Berghoferin: A Place That Belongs to Silence

There are places you discover, and others that seem to find you.

I had never been to Redagno. I didn’t know much about it, only that it was hidden somewhere between Trentino and South Tyrol, high up on the slopes of Corno Bianco. But I felt the need to go. So I packed a bag for my solo weekend and drove toward the mountains: without expecting that two days in a wooden house at the edge of the forest would become one of the most quietly magical moments I’ve ever lived.

Berghoferin emerges like a quiet secret carried through the forest. A red-and-white timber chalet that looks like it’s been pulled from a Brothers Grimm tale: vintage parasols by the pool, striped floaties that seem to have drifted in from a 1960s holiday postcard. It’s elegant, but never showy: humble, but deeply intentional.

From the moment I arrived, I was wrapped in a warmth that felt completely genuine. Anna and Philipp were waiting at the door: not as hosts, but like family welcoming me back after a long time away. Their hospitality is not loud or theatrical. It’s soft, deeply human, and instinctive.

I stepped into my room, opened the balcony doors, and was greeted by a silence so complete it felt like the forest was holding its breath. Just the occasional ring of the nearby church bell, and the soft rustle of wind threading through the pines trees.

Inside, everything felt curated with a quiet elegance. Alpine fabrics in olive and rust tones, polished wood, shelves of hand-picked books, the gentle glow of antique lamps. There’s a deliberate harmony, but nothing pretentious. It’s beauty that feels effortless, and a kind of charm that emerges from authenticity.

Monrings began gently: with the first light slipping through the curtains and the distant call of birds. Breakfast was served either in the veranda or on the sun-drenched terrace: flaky pastries, homemade jams, fresh fruit, alpine cheeses, perfectly cooked eggs. Sweet and savory, light yet generous. I never wanted to leave the table too soon.

I spent my days walking, letting the trails lead me through wildflower meadows and quiet woods. The scent of pine, damp earth, and sun-warmed stone filled the air. But I also found joy in stillness: sitting on my terrace, or by the pool, breathing slowly, simply letting the moment be.

As evening fell, a new rhythm took over: slower, golden, more inward. A glass of wine in the amber-lit dining room, then dinner: familiar flavors elevated with creativity and grace. The cuisine is rooted in local tradition but surprises you gently, like everything else at Berghoferin. Outside the window, fir trees stood like silhouettes against the fading pink of the sky.

Every space in this house tells a story: the velvet armchairs, the crackling fireplace, the cozy stube, the library full of odd little treasures. Even the pool: set on a wooden deck with green-striped loungers, feels like a nostalgic dream from another time.

Back in Milan, I found myself longing to return. I would’ve turned the car around without hesitation. Because Berghoferin is not just a place to stay: it’s a place to breathe, to feel, to be.

With just a few suites and a refined, quiet clientele, it’s made for those who seek peace, slowness, and that rare feeling of being suspended between nature and memory.  

In a world that moves too fast, this is a place that teaches you to slow down and to taste, the beauty and the quiet joy of simple things