Once a Convent, This 1,000-Year-Old Castle in the Dolomites Finds New Life as a Luxury Retreat

It’s a hushed Sunday morning and I’m entering a crypt, fragments of classical frescos overhead. A full-skirted figure with a starched white collar rounds the corner and greets me with a somber nod. “È pronta?” she asks. Ready?

I am—but not for prayer or penance. Here, in what was once an 11th-century convent, the golden light-dappled former abbess quarters are where I’m having a massage. I shrug off my robes (not clerical, they are sumptuously fluffy and white) and let my slippers slap to the cool stone floor. Face down on the bed, inhaling a concoction of lavender and orange from the gardens, it doesn’t take long to expunge my Catholic guilt and surrender to the therapist’s heavenly hands, and the intoxicating duality of Castel Badia.

The castle, which sits in a grand spot above the sweeping, serene Pusteria Valley in the heart of the Italian Dolomites, has been around in some form since 1,000 AD: first as a medieval fortress and seat of justice, before a group of Benedictine nuns then made it their convent for the next 800 years. These nuns were well-off, more like unmarried noblewomen who mixed with locals, and lovingly tended to the castle gardens—which you can still traverse today, picking the flowers and herbs like they once did.

Two powerful abbesses emerged across the centuries: Maria Antonietta Mörlin, whose signature “M.A.M.” is etched into many of the castle walls, and Verena von Steuben, who mounted fierce resistance to monastic reforms. Both emphasized education and engagement with the local community in a thoroughly modern way for a medieval nunnery—so much so, they often clashed with the bishopric. (Burning candles were launched across the convent walls after one particularly nasty spat with the local parish priest.) Following a fire that ravaged the castle and the nuns’ excommunication, the convent was dissolved in 1785.

It took 200 years, a short stint as a military hospital and then almshouse, and a prolonged period of ice-laden ruin, until it would reach its next true ascension: a hotel, which opened in 1971. But it was in December last year that the Gasser family, Kronplatz Holding, and hotelier Aldo Melpignano opened Castel Badia’s current chapter after extensive renovations. (Melpignano is a student of the boutique hotel originator Ian Schrager, and is now himself a legacy titan of the Italian hospitality industry, known for properties like the Dua Lipa and Madonna-loved, Puglian village retreat Borgo Egnazia and the opulent yet intimate San Domenico House in London.)

The Stube Badia, where breakfast, lunch, and dinner can be taken with stunning panoramic views of the valley.

I arrive in under two hours from Innsbruck airport, which serves most of the local ski resorts and properties here, and I’m shuttled up the craggy mountainside in a buggy by a friendly Italian chauffeur—he is from Bari in Puglia, but feels entirely at home within the rhythms of Ladin life and the castle, which is contoured by early spring clouds. “I like the hush,” he tells me as we clatter along. Past the wrought-iron gate into the sweeping fortress courtyard, a fire pit is already crackling against the cool dusk. Inside, the last of the day’s sun blazes through the Gothic vaulted ceiling and Renaissance windows of the former Abbess’s Hall, now reception. Apple juice and raspberry-studded madeleines await, with smiling front-of-house members wearing charming beige uniforms with cherry red belts, inspired by monastic habits.

Castel Badia’s transformation was led by Null17, a local architecture collective celebrated for evolving traditional structures and residences without straying too far from history and heritage. Null17 worked with archaeologists to preserve Castel Badia’s frescos, sloping medieval bifore windows, and crypt with its hulking Christ figure. Milan-based studio Droulers—founded by the chic twin sisters Nathalie and Virginie Droulers—and interior designer Marta Ferri were also brought on to integrate modern Alpine design notes into the space and add warmth to what could otherwise feel austere.

The transformation takes shape across 28 bedrooms and one chalet with washed white stone walls, warm low lighting, and timber rafters, mullion windows framing the undulating hills outside. Color palettes center around muted gold, grass green, creamy linen, and oxblood. The surroundings are woven into its design ethos: wood and stone are sourced from the forests below, with objects from local artisans like thick plaid bed throws and chunky curtains, and the nearby Moessmer textile factory—known for its coats and capes in the Tyrolean fabric loden—created the upholstery fabrics for the property. I’m staying in a “Splendida” suite with a tranquil view over the rose garden and the restored Romanesque chapel, which I take in with more sparkling apple juice, left in lieu of wine in the room. It’s only the wall-mounted television and walk-in monsoon shower that offset the from-another-century feel.

The inner nucleus of Castel Badia is its spa, which is carved into the rock with a floor-to-ceiling glass solarium offering more panoramic views. Early in the morning, I take in the pastoral tableau with mint tea from the labyrinth of gardens below from a lounger. In the evening, I enjoy watching daylight dissolve behind the valley’s fir trees while bundled up with a book and a glass of full-bodied local Lagrein wine. Further into the spa and past its subterranean pool, a warren of marble-slabbed hammams, saunas, an ice-shower, and one of the most impressive gym facilities I’ve ever seen (I never thought I'd be hitting personal best deadlifts, rather than genuflecting in a once-monastic space) unfurls.

One of two pools amid a warren of spa, treatment, and sauna rooms.

A grave clerical spirit does not extend to Castel Badia’s service: I arrive not long after its opening, but the team is already seamless and anticipatory—they’ll happily accompany you through the gardens to forage, and remember the herb combo of your morning tea quickly. The food and drink offering is far from monastic, either—although wine is ruled devotedly by the formidable sommelier Anika, who also guides me through the menu each night. Her selection comes from the nearby small natural wine producer Pranzegg and further afield; always considered, and she pushes me to be more ambitious each night.

The cuisine here is dictated—and liberated—by what comes from the valleys and surrounding South Tyrol, oscillating between Italian and Austrian influences. Every evening, under the watch of gilded cherubs that decorate the Stube Badia’s walls, dinner is sustenance-giving but never heavy: modern-minded mountain food. Veneto-born chef Alberto Toè serves canederli dumplings plump with speck and dusted with chives, venison goulash on a wave of polenta, and buckwheat spätzle with fat prawns and cherry tomatoes. Schüttelbrot is a constant tablemate: a hard, crunchy bread smattered with fennel and caraway that I pile with more local speck, and let soak in olive oil to eat alone. It’s a bread that’s rooted in the region, made for nourishing through the harsh, high-altitude winters. On my final night, Anika asks if she can surprise me: she presents me with an Alpine Wagyu steak from the Ritten-based Wagyu Südtirol—it’s highly exclusive, as only 50 to 80 cattle are raised a year. She pairs it with a heaven-sent truffle-y Barolo from the castle’s unbridled, region-traversing wine cellar. A hulking apple strudel and a rotation of homemade ice cream propel me to bed.

I didn’t think I’d be able to conquer breakfast, but returning to the Stube the next day, it’s hard to resist the sweet tableau, sitting in a window seat eating blueberry-loaded Moosbeernocken, and more Schüttelbrot with speck-draped eggs. It sets me up for a day of exploring: first, horse riding around the crystalline Lake Dobbiaco lined with snow-laden pines, and then to the Plan de Corones ski area—I don’t ski, this time. The Castel Badia team manages to book me for lunch over 2,000 meters up: at AlpiNN by Norbert Niederkofler, the three Michelin star chef famed for his “cook the mountain” philosophy. The same building also houses Lumen: a museum of mountain photography that’s well worth a visit before descending in the cable cars. For true ski bunnies, Castel Badia has prime access to the Dolomiti Superski area, the largest ski circuit in the world, connecting 1,200 kilometres of manicured pistes. The property offers tailored skiing packages as part of a wealth of experiences around the seasons, from bread making with local farmers to balloon rides.

As full as I am with the abundance of Alpine cheese, rare wagyu, and heady Barolo, I kept coming back to my tablemate, the Schüttelbrot: Castel Badia, I think, like the hardy, ever-versatile Schüttelbrot, represents a kind of reverence without nostalgia or sentimentality. Castel Badia wears its centuries lightly to buoy a very compelling kind of luxury, just nudging the Tyrolean clouds.