain in the first five miles — stopping to eat leftover pizza at the three-mile mark — before finally descending for a bit. The views were spectacular, and we ran into only a handful of other hikers (all of whom were using hiking poles, oops). We did have to check our AllTrails app a few times, but mostly we were able to follow the red and white trail markers painted onto the rocks.

We finally reached the hut and checked in at the bar on the main level, where we were given our room keys and directed downstairs to the boot room. I exchanged my muddy trail-running shoes for a pink pair of loaner Crocs, then threw my backpack in our cozy private room (it also has communal bunk bedrooms) on the second floor. It turns out the rest of our group had gone out exploring, but they had to head back when it started to thunder. Once they made it back to the hut, Margot and I retreated to the second-floor reading nook. I promptly curled up in a papasan cushion in the corner and fell asleep for an hour.

After a game of Uno, a glass of wine, and a little marmot-watching from the sundeck, we took our places at a long table. The hut doesn’t serve animal products, and I think we were all a little apprehensive about getting enough to eat after such an active day (especially without cheesy pasta for the kids). But there was more than enough food, and — miracle of miracles — Margot actually ate most of it, even the pea soup first course. I was full enough that I didn’t finish dessert, a slice of semolina cake.

After a continental breakfast, we hiked a mile to Blue Lake. While Nick P. and Mike fly-fished for trout in the turquoise waters, the girls climbed rocks and ate the snacks we’d packed the morning before. Then we all hiked to the tram and took it down to the Alpen Stop (Pianalunga, 13021), where we sat on the panoramic terrace eating steak and drinking spritzes while the kids jumped on the two big trampolines in front of the restaurant. Around 3, we hopped on the gondola to the base of the mountain and drove back to Arboerio.

Ariana and I walked down the road into town and then hoofed it 20 minutes up the winding cobblestoned path to Sacro Monte (Piazza G. Testori, 13019), a UNESCO World Heritage Site and 15th-century re-creation of Jerusalem consisting of 45 chapels and 800 statues depicting Christ’s last days (you can also take a funicular, the steepest in Europe). There are eight other Sacri Monte in Italy, but this one is the oldest. Ariana went to Catholic school, but even she was confounded by some of the more macabre sculptures, one of which led me down the rabbit hole researching the iconography of goiters a few weeks later.

Tucked in the gardens next to Sacro Monte is Hostaria de Bricai (Via Fiume, 1, 13019), a Michelin-recommended fine-dining restaurant in an ancient two-story residence overlooking Varallo. We made reservations for right when it opened and left the girls playing video games with Mike and Elé’s boys. We ordered the donkey ravioli because how could we not, but the risotto was the standout.

With the girls in one car and Nick P. and I in the other, we embarked on a long drive to this German-speaking autonomous province, which was annexed by Italy from the Austro-Hungarian Empire after World War I. The plan was to stop at an Autogrill for lunch, but by the time we were ready to eat, we’d passed the last one. We finally pulled up at Baumanhoff (Via Costa di Sopra, 39100), an eight-room, family-owned B&B, around 6 (a road closure made the trip take longer than it should have), where we were greeted by two huge German shepherds. After checking in to our room — which had a shared balcony and perfectly made-up spruce-framed beds with a tiny Loacker wafer on each pillow — we grabbed a picnic table overlooking the surrounding vineyards and ordered nearly everything on the menu from the Baumanhoff tavern: three kinds of dumplings; sausages; a cabbage salad; and funnel cake, which the girls went crazy for. Between the food and the neighboring table of well-behaved bachelor partiers in lederhosen, it felt like we were in Austria.

After a buffet breakfast of muesli, pastries, yogurt, and fruit — plus made-to-order scrambled eggs and a bottomless silver pot of drip coffee, which I have never been happier to see — we played von Trapps for the day at Alpe de Siusi, the largest high-Alpine pasture in Europe. We took a gondola to the top, then ambled along the gently rolling trails for hours taking in panoramic views of the Dolomites, an Alpine mountain range with 18 peaks that top out at over 10,000 feet, while Margot quizzed me on Pokémon. We stopped for sausages and fries at the Alpenhotel Panorama (via Joch, 10, 39040) around 1, then let the girls play on the hotel’s oversize swings before heading back out to explore for another hour or so.

Three of the four of us are CrossFitters, and we wanted to get to a gym at least once while we were in Italy. The coach at CrossFit Bolzano (Via Alessandro Volta, 1E, 39100) was super-welcoming, and even though she taught the class in Italian, we got by just fine. The only tricky part was trying to convert kilograms to pounds.

We talked about seeing Ötzi (the iceman, not the DJ) at the South Tyrol Museum of Archaeology (Via Museo, 43, 39100), but the girls had caught Olympic rock climbing on TV and wanted to try it for themselves. Salewa, the Italian hiking shoe manufacturer, happens to have a cavernous climbing gym in town, so we bought the girls a two-hour pass, which came with shoe rentals. We took turns operating the auto belay for them while the rest of us sat outside in the shade drinking shaken espressos from the neighboring bistro, Salewa Bivac (Via Waltraud-Gebert-Deeg, 6, 39100). When their time was up, we ordered grain bowls and ravioli for lunch and marveled at how chic the locals looked in spite of the heat wave we were experiencing.

It was time to make our way to the spa town of Merano, half an hour away. We rented the north wing of a 12th-century castle, and boy, did it deliver. The ceilings were stratospherically high, the kitchen was well stocked, and the property was surrounded by apple orchards. Plus, it was right on the Maiser Waalweg, a sixish-mile trail through vineyards and forest that we all ended up running on at least once during our stay.

Luxury Apartment in Castello Planta Meran

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My family accuses me of not being a pool person, but the truth is that most pools are too cold and crowded. Not so at Terme Merano (Piazza Terme, 9, 39012), which comprises 15 indoor pools and 11 outdoor ones — one of which, the chemical-free “Bio Nature Pool,” makes you feel as if you’re swimming in a very large, clean, and picturesque pond. We hopped from one pool to another, taking a break to eat lunch from the snack bar on the huge sunbathing lawn, until a downpour late in the afternoon finally forced us to pack up and walk back to our castle.

Another day, another gondola to a family fun area at the top of a peak. This one, Merano 2000, had in-ground trampolines; a zip line; and, of course, a Fun Bob, which we (again) rode twice. I got a little motion-sick on the way up the mountain, so we scrambled to get a seat near the front of the gondola car on the way back, which made for a smoother and more scenic ride.

Ariana and I decided to take the girls to Trauttmansdorff (Strada Provinciale 8 Merano - Scena, 39012), an old castle with 80 gardens (including the “Garden for Lovers” with a shallow pond the kids could wade through barefoot, unaware of the weird S&M-coded sculpture in the corner). We thought they’d poop out quickly, but they kept wanting to check out the next thing on the map: the mini Palm Beach; the aviary; and the Botanical Underworld, a 17-minute audio-guided underground “experience trail” that somehow managed to make photosynthesis spooky. That night, my husband and I walked to Mösl (Via Priami, 1, 39012) for dinner and ate chanterelle pasta and flank steak on the patio (we tried to order a third dish, but the server warned us it would be too much food; she was right). Afterward, we wandered into the Monocle Shop (Via Dante, 25, 39012), where I was tempted to buy a $200 salt mill, and then over to Konditorei Eisdel Theiner Obermais for gelato. By the end of the day, my phone said I’d taken nearly 30,000 steps.

It was hard to say good-bye to the castle, but we were excited for our one and only hotel stay of the trip, at the four-star Hotel die Post (Via Principale, 22, 39029) in Sulden, a storybook village about 40 miles west of Merano. Our room rate included a breakfast buffet, a lunch buffet, and an eight-course dinner (plus a salad and dessert buffet) every night. After cooking for two kids for two weeks in a country that does not seem to sell canned black beans, tortillas, or cheddar, it was a godsend to have so many kid-friendly options at every meal.

Hotel die Post

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Book at Hotel Post

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There were tons of activities for the kids to do, none of which required us to get in the car once during our stay. We hiked to a 150-foot suspension bridge spanning the roaring Sulden river, played a round at the extremely mom-and-pop MiniGolf Sulden, and set the girls free at a charmingly Hobbit-esque all-wood playground. When it rained, we borrowed Monopoly from the front desk and spread out at a big table in the lobby, sipping negronis while the girls learned about land-grabbing. We swam in the indoor pool every day, padding downstairs in our hotel-issued robes and slippers.

We also managed to fit in some adult time. One morning, Ariana, Nick G., and I hiked 6.5 gorgeous miles past free-ranging cows. One afternoon, Ariana and I escaped to the “textile-free” (non-optional; they asked us to remove our swimsuits!) adults-only part of the spa, which has multiple steam rooms and a relaxation terrace with views of the Ortler and Zebru mountains. On our second-to-last night, the adults realized that we could order the girls just one course at dinner — Margot chose pesto every time — then send them upstairs to watch SpongeBob on the iPad while we had a leisurely meal.

We gave the girls Dramamine for the four-hour drive from Sulden to Milan over the Stelvio Pass, which has 60 hairpin turns and is the highest paved mountain pass in the eastern Alps (and heavily frequented by sadistic cyclists). We chose an Airbnb in Mike’s neighborhood, Navigli. In addition to the central location just off the Naviglia Grande canal, it also had two major things going for it: air-conditioning and a palatial shower big enough for me to actually sit down and shave my legs. It also had a big window overlooking a courtyard in the back and a lofted bed the kids got a kick out of. Nobody really wanted to drive or deal with parking in Milan, so the dads returned the rental cars to the airport.

We had only one full day here, and we spent it taking the girls to the Duomo (they were impressed enough by the outside, which saved us 60 euros per family and hours in line), looking for fish in the canal, and buying Formula 1 merch at the three-story flagship Ferrari store (Via Giovanni Berchet, 2). A lot of businesses were closed when we were there — many residents leave for a good chunk of August — but next time I would try to visit Tenoha (Via Vigevano, 18), a kind of Muji-Izakaya mash-up around the corner from our Airbnb. That night, on Mike’s recommendation, we walked past half a dozen gelato places to Gelateria La Romana (V.le Col di Lana, 2), then went to bed early for our 7:30 a.m. flight home.