Waking up at 4:00am because of jet-lagged, I worked through the options and decided that with Bowen’s injury, I shouldn’t opt for the visit to Lago de Braes and that we should just take the dirt route to Misurina from Toblach. We were so jet-lagged that we made the 8:00am train from Toblach, while Arturo and Mark were still having breakfast. We’d had breakfast by buying from the bakery across the street from the apartment the moment it opened at 6:00am!
The train ride to Toblach from Bruneck was free for us, since we had guest cards from the apartment we’d checked into. We had to buy tickets for our bikes, however! The train ride was smooth --- infact, I wouldn’t have to take apart the tandem for the rest of the trip.
Getting off the train, we visited the cultural center that was obvious from the train station. From there, we followed cyclists to the bike path where we were immediately confronted with a barrier notifying us that the bike path was closed. We followed the road that I’d designated on the GPS and refound the bike path to the Toblachersee, where we had had lunch during the 2021 bike tour. Nothing was opened yet so there was no one to photo bomb us as we took pictures of our first views of the Dolomites.

We tried the road for a while instead of the bike path but it was incredibly busy for a Wednesday morning and soon we decided that the dirt bike path was the lesser of two evils. In the uphill direction and with a short ride that day, the slow speed of the bike path was less objectional than in the downhill direction. Indeed, the views were dramatic as mountain after mountain unfolded before as as the bike path weaved in and out of the trees revealing one peak after another until we reached the designated view point for the peaks we would circumnavigate tomorrow, Tre Cime di Laverado!
Past that, the dirt path headed straight for the dirt road to Cortina d’Ampezzo where our progress was impeded for a few minutes by a herd of cows providing the soundtrack for the European Mountains --- cowbells!
Rather than follow the annoying tunnel bike path to Cortina, we turned left on the paved road towards Misurina. It was our first climb of the trip, and though short, it was warm enough that I was glad I wasn’t doing it in the full heat of day. Boen and I attacked the hill with vigor, even passing a couple of unloaded single cyclists, though of course plenty of ebikes would pass us. At the top of the climb the road levelled out and we waited at the corner where the turnoff to Quinz was. The lake was as beautiful as I remembered, though in our 4 nights there we would never see it fully reflective as mirror as the morning I’d seen it in 2014.
Mark and Arturo had caught up to Bowen and Xiaoqin, and when they arrived we took a group picture before settling down to lunch at Quinz, where the menu was the same as the year before when Boen, Arturo and I had dinner the previous year before heading to Murano.

We ate our lunch and then proceeded to Hotel Miralago. I had wanted to stay at Quinz, but they had not replied to my e-mail, and when I called them the answering machine was in Italian. Arturo’s Spanish would probably have let him get through, but when I asked him to make the attempt he was on a a trip and he’d forgotten all about it, while Miralago was the cheapest of all the other hotels who’d bothered to respond to my inquiries. Miralago’ rooms were great, but while the breakfast was decent, the dinner set a benchmark for how badly food could be prepared at a highly rated hotel/restaurant for the entire trip. There was no way you could tell from the Google reviews, of course, as the aggregate points for Miralago was the same as for Quinz, but Quinz had clearly superior food. The smart thing to do would have been to just get bed and breakfast at Miralago and just make reservations for 4 nights of dinners at Quinz, but obviously that was only in retrospect. Arturo also made the observation that the staff at Miralago didn’t appear to care about giving guests a good experience. He theorized that the rooms had recently been renovated to a high level, and the owners of the hotel were skimping everywhere else in an effort to recoup the cost. The lady who dealt with breakfast, however, clearly worked hard and cared, and might have been single-handedly redeeming the hotel’s reputation on Google. In any case, for the rest of the trip, no matter how bad the food was, the comparison was always, “It’s still better than Miralago.”

Having checked in and played on the Zipline playground, we proceeded to walk around Lake Misurina, one of the prettiest lakes in the mountains of Europe, and a walk I never got sick of despite our 4 days there. No one swam in the lake, however. There was a lot of work going on in the cable cars though they wouldn’t open for hiking traffic in the time we were there.
On the other side of the main road from Quinz was the supermarket (open every day of the year!) and an outdoor shop. Arturo had regretted his earlier decision to leave his walking shoes in Munich and proceeded to rectify that by buying a pair of shoes and a backpack. Bargaining with the owner he got such a good price that it was the owner who paid Arturo to take the backpack off his hands!

With his new shoes equipped, Xiaoqin then led us on a hike up to the second lake that’s on the road to the next day’s hike. This second lake was also impressive and the hiking took enough of the day that by the time we got back to Miralago it was time to take showers and do laundry. Bowen’s wound kept oozing. From experience I knew this was no big deal and only to be expected from moist wound care, but because of the amount of discharge he was going through my supply of Tergaderm quickly, so I texted Stephan who had landed in Munich and asked him to procure additional supplies while he was in a big city.
That evening, Miralago demonstrated what their half pension was like. Bad salad with no dressing and two hot dogs, each sliced in half and barely grilled. The desserts were decent, but only because we suspected they were procured rather than made in the kitchen. We did not know the horror that would be served the next evening --- baked beans served cold out of a can.