Trento: the city I didn’t plan to fall for
April 26, 2026
This is a story about a journey where the road quietly becomes as important as the destination. In just a few hours, the drive from Munich to Trento turns into a shift between cultures, rhythms and subtle details, with a brief stop in Bolzano, where Italy still speaks German, and an unexpected encounter with Trento, a city you don’t plan to fall for, but do, somewhere between the evening light, the architecture and a perfectly timed glass of wine.
Munich, with its English Garden and endless parks, is undeniably beautiful, but its real advantage is something else entirely: how close it sits to the Alps. Lakes shimmering in green valleys, dense forests, and, just beyond them, Italy.
My recent trip to Bavaria had two purposes, aside from seeing a close friend. I wanted to look at Munich as a potential alternative to Frankfurt, and I wanted to drive south to Italy for the Summa wine festival. I’ve already written about the festival itself, but the road there turned out to be just as memorable.
The drive from Munich to Trento is one of those journeys that quietly pulls you in. Mountains rise gradually, vineyards begin to appear, lakes flash between trees, and narrow, impossibly clear rivers follow you along the road. I spent all three hours doing very little, just listening to music and watching it all unfold.
What surprised me most was not the landscape, but the shift you feel when crossing from Germany into Italy. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. The structure softens, the pace loosens. At a petrol station, conversations become louder, more expressive. The houses along the road turn warmer in colour. There is a certain lightness in the air, as if life is meant to be enjoyed a little more openly here.
We stopped in Bolzano for lunch and a short walk. For a moment, it felt like we hadn’t quite left Austria behind. German was everywhere, on signs, in conversations, in the rhythm of the place. Pretzels and sausages sat comfortably alongside espresso bars. It makes sense, of course. South Tyrol was part of the Austro-Hungarian world until the early twentieth century, and even today the region lives in both cultures at once. Bolzano, or Bozen, feels less like a typical Italian city and more like a careful balance between two identities.
We didn’t stay long. A quick plate of seasonal asparagus, a short walk, and we were back on the road. And then, within less than an hour, everything shifted again.
Trento felt different from the first minute. There was very little time before sunset, which made everything sharper, more immediate. Buildings seemed to unfold one after another, each facade asking for attention. Frescoes, textures, details that made you slow down without realising it. It felt as though every closed door and every inner courtyard was holding a story you were just about to discover.
At some point I caught myself wishing, quite seriously, for a charming Italian guide to appear out of nowhere and start explaining everything, ideally over an aperitivo on one of the terraces.
Trento carries more history than you might expect from a city of its size. In the sixteenth century, it hosted the Council of Trent, one of the most significant events in the history of the Catholic Church. The city has that quiet confidence of a place that has seen important things happen and doesn’t need to prove anything anymore.
The moment that stayed with me the most was the Castello del Buonconsiglio. The former residence of the prince-bishops who ruled Trento for centuries, it rises slightly above the city, a complex of buildings from different periods, enclosed within defensive walls. We arrived just in time to see it in the evening light, which made it look almost unreal, but not in time to go inside.
“Scusi, siamo chiusi,” the guard told us with a smile. We took a few photos and kept walking as the city slowly moved into the evening.
After a couple of loops through the old town and an obligatory stracciatella gelato, we found ourselves cold and hungry and decided to stop for a glass of wine before heading back to the hotel.
That plan lasted about ten minutes.
One of the best-rated wine bars on Google Maps happened to be right across from the castle. It was simple, almost understated, but with an impressive wine list. What stood out was the selection by the glass: local wines from Trentino alongside bottles from other regions of Italy, all thoughtfully chosen.
The atmosphere did the rest. Music, conversations from nearby tables, the ease with which people settled into the evening. One glass turned into more than one, and dinner quietly relocated itself from the hotel to that table, with local cheeses, bread and cured meats.
Bellissimo, in the most unpretentious sense of the word.
I’m not entirely sure what exactly made Trento stay with me so strongly. Perhaps it was the timing, the light, the wine, the architecture, or simply the feeling of discovering something without expectations.
But I know I want to come back.
To have an early espresso, to finally walk through the castle, and, ideally, to find that perfect Italian guide who will tell me everything, leaving nothing unsaid.