Mountains are emblematic of summer to me. Snowy peaks, meadows filled with wildflowers in brilliant shades of purple and yellow. Freezing dips in the blue lakes. This year, I traded the evergreen forests and alpine lakes of the Pacific Northwest for the searing temperatures, rolling vineyards, and parched pines of the Mediterranean.
Nostalgic for a taste of home—that sweet taste of summer that can only be fulfilled by a day of getting lost along mountain trails—one morning I road tripped north to Gran Sasso National Park in central Italy. I left behind the farms of Abruzzo and wound my way through open, wind-swept valleys where horses and donkeys roamed.
By the time I reached the starting point for the hike, I was enveloped entirely by fog. Dressed for a hot summer hike in the Mediterranean and entirely unprepared for this surprising weather, I headed up a rocky path through dense clouds and howling wind. I walked tentatively along a narrow ridgeline. As the wind blew away the clouds, I stared down into the deep valleys and up at the immense, jagged peaks.
As I continued to walk, I approached a tiny mountain hut. Paninis stuffed with cured meats and cheeses, homemade cakes, and carafes of wine for sale. My eyes scanned the menu of beers and stopped when they reached the list of local beers. “West Coast-style IPA.”
With my beer and panini in hand, I grabbed a spot on the mountain’s edge and cracked open my can of IPA from Abruzzo. Mountain views, quiet hikes, and a cold IPA. It tasted like home. It tasted like summer.
Words + Photo by Alicia Erickson