Wanderlust…our internal yearning of wanting to see new things, hear new sounds, smell new smells….means that every day we venture out to parts unknown. We try to keep the destination within two hours drive to ensure we have enough time to enjoy each new spot without tiring or feeling rushed.

We never know what we will find and that is most of the fun. Truthfully, while I do read guidebooks when scouting lodging locations, we find that the places we love are rarely in a book. We like authentic and local places. We lose ourselves in places where English is rarely spoken. We drive into a town just to see what we can find.

In that spirit, we drove to Macugnaga, the last Italian town before the massive Alp, MonteRosa. You can see this mountain from most places in the Piedmont. It dominates the landscape with beautiful snow covered peaks. It is impressive.

In its shadow is the quaint little town of Macugnaga. It is a historic Walser community (Italians of German descent). The houses look decidedly German or even Swiss. Walking the narrow paths between houses, you feel as if you are in a movie. I wanted to yodel, but didn’t for fear of being disrespectful.

It is hard to know where to look. There are canals built to channel snow melt that are full of rippling water. Each view of the town yields a different magnificent landscape. Look one way and all you can see is snowy Alpine mountains. Look another way and you see rushing waterfalls. Another takes in the colorful autumn trees amidst pine covered mountains. Or perhaps to my delight, you see the creamy Swiss cows complete with jingling bells grazing in a nearby meadow.

We set our parking clock (a cardboard clock that you must put on your dash to indicate the time of your arrival) and note the time we need to vacate our spot. We have two hours to explore. With that in mind we set off on foot. The narrow paths run between old houses. Taking one, we find a house turned museum but it isn’t open.

Also not open, the cable car sits frustratingly still. No trip up the mountain for us today. But we are able to walk to the churches and waterfalls. A large park has bridges that crisscross the water. Nearby an ancient church stands as a silent sentinel of stone against the backdrop of the mountain. Before I know it, it is time to move the car.

We drive to the very end of the road. The parking lot is occupied by a team loading lumber into a harness that is attached to a helicopter. It is making steady deliveries from the lot to a remote location on the mountain. Fascinating to watch, but I don’t want to park too close to the operation.

Next door is a traditional restaurant. We enter just as it starts to rain. The interior is colorful in reds and warm wood. The waitress is very friendly but doesn’t speak English. We converse in smiles and short phrases in Italian and English. Between our combined limited language in each other’s native tongues we get along smoothly. Goodwill goes a long way.

The only others in the restaurant are local workers, anxiously monitoring the helicopter out the window. The rain comes down steadily, so we settle in to enjoy our midday meal. I order the local Macagnughese pasta. It is unquestionably the best pasta I have ever had. It doesn’t look special, but the combination of locally cured bacon, locally made cheese, potatoes, onions, and seasoning is fantastic.

It continues to rain so we order dessert. I am disappointed to find that my quest to locate the best tiramisu in Italy will need to wait (they are out). Instead we order the torte sacher. I have no idea what it is but the pasta was so good, why not? My husband tries to order chocolate cake, but isn’t sure the waitress understands.

We receive the chocolate cake of all chocolate cakes, the torte sacher…..and a perfect mug of hot chocolate made from locally produced melted chocolate and milk (probably from the cows we encountered grazing in town). Torte Sacher is apparently a famous Austrian chocolate cake made of layers of chocolate batter held together in apricot jams and layered in a thick chocolate coating. It is beyond chocolate overload and all we have to wash it down with is melted chocolate topped with a mountain of heavy whipped cream. I can feel my blood sugar screaming….yet it is so good.

Reluctantly we have to leave our foodie oasis. The rain has stopped so walk through the trees. I appreciate the autumn color. Satisfied, we drive back into the village and reset our parking clock in order to visit the ornate church on the far side of the town. A beautiful church in a mountain village with cows grazing nearby, provides a bucolic setting.

On the drive back through the valley, we follow the rushing water from small town to small town. The steep drops, hairpin turns and rock walls make the drive interesting. My personal driver for life (he didn’t know that was part of the job description when he married me) calmly routes us back down the road. I happily take photos out the window, calling for him to stop occasionally to allow a better view. Since we are some of the only cars on the road it usually isn’t an issue.

There are lots of tunnels. I wonder at the expense required to access these small villages with roads large enough for cars….well almost large enough.

When you are on an adventure to the end of the road, you just take what comes. I try to appreciate the beauty of each moment. I wonder if life would be different if I lived each day like this. What beauty do I miss in the hustle of my everyday life?

Because I adore ancient houses of worship, we stop in more than one village to appreciate the artisans who created these small sacred spaces. The crumbling frescoes remind me of the many faithful travelers who stopped to give thanks or make supplication at these small mountain shrines.

At last we drive out of the valley. A small park gives us the opportunity to walk up the mountain along the Cadorna line. This defensive network of tunnels and trenches guarded Italy from the Austrians and the Germans in WWI. As former history teachers, it is an incredible feeling navigating dark tunnels and emerging in mountain trenches. The rocks are weathered and worn, but the defense network is still standing for hundreds of miles, guarding all the mountain passes into Italy.

We walk higher and higher, exploring trench after trench. Nearing exhaustion, we finally concede that our goal of reaching the fort was not going to happen. We should have started earlier in the day and brought water. Running out of light and having no means to hydrate, we reluctantly head back down the mountain. The sun is setting over MonteRosa, making shadows over the fields below. It is the end of the road for our journey to the end of the road. We are satisfied that our day of doing “nothing in particular” was well spent.