Reflections On An Alpine Village

Coming through one last highway tunnel, the Alps appear suddenly, sitting like a silent committee of gods. Mountains are a testament to nature’s power, and to the human instinct to defy it. The very tunnel that provides such easy access to the slopes is an impressive victory for the mortals. But this winter, the mountain gods are reminding mankind just who’s in charge. The ski season in Europe began as one of the barest on record, and even when the snow has fallen misfortune has frequently followed. High temperatures have caused a series of pro races to be canceled and contributed to avalanches that have claimed at least eight skiers’ lives in the past two weeks.

Man and nature were on my mind during a recent pilgrimage to see a new piece of technology in the Italian Alps town of Viganella, nestled in a valley near the Swiss border. It sounds cozy, but come wintertime, nestled turns nasty, as not a ray of sun touches the town for nearly three months. So Viganella’s mayor got the bright idea to install a giant, rotating mirror on a 900-m-high ridge to reflect the sun down on the shaded town’s lone piazza.

Founded in the 13th century in this chilly spot — which was ideal for its access to both the river and mines — Viganella has declined with the sunset of the local iron industry. The hope is that both by luring more of the town’s some 150 residents into the public square, and by attracting visitors, this device might revive an area that has lost more than two-thirds of its population in the past century.

I suggest to one of the locals that the recent arrival of winter sun must be a Copernican revolution. Viganella native Paolo Ragozza responds with a chuckle. “For us,” he says, “it hasn’t changed anything.” Still, the nearby lodge owner is happy if the mirror brings new guests. “You’ll see,” he says, before giving driving directions, “it’s a nice gadget.” The town square is tiny, with no stores or restaurants, and is encircled by abandoned 15th century stone and wood cottages that look like drooping gingerbread houses. It is the vision of a dying mountain town, except for the odd 5-m-by-8-m rectangular slab of metal perched on the rocky cliff above, like a giant shining postage stamp. By 10 a.m., with a computer adjusting the mirror’s position, the sun is indeed ricocheting down to the piazza, but it’s more like a light in your eye than sunshine on your face.

Soon, out-of-towners arrive, having seen television reports of the mirror’s December inauguration. Some are more than just curiosity seekers. Stephan Stucky lives in the Swiss town of Brig-Glis, which is shut out from the sun for two months each winter. He was expecting more from the mirror. “I thought you’d feel the warmth. It’s more like a flashlight,” he says, looking up and squinting. “I was expecting deck chairs and umbrellas, and cold drinks.” A group of five men, including two building engineers, come to scout the project for the Italian town of Selvetta, where things are even darker — nearly four sunless months each winter. Like Viganella residents, they complain more of high heating bills than of depression supposedly linked to lack of sun. Franco Rolandi, who runs the only café nearby, says the scarce heat from the mirror isn’t the point. “This town is heading for extinction. We need to do something,” he says. “Remember when they built the Eiffel Tower? People said, ‘What’s the point?’ Now look at Paris.”

The ambitions of Viganella Mayor Pierfranco Midali, a 47-year-old train driver, don’t stretch quite that high, but he says the €100,000 mirror project, funded by a bank and local governments, has already proved its worth by attracting so much attention. He admits the sun’s bounce could be bigger. Midali notes: “Being the first, you can’t expect perfection. We want to improve the design so others can use it too.” Lodge owner Ragozza is more interested in p.r. than the science, suggesting the town could even start a Miss Mirror bikini contest each winter. We can only wonder how the mountain gods would react to that.