‘Achtung! Staatsgrenze!’: A Journey Through Europe’s Borderless Alpine Heart

‘Achtung! Staatsgrenze!’ OK, the signpost marking the ‘state border’ didn’t have exclamation marks but, with its no-nonsense Prussian font, it did feel quite shouty. Yet, amidst the serene grandeur of the Feistritzer Alm – a peaceful sweep of Alpine pasture nestled precisely where Austria and Italy converge – its stern warning was met with utter disregard. Hikers, laden with backpacks and trekking poles, ambled casually past, their minds set on the next vista rather than geopolitical lines. Mountain bikers, having conquered steep ascents, found its sturdy frame a convenient prop for their cycles, oblivious to its declared authority. Cows, those ultimate symbols of unfettered existence, grazed willy-nilly across the invisible divide, their bovine bliss undisturbed by human constructs. And the patrons of the Schutzhütte Oisternig, a welcoming mountain refuge, savoured their cold beers and hearty fare, utterly indifferent to which sovereign territory their picnic tables officially occupied. While official boundaries in these storied parts have ebbed and flowed, shifted and redrawn themselves countless times over the centuries, the ancient, magnificent presence of the mountains themselves has remained an immutable constant.

This poignant juxtaposition of human-drawn lines and nature’s enduring unity forms the very essence of the Alpe Adria Trail, a remarkable long-distance hiking route that winds through the heart of Central Europe. My husband and I had embarked on this journey, waking that particular morning in Austria, specifically in the charming Carinthian village of Feistritz. Carinthia, Austria’s southernmost state, is renowned for its pristine lakes, lush valleys, and dramatic Alpine scenery, a region where Austrian gemütlichkeit blends subtly with a touch of Mediterranean flair due to its proximity to Italy and Slovenia. After a traditional Austrian breakfast at the old Gasthof Alte Post, a charming inn steeped in local history, we purchased a crusty loaf from the bäckerei, its aroma promising delicious sustenance for the day ahead. We then climbed past the village’s striking 15th-century church, its bells pealing melodiously as they called worshippers for morning prayers, a sound echoing through centuries of faith and community. Our path continued upwards, through dense, fragrant pine forest, the air growing crisper with every metre gained, until we emerged onto these high Alpine meadows – and, almost imperceptibly, into Italy.

We were not just on a casual hike; we were traversing a segment of the Alpe Adria Trail, a visionary project jointly developed by Austria, Slovenia, and Italy. This ambitious trail stretches an impressive 750 kilometres (466 miles), tracing a majestic arc from the foot of Grossglockner – Austria’s highest mountain, towering at 3,798 metres (12,461 feet) – all the way to the sun-drenched Adriatic coast. While the full trail is an epic undertaking, far too long for most people’s typical summer holidays, a more accessible and equally captivating 135-kilometre (84-mile) loop has been meticulously created. This loop, designed to be moderately graded and comfortably doable in a week, features daily walking distances of 15-24 kilometres (9-15 miles), offering a perfect "multicultural taster" experience precisely where the three nations meet.

The concept is inherently appealing, tapping into a growing desire among hikers for routes that offer diverse cultural encounters and the unique thrill of circuiting multiple countries within a single journey. One need only look at the burgeoning numbers crowding trails like the Tour du Mont Blanc, which traverses France, Switzerland, and Italy, to understand this appeal. While the Alpe Adria loop might not boast the sheer, dramatic verticality of Mont Blanc, it offers its own distinct charm: a much quieter, more contemplative alternative, allowing for a deeper immersion into the landscape and its subtle cultural shifts without the constant throng of fellow adventurers. It represents a modern embrace of open borders and shared heritage, a tangible manifestation of European unity in a landscape that once saw fierce conflicts and rigid divisions.

Our journey to the starting point of this cross-border adventure was itself an exercise in sustainable and scenic travel. We began by catching an early Eurostar from London to Amsterdam, a comfortable and efficient train ride that allowed us to minimize our carbon footprint. In Amsterdam, we had enough time to enjoy the city’s iconic canals, savour a cold Dutch beer, and indulge in crispy bitterballen – a quintessential local snack – before boarding the Nightjet sleeper train to Salzburg. The Nightjet, a resurgence of classic overnight rail travel, transformed the journey into an experience in itself. From the cosy confines of our adjoining capsule-like cabins, we watched the flat, cultivated landscapes of the Netherlands seamlessly segue into the rolling hills and forests of Germany as dusk fell. We awoke at dawn to a dramatically different panorama: a breathtaking tableau of lush pastureland, towering pines, and the first majestic peaks of the Alps, hazy in the morning light. The final leg, a local train from Salzburg to Villach – the picturesque Carinthian city where we would officially begin the Alpe Adria loop – saw the Alps pressing ever closer, their colossal forms drawing us inexorably into their ancient embrace.

Now, on the sun-drenched Feistritzer Alm, a day and a half into our trek, Austria was momentarily behind us, and Italy beckoned, its beauty unfolding with every step. Just around the gentle curve of a hill from the Schutzhütte Oisternig stood the charming chapel of Our Lady of the Snows, known locally as the Chiesa Madonna della Neve in Italian or Almkapelle Maria Schnee in German, a testament to the region’s linguistic fluidity. Beyond this quaint sanctuary, the landscape unfurled in a breathtaking panorama of deep-green foothills giving way to the jagged, imposing peaks of the Julian Alps, their limestone spires sawing dramatically into a hot-blue, cloudless sky. This region, Friuli-Venezia Giulia, is known for its rugged beauty, a blend of Alpine grandeur and a whisper of Mediterranean influence as it stretches towards the Adriatic.

From this high vantage point, the rest of the day promised a welcome descent, a gradual drop through blessed shade and dappled sunlight, where paths intricately woven through the pine forests offered tantalizing peeks at the surrounding peaks. The air hummed with the gentle buzz of insects and the flutter of countless butterflies, transforming the downward journey into a meditative experience. Our destination was the charming village of Valbruna, nestled in the Val Canale, a valley renowned for its linguistic and cultural crossroads where Italian, German, and Slovenian influences intertwine. We settled into the Valbruna Inn, a welcoming establishment, and found ourselves with a wonderful room featuring a balcony that offered an uninterrupted view. From there, gazing past vibrant geraniums, we could marvel at the sheer, formidable face of the Jôf Fuart range, its highest point reaching an impressive 2,666 metres (8,747 feet), a truly awe-inspiring spectacle.

The Valbruna Inn held another delightful surprise: its Julius Kugy Library, a cosy, wood-panelled den filled with books dedicated to alpinism and mountain exploration. The library is named after Julius Kugy, a legendary writer-mountaineer whose legacy profoundly shaped the appreciation of the Julian Alps. Born in 1858 in Gorizia – a city that was then part of the Austrian Empire and is now in Italy, a perfect symbol of the region’s shifting allegiances – Kugy is widely credited with pioneering the exploration and understanding of the Julian Alps. He was not merely a conqueror of peaks but a poet of the mountains, a philosopher who championed a profound reverence for nature. He consistently encouraged others to explore with respect, curiosity, and a deep sense of awe, urging them to find more than just physical challenge in the high peaks. I picked up one of his books, a collection of essays, and read from his introduction, a passage that resonated deeply with our own experience: "[This] tries to describe the mountains as a source of happiness, because such they were in my life."

I couldn’t have agreed more, and with a renewed sense of purpose and great happiness, we continued our journey the next morning. Following the Alpe Adria Trail from Valbruna, we crossed the Saisera River, its waters rushing clear and cold from the mountains, and ascended through dense forests of fir and spruce. Our destination was the Sanctuary of Monte Lussari, a ridge-top pilgrim church and tiny hamlet that commands breathtaking views. Legend has it that the Virgin Mary appeared here in 1360, turning this remote spot into a significant pilgrimage site for people from all three surrounding nations. While I was less moved by the miracle itself, or by the proliferation of shops selling branded tote bags, liqueurs, and slippers that catered to pilgrims and tourists alike, I was utterly captivated by the sight of mountains scattered far and wide, an endless tapestry of peaks stretching to the horizon. We lingered, soaking in the panoramic grandeur, then began our descent. The path wound through meadows dotted with vibrant alpenrose and past ambling goats, leading us down to Tarvisio, a larger market town. Here, we found a different, more immediate kind of happiness in the town’s bustling gelaterias, indulging in richly flavoured Italian ice cream. Later that evening, from the balcony of our room at the Hotel Nevada, with cold beers in hand, we watched a dramatic Alpine storm crash through the valley, briefly erasing every mountain from view behind a curtain of rain and mist, a powerful reminder of nature’s raw, untamed force.

The following day brought more joy and discovery as the trail guided us along the enchanting Sentiero del Orso (Bear Trail), a woodland path known for its pristine beauty and potential wildlife sightings, though we encountered only birds and the rustling of forest creatures. This path then seamlessly connected to a well-maintained, busy cycle path, a testament to the region’s commitment to outdoor recreation, leading us to the exquisite Fusine lakes. These twin glacial bowls, Lago Superiore and Lago Inferiore, are renowned for their arresting blue-green hues, so vivid and pristine that one might suspect them to be the product of AI-enhanced imagery if not for the undeniable reality of standing right on their shores. We found a quiet spot for a picnic, serenaded by the melancholic whinnying calls of little grebes, their tiny forms darting across the dazzling water. Our gaze stretched beyond the shimmering surface to the challenging rock formations ahead – the arduous, yet rewarding, haul up to Rifugio Zacchi, our accommodation for the night.

Unlike many sections of the Alpe Adria loop, which typically end each day in a valley bottom with an abundance of inns and guesthouses, our journey this particular evening culminated in a true mountain hut experience. Rifugio Zacchi, perched at an elevation of 1,380 metres (4,528 feet), is tight-hugged by the intimidating, sheer peaks that dramatically mark the Slovenian border. After a muggy, yet utterly magical ascent through an increasingly dense forest, its air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, we arrived at the refuge. I immediately found a spot on the terrace, a spectacular vantage point, and ordered a superb Aperol spritz, the vibrant orange liquid a stark contrast to the verdant landscape. I sat transfixed, staring at the formidable mountains, their craggy faces softened by the late afternoon light. A few distant booms of thunder rippled through the air, just in case the immense power and majesty of nature had ever been in doubt.

The food at Rifugio Zacchi proved to be as excellent as the views. We feasted on rich venison ragù, perfectly chargrilled peppers, and frico, a delectable potato-pancake-like dish made with local Montasio cheese, a true culinary highlight of the Friulian Alps. Adding to our stroke of luck, we discovered we had a dorm to ourselves, a rare luxury in a busy mountain hut. We woke the next morning, refreshed and eager for the next border hop, ready to delve into Slovenia.

The most striking and direct route into Slovenia would have been over the forbidding-looking Vratca Pass, a dramatic mountain crossing. The Alpe Adria Trail did lead us there, offering unparalleled views east into the pristine wilderness of Triglav National Park, Slovenia’s only national park and a jewel of the Julian Alps. However, the official trail wisely opted for a less exposed path for the general hiker, choosing not to cross the high pass directly. Instead, the Alpe Adria backtracked slightly on the Italian side, guiding us down a gentler path through the verdant Sava Valley. This picturesque valley, carved by the Sava Dolinka river, led us to the vibrant, outdoorsy town of Kranjska Gora, a popular resort town nestled in the heart of the Slovenian Alps.

Our entrance into Slovenia was thus a pleasant and relatively gentle one, easing us into the country’s distinct charm. However, our exit from Slovenia and return to Austria the following day was nothing short of spectacular, providing the most challenging and rewarding ascent of our entire route. To complete the loop, we had to cross the formidable Karavanke Alps, a dramatic mountain range that forms a natural border between Austria and Slovenia, and conquer the highest point of our trek: the 1,842-metre (6,043-foot) Schwarzkogel. It was an unrelenting climb, demanding steady effort. Initially, our path wound through sun-drenched pastureland dotted with traditional shingle-roofed farmhouses, offering sublime, ever-expanding views to the south, towards the jagged peaks of the Julian Alps. As we ascended higher, we plunged deep into cool, ancient forest, serenaded by the melodious calls of thrushes and the gentle trickling of streams that ran alongside our path, their waters eventually feeding into the valley below.

As we neared the summit of Schwarzkogel, the tree line began to recede, and the views exploded in all directions. To the south, we could gaze across Slovenia’s surging summits, a sea of green and grey peaks stretching as far as the eye could see. To the north, the landscape unfurled across Carinthia, revealing its characteristic electric-blue lakes shimmering amidst low, rolling hills. Here, at the very spine of the ridge, squat white marker-stones began to appear, strung out along the exposed crest – a simple, almost casual marking of an international border, far less imposing than most front garden fences. We slalomed playfully between these posts, stepping effortlessly from one country to another, embodying the freedom of movement that modern Europe cherishes. This act was a powerful symbol, but it was the sheer majesty of nature surrounding us – the vastness of the Alps, the profound silence broken only by the wind, the panoramic views that spanned nations – that truly held us captive. For millennia, the Alps have served as both physical and cultural barriers, dividing peoples and shaping distinct identities. Yet, the Alpe Adria Trail, in its design and spirit, represents a powerful force of bringing together, a testament to shared natural beauty and a common pursuit of mountain happiness. It is more than just a path; it is an invitation to experience unity in diversity, one unforgettable step at a time.

The trip was provided by Walks Worldwide; the eight-day, self-guided Alpe Adria Tri-Country Trek is from £895 B&B. Accommodation in London was provided by Generator (rooms from £75, dorm beds from £11).