Who I am
Martí Micolau

Author and references

The strong ringing of the mighty clapper that animates the bells hanging from the neck of the cows, the decorations that adorn everything that moves in the streets and a whole village in celebration? have you ever witnessed a Desmontegada? The descent of the cows to the valley? an event with an ancient atmosphere which takes place in various valleys of the Dolomites and which marks the end of the farmers' season on the high pastures. Since that day the families have lived together with their animals in the villages that scatter the valleys.
We have been to that of the Val di Fiemme and more? precisely at the Desmontegada of Predazzo. Perhaps the most? picturesque of that small strip of green land.

1 day

We are staying in an apartment right in the center of the town. From the windows we can have a wide view of what is happening below us but also the street offers the possibility? to experience the events of the event firsthand.
The ideal? attend the first passage in one of the two ways and, consequently, participate in the second passage of the animals for the country in the other point of view.
Thus, while delicate bristles intertwine moved by the hooves that descend along the road, brushstrokes of colorful floral motifs invade the sky of this early autumn mountain.
Not ? a painting by any painter, but we are close to making the desmontegada an important artistic event.
That of the cows and goats, which from the high pastures of Fiemme are taken down to the valley to the town of Predazzo, takes place every year on the first Sunday of October.
It is not only men and women who are festively decorated for the occasion, but also the animals. Pi? all this mixture of lives passes in front of me and more? I wonder if every tourist who attends you really understands what is dancing in the minds of those who have prepared this event in the smallest details.
The desmontegada? the party for the return of the herds from the summer pastures and I, in order not to fall into the banal after all these years spent observing it, this time I arrive in Val di Fiemme to grasp similarities and differences in a world that is not? pi? for at least a century the same that saw this festival born.
There remains the beauty of wanting to enhance their animals, which have always been elements of help and sustenance for the inhabitants.
I observe the looks and dresses of proud men and elegant women that pass me by and it really seems that time has stopped.
The same pride and joy of that time is the setting for traditional clothes that have never changed their sense of belonging to this event. Hats, shirts, shoes and trousers still retain for those who observe them the same feeling of enchanting ancient sobriety? of ancient times.
A boy in a brick-colored jacket walks a few feet away from me in his dung-stained light pants. He should be embarrassed. Instead, does it show happiness? infinite and that pride of serene belonging to something great. A brotherhood of intentions and emotions that unites every single participant in that descent into the country.
Maybe just like the old days, the only ones to feel a little uncomfortable are some cows that, forced to stop abruptly to let the picturesque caravan flow out among the crowd of tourists, get excited and moo quivering to be able to resume walking making for? pi? how arduous the task of their herdsmen who try to bring them into the established ranks.
For about half an hour, a brief moment of daylight, the wooded panorama of the alpine valley? all a resounding of cowbells and music of the village band that guide the curious towards the town square where a market of mountain flavors awaits them to allow them to inebriate themselves with delicate aromas and sweet tastes.
I remember years before this when the cheese factory in the town organized meetings to give way to those who wanted to observe every detail of the cheese making. The cart of the dairy, decorated with the best shapes, brings me back to the nostalgic idea of ​​hands that, handcrafted, knead the roundness? greedy.
A police van and brigade directing the traffic are the backdrop to the passage of the beloved animals and remind me to what extent the human being has entered this valley. Cars, buses and vans do not match the quiet walk of the quadrupeds and? a diversity? compared to the past more? that certainly does not go unnoticed. All for? it is directed almost with skill and the two streams of such adverse conditions do not even touch each other.
Among the ranks of the group that runs along the main street of the town, there are also dogs, chickens and geese, a sign that no animal wants to be denied that fleeting but heady walkway of the mountain limelight.
Men and women who accompany them are wasted in smiles and caresses but my interest in them? suddenly distracted by there? which comes immediately after.
Two men, two elderly, dignified emblems of their conscious condition of superior age, stand out from the procession with their immense scythes like this. equal to those in ancient times? rough hands waved between the ground and the air to scale back too thick grass. A gesture that? remained the same in these modern times. To change are only the hands of other men who have become old who now proudly show who his mustache, who their youthful bearing.
Not C'? a single word that can describe this event and DESMONTEGADA, the descent from the mountain,? too little to understand what happens in Predazzo during that day.
No articles, no photos and no videos will ever be able to tell the conscience that feeds this drunken procession of life. The only way to experience this cattle descent? go and immerse yourself in every sensation. Inspiration of emotions to which we will try to never fail.

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