Today I turn 58 years old. To celebrate, I am traveling to Locarno Switzerland. It sounded like a great idea, yesterday, when after an “uphill day”, the travel office in Stresa was finally able to book it. After two unsuccessful attempts to purchase seats had failed, finally getting tickets for the rail and ferry Swiss adventure felt like a triumph.

But this morning, as I am standing at the train station and looking at the information board that says train delayed…. I realize it is the kind of day that stresses me out. I need to make five different transportation connections. I don’t like connections, especially when there are transportation delays. My anxiety grows incrementally.

My husband tells me to chill out. We have an espresso and a cappuccino while we wait. It helps. Exactly six minutes late, our first regional train arrives. It is a double decker. Clean. Bright. The kind of train I would really enjoy riding if I wasn’t on a strict timetable. Once the train takes off with me in it, I relax a bit. There are large screens that signal each upcoming stop. I appreciate not having to count stops.

We arrive in Domodossola with 15 minutes to spare. My worry was for nothing as we simply walk down a flight of stairs to the next platform. The station is very old. The small gauge, scenic train is in an underground tunnel. We find our car and our reserved seats, conveniently labeled with stickers of our seat numbers. It is a panoramic car with wrap around windows to allow views of the stunning scenery. Four seats face each other. Our seat mates, whose legs intertwine with ours (the seating is very, very tight) are from Romania. The giant of a man moves to allow his wife (and us more room). He sits across the aisle with two women from Asheville, North Carolina. They tell us about the devastating effects of hurricane Helene, and how they were told not to come home just yet as the roads to their houses were not passable. We hear stories of the son in charge of rescue and the husband securing property and working to restore power. They share fears about politics and are resigned to a long recovery.

We hear about Romania and Dracula’s castle. There are references to American movies. At one point, I am the demanding tourist. The women pull down the shades when the sun comes out. But I am on a sightseeing train with panoramic windows. I appreciate their minds are elsewhere…but it is my birthday and I came to see the Alps. I politely ask them if they minded raising the shade. They say of course.

Continuous conversation and beautiful scenery help pass the two hour journey up the central valley to Locarno. Trees and mountains, rivers and waterfalls, tales of Transylvania and hurricanes run together in pleasant fashion. Small village train stations mark our passage as we pass through each in short time segments.

We arrive in Locarno with no fanfare. It is the end of the line. Everyone must get off. We stop to find a restroom, but the entry to the toilette is $1.50, only payable by swiss coin. We have none. We go across the street to the tourist office and are directed to a toilette in the adjoining hall. This time a machine lock charges $1.50 only payable by credit card. A rude welcome to Switzerland. A Swiss man holds the door for a group of tourists and shakes his head like he sees the confusion and disbelief daily.

I want to visit the Convent Sanctuario Della Madonna Del Sasso. It is on the top of a mountain. We hope to take a funicular to the entrance. It is also lunch time, but it makes the most sense to me to get up the mountain (if it is like Italy, things tend to shut down mid day). I promise my husband we can eat in the upper town. We walk down a street lined with shops and a McDonald’s. I notice that things in Switzerland are very expensive. We pass a busy McDonald’s and next door we find the funicular. There is no one to sell tickets. The driver of the train is also the ticket master. We queue up with the locals and do what they do. We don’t have any Swiss money and the driver is annoyed to deal with a card.

The ride, however, is lovely and short. My husband is thankful for the ride up the mountain until he realizes that the station is not at the convent. We passed it on the way up. We have several stairs to go to get to the convent. We walk back down the mountain. It looks like there used to be a stop near the church that is now closed.

The Madonna del Sasso is a quirky place. The views from this convent, perched against the mountain, are breathtaking. Paper mache scenes from the life of Christ take up most every nook and cranny. The last supper, the nativity, and other scenes are lovingly displayed in off-puttingly distorted diorama.

In the chapel itself, I find a sense of calm. I need this respite from my morning of travel connections. I give thanks for the many blessings of my life so far and ask God to bless my 58th year. The colors from the stained glass cast a pleasant glow of peacefulness. I reflect on God’s faithfulness and the words “Be Still and Know That I Am God” take on a deeper meaning.

Outside, Lake Maggiore commands attention. The brilliant blue water reminds me that we have a ferry boat connection in just a few short hours and I have much to see in the meantime. I force march us up the stairs. Lots of stairs. We just miss the funicular leaving down the mountain and have to wait for the next. We decide not to eat at the lone restaurant nearby. One hundred dollars for a mediocre lunch is not my idea of a birthday present.

Once down into the central district, we move quickly to the next door McDonald’s. It is quick and easy. No matter, where we are in the world, McDonald’s fries smell good. Prices vary. Last year in Brisbane we got two burgers, fries, drink and icecream for five dollars. Here….Twenty five dollars for two basic cheeseburger meals….Fifty cents per small package of catsup. Switzerland is expensive. But we need to eat and the outdoor seating area is lovely.

All afternoon we wander the streets of Locarno, taking in the grand plaza and the Castello. I am charmed by the grand old buildings, the outdoor cafes, and the market stalls. I don’t know what I expected. I think of Switzerland as modern. I forget that this city sits on the same lake, beneath the same Alps as northern Italy. Of course it has a Castello Visconti, centuries old. Of course there are ruins of ancient buildings in the car park. Of course the central square is made of cobblestone.

On the way to the harbor we pass a casino. The pathway celebrates the Locarno music festival and the artists who have performed there. I take a few minutes to find the handprints of Sting on the walk of fame. Today is also his birthday. He doesn’t know that we shared a moment when I put my hand in his handprints in an act of birthday solidarity.

Eventually. we find our way to the ferry dock. We stroll the Lungo Lago and smile at families who also stroll the long promenade at the lakefront. Gelato is essential in these moments and so we indulge. The sun is shining. The air is cool. A perfect day. If only, we didn’t have to keep an eye on the clock.

At exactly four pm, we make our last connection, a ferry. We embark and take our places on the top deck. I find my perfect spot and am asked to move to accommodate two couples who want to sit together. I grudgingly comply. Don’t they know it is my birthday?

I finally relax as the sun warms my face and the gentle waves rock the boat. The couples turn out to be good company. The beautiful world rolls by. Small towns line the lake. Mountains and clouds create fantastic shows of color and shadow in every direction. Sailboats move silently through the water. Hearty souls paddle board the deep water. I am at rest. 58 feels good (even though in my mind I am still a child). How did my body become so mature?

We dock in Stresa at six thirty, almost 11 hours after our tour began. The sun is setting behind the Alps. We disembark and walk a short distance into town. It is my birthday and I feel accomplished. I made the circuit of connections onto four trains. I traveled across the Italian Alps to Switzerland. I came home by boat.

But just now, I settle in an outdoor piazza under a heat lamp. I order bruschetta and pasta with swordfish and eggplant. I sip Prosecco and laugh with my husband about our day. I meet new friends from Sweden and hear about their drive. Italy is a road trip for them, much like we might drive to Texas. New perspectives, new adventures, new food, new horizons. Fifty-eight is off to a great start.