The day was overcast as we drove around the lake to Santa Caterina del Sasso. An ancient monastery along Lake Maggiore, Santa Caterina is carved into the rock. It hangs above the lake as if suspended by magic. After parking and trying to decipher signs that seemed to suggest the monastery was is two different directions, we finally reached the ticket office.

We climbed down endless stairs to reach the religious hermitage. The views over the lake with snow covered mountains in the distance were priceless. We turned down a ride in an elevator in order to experience the traditional way down. Unfortunately, we kept running into the gardeners who were trimming shrubs and throwing the branches on the stairs. They had headphones on and couldn’t hear us over the gas powered clippers. So after a beautiful but noisy descent in which we had to dodge flying branches, we arrived at the monastery.

Once inside, we noticed that monks still lived in the upper rooms. Signs tell us that Santa Caterina del Sasso was suppressed in the 1700’s. The chapel we were standing in had been converted to a tavern at some point and all the religious images were covered in white paint. Luckily, the limewash over the frescoes was able to be successfully removed. The frescoes in the inner chapel were well preserved. It was spectacular to view original scenes from the 1100 and 1200’s. Just around the corner, a small inner chapel had been built as a thanks for protection from the plague, a reminder of the harsh reality of medieval life.

Perhaps the weirdest sight of the day was found inside the main chapel. The body of the monastery’s founder, Alberto Besizzi. Shipwrecked, he took refuge in a cave and later built a small church in the rock as thanks to St. Caterina in 1195 A.D. Encased in his glass coffin, the very dead father grinned a gruesome smile. Creepy yet fascinating. I am glad this tradition isn’t practiced in my Protestant Church in the U.S. I can’t imagine concentrating on a sermon if my dead pastor was grinning back at me from a glass coffin under the pulpit. But Italians revered their Saints, and it is all very normal here.

On the hermitage porch, I bought a bracelet and a rosary to benefit an orphanage. A small reminder of life in an isolated hermitage. As we continued the tour, I unfortunately encountered my second vault toilet of the trip. Austerity rules the day.

Along the rock wall there was a very large wine press. It had an ingenious design that would allow large amounts of grapes to be pressed without getting skins into the juice. I was fascinated, but I was even more curious about where the grapes would come from. We were standing in a small compound carved out of rock, suspended on the side of a mountain above a lake. That press needed a lot of grapes that would need to come from somewhere…

As we left the tranquility of the hermitage, I opted to climb the long flights of stairs in order to get a lingering view of the lake and church. My husband opted wisely for the elevator. He was waiting at the top, as I came huffing and puffing up the last stretch of the road. He also wisely, didn’t comment.

We lunched in Laveno. The town was quiet in the way an off season lake town can be. The restaurant was empty except for a few local citizens and the two of us. Service was fast and attentive. And the bread was warm. We had a great view of the waterfront. We watched local life unfold. Delivery drivers and teenagers rushed up the street. Life inside the eatery was slow and cordial.

We visited two churches, because they were close by. The old church was dark inside. I suppose they saved on electricity, but we couldn’t see much so we didn’t linger. We walked up the hill to the larger and more modern basilica. It was huge and the architecture reminded me of a Greek Orthodox Church. But it was genuinely Italian catholic. I still have questions about a side chapel in which our Lady of Laveno was covered in soccer uniforms . The statue of Jesus, across the way, looked as mystified as we were.

Getting ready to leave town, I noticed cable cars going up the mountain. We followed signs to the Funivia and ended up at a restricted road. We probably could have parked, but I wasn’t sure so we found a free lot nearby and walked over. After we paid, I realized the cable cars were just barely big enough for two people to stand inside. I wanted a covered car, because I was cold. My husband wanted an open car to see the view. So we split up.

We started our separate ascent. I quickly became a little uneasy. I am not afraid of heights, but something about being in a tin can that made unexplained groans and squeaks was not reassuring. I realized that what I thought was the top of the mountain wasn’t even close. Somewhere, hanging suspended over a cliff face, the car came to a stop and began to bob. Suddenly, I was really regretting the adventure.

Alone and unsure, I took a deep breath and leaned against the side of the car facing the lake. The other side had a sign warning me not to lean on the door. I watched the lake get smaller and smaller. I counted ferns on the trail far below. After about 25 minutes of standing in my tin can and practicing controlled breathing, I finally reached the top of the mountain. I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough.

Normally, I would have wanted to linger for coffee. I would have wanted to hike or take photos. But with clouds rolling in and rain hitting my face, I only wanted to get down the mountain. My husband was confused by my behavior. He asked if I wanted pastry? No. Gelato? No. So we walked around to the entry gate and reboarded the cable car for the descent. This time we went together in a closed car. It was a much nicer trip, having someone to talk to. I also knew that it would be a long ride and was prepared. There was no unexpected stop and soon (25 minutes) we were at the bottom. Back on the ground, I thought it all a grand adventure.

Somewhere during the day, I lost the sole of my shoe. It was the only pair of sneakers I brought. Sadly (wink…wink), I had to go Italian shoe shopping. I love Saldi (sale) signs. I love them even more when they are in the largest shoe store I have ever seen. Even more than that when the store also sells clothing. I got shoes and a purse and a shirt and a scarf and a jacket. I mean how could I not? I conquered the mountain and lived to tell the tale. I needed to shop, it is cheaper than therapy.