As if not to disturb or alert the people packing up at the high altitude slow food festival behind me, a small mountain goat tiptoed through the clouds and into the opening.
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Two cable cars, a sausage with sauce and a platter of bread and mixed condiments later, I found myself looking up at a loose pile of rocks a few hundred metres away.
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Somewhere in the Italian Alps.
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The plan came together in a way significantly better than I ever could have imagined.
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