The day is overcast as we drive 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 seem to suggest the monastery is in two different directions, we finally reach the ticket office.

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

Once inside, we notice that monks still live in the upper rooms. Signs tell us that Santa Caterina del Sasso was suppressed in the 1700’s. The chapel we are 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 are well preserved. It is spectacular to view original scenes from the 1100 and 1200’s. Just around the corner, a small inner chapel was 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 is 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 grins a gruesome permanent smile. Creepy yet oddly 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 revere their Saints, and it is all very normal here.

On the hermitage porch, I buy a bracelet and a rosary to benefit an orphanage. It is a small reminder of life in an isolated hermitage. As we continue the tour, I unfortunately encounter my second vault toilet of the trip. Austerity rules the day.

Along the rock wall there is a very large wine press. It has an ingenious design that allows large amounts of grapes to be pressed without getting skins into the juice. I am fascinated, but I am even more curious about where the grapes will come from. We are standing in a small compound carved out of rock, suspended on the side of a mountain above a lake. That press needs a lot of grapes that would have to come from somewhere…Did they move them down the endless stairs?

As we leave the tranquility of the hermitage, I opt to climb the long flight of stairs in order to get a lingering view of the lake and church. My husband wisely opts for the elevator. He is waiting at the top, as I come huffing and puffing up the last stretch of the road. He also wisely, doesn’t comment.

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

We visit two churches, only because they are close by. The old church was dark inside. I suppose they save on electricity, but we can’t see much so we don’t linger. We walk up the hill to the larger and more modern basilica. It is huge and the architecture reminds me of a Greek Orthodox Church. But it is genuinely Italian catholic. I have questions about a side chapel in which our Lady of Laveno is covered in soccer uniforms . The statue of Jesus, across the way, looks as mystified as I am.

Getting ready to leave town, I notice cable cars going up the mountain. We follow signs to the Funivia and end up at a restricted road. We probably can park, but I am not sure so we find a free lot nearby and walk over. Better safe than sorry.

After we paid for the Funivia, I realize the cable cars are just barely big enough for two people to stand inside. I want a covered car, because it is spitting rain and I am cold. My husband wants an open car to see the view. So we split up.

We start our separate ascent. I quickly become a little uneasy. I am not afraid of heights, but something about being in a tin can that makes unexplained groans and squeaks is not reassuring. I realize that what I thought was the top of the mountain isn’t even close. Somewhere, hanging suspended over a cliff face, the car comes to an abrupt stop and begins to bob. Suddenly, I really regret the adventure.

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

Normally, I would want to linger for coffee. I would want to hike or take photos. But with clouds rolling in and rain hitting my face, I only want to get back down the mountain. My husband is confused by my behavior. He asks if I want pastry? No. Gelato? No. So we walk around to the entry gate and reboard the cable car for the descent. This time we descend together in a closed car. It is a much nicer trip, having someone to talk to. I also now know that it will be a long ride and am prepared. There is no unexpected stop and soon (25 minutes) we are 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 have 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, I love when the store also sells clothing. I get 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 need to shop to calm my nerves. After all, it is cheaper than therapy.