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Grand Torino: Travel Goals
With only one more day to spend with the siblings in Italy, we decided to head to Turin (Torino). This often overlooked town was the capitol of the Northern Roman Empire and the domain of the Savoy dynasty. There are more palaces in and around Turin than you will find in entire countries. The Palazzo Reale and museum are the Crown Jewels of Savoy holdings so we first headed there.
The autostrada allowed us to make the trip in just over an hour, and traffic into Turin was light. We lucked into an open parking garage adjacent to the palace complex. Aside from the very tight turns into the garage and the fact that we all had to exit the vehicle before my brother pulled into the tiny space, it was an uneventful trip.
The palace was magnificent. However, Turin unlike most Italian cities doesn’t seem to really want or even like tourists. There was almost no signs, maps or guides. When available, signage was in Italian only (which is fine by me, I am after all the foreigner in their midst). If you asked a ticket taker a question you were met with a scowl. No matter. I ordered dua biglietto and we marched on. Crabbiness could not ruin our day.
The rooms of the palace were fully furnished. We saw dining rooms, meeting rooms, and throne rooms. Each room contained priceless paintings, tapestries and frescoes. The ceilings wereall elaborately painted and usually done up in themes.
Eventually we reached the armory, where we encountered an abundance of medieval weapons and armor. Horses held riders decked out for battle. There were axes and shields. Swords and bows. Daggers and guns. There was Italian, German, Ottoman, and Turkish weapons. Many of the items were new to me….and I have been in a lot of military museums. I still get a little rush of excitement when I see something I have read about for the first time. This time it was the jousting and sparring equipment used to train young pages hoping to become knights.
After the palace rooms, we visited the chapel Reale, which housed the shroud of Turin on its altar until the 1970’s. The round marble chapel was magnificent with a golden sunburst altarpiece. In each alcove of the round chapel, a giant marble statue marked a grave. The chapel opened onto the larger church of the Duomo di San Giovanni. Parishioners could have looked upward into the chapel toward the holy shroud.
Just when we thought we were done with the palace complex, we came to endless museum galleries containing masterpiece after masterpiece. While the collection was of mainly religious art, it also had portraits and landscapes from across Italian. Raphael’s Venus showed up in a practice painting done before his larger and more famous “Birth of Venus” fresco. There were Rembrandt and Vermeer paintings. We saw Caravaggio and Ferrari. Each piece was exquisite and captivating. Centuries old, the paints were vivid and looked as if the painter had just finished the piece and walked away minutes ago.
Further along we encountered Roman statues, funerary pieces, Grecian Urns, and other antiquities. I was surprised to find several relics from the cult of Isis. Another encounter with book knowledge made real with access to artifacts.
Worn out, we set out to find food. The waiter chased us away from the back door, so we walked around the castle wall to the front door. We entered only to be ignored. We walked further in to find a table only to be ignored. The waiter scowled and told us not to block the aisle. The woman at the front told us we could order to go. I approached the person who appeared to be in charge and he agreed to seat us. I sat while he cleared the table and began to look at the menu. The water began to fuss that there were not enough chairs (one short). I saw three empty chairs and was not concerned about procuring a fifth chair. Meanwhile the men in our party decided we could eat outside.
So I had to leave my warm seat in the nice restaurant for a plastic chair in the damp cold air. Once we were seated outside, the same cranky waiter became all smiles. He was from Iran and he loves Americans. He said he wants to leave Turin because the people are grumpy and unfriendly. He made a show of serving us with violas and aloras. He poured extra wine and gushed over our food choice.
I was freezing, so the coffee seemed like a great idea to wash down my lunch of local cheese and honey. I was still a little unhappy about eating outside on a cold rainy day. I was the grumpy one throughout lunch thinking of other times we have travelled and I miss my restaurant of choice because there is nothing my husband will eat or it is too crowded or too expensive. I had to check myself and instead enjoy good food and good company between my shivers.
There were more things to see, so we collected our things and left the palace. We walked across the soggy plaza to the Madama Palace. The ticket taker was rude. I bought tickets. My brother did the same. My sister in law went last and got confused as to which ticket to buy. I returned to see if I could help. I held up my ticket and asked if it got us in all the rooms. The ticket taker slammed down her hand, rolled her eyes and moaned “I already sold to you.” I assertively asked for one more ticket and she loudly groaned. Ahh Torino.
The Madama palace has been turned into eclectic museum space. Most of the museum was full of ancient treasure, but there were weird and out of place exhibits within some galleries. Rooms with gilded ceilings held exhibitions on: the finance police, the sea, science, random topics, and modern art. I was looking at a medieval painting in a period room and turned and turned to a neon science center style exhibit under an elaborate fresco ceiling. There was no warning for the abrupt change in venue.
I loved the intricate wood carving, saved from otherwise destroyed churches. The world wars were destructive, but thankfully many pieces were saved. The Byzantine altarpieces in gold leaf and enamel were much brighter than I realized. A art restorer must never be without work in Italy.
One fascinating aspect of the museum was its collection of miniature paintings. Lockets, watches, and pocket pictures from preserved a time before photographs. In this era, you commissioned an artist to paint your likeness for loved ones. You could pay more to look better.
I don’t know how it is possible to make such an accurate likeness in such a small surface. The best piece was a belt in which the bridal portraits were embedded in the buckle.
We realized that we had spent almost six hours in the museums. It was time to head back home. Still, we couldn’t leave without a trip up and down the grand staircase. We said our farewells and exited the palace. The guards looked at us without expression, even as I wished them Buena Sera. I guess they weren’t as taken with us as we were with their palace.
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Unsupervised: Travel Goals
The minute our guide left us, we were u supervised in Milan. Relieved to be on our own, I gladly traded in my earpiece speaker. Maybe we won’t know quite as much as a tour guide but we can enjoy sights at our own pace.
Our first order of business was to buy tickets to climb onto the roof of the duomo. Three of us had already experienced the roof walk years ago, but my husband and sister in law had not. It was fascinating climbing among the gargoyles far above the city and we wanted to share the experience.
While we waited for our timed entry, we examined features in the duomo more closely. A priest sat in a glass box behind a desk. We were not sure why. My fun loving sister in law took a selfie with the priest and sent it to her children, telling them she met the pope. Their response was underwhelming, which made us giggle like school girls.
The line to climb the roof (in the rain) was shockingly long, considering there was timed entry. Last time I climbed (15 years ago) there was no line and we were virtually alone on the roof. The wait got even more chaotic when a girl in line behind us suddenly turned grey and had to be held up. An ambulance was called, but by the time it arrived we had started to climb
Once on roof walk, there was a mob of pretty young things posing with pouty lips and pointed toes. Boyfriends were dutifully taking shot after shot of their wannabe models. We just wanted to see the intricate carvings and marble gables. As we pushed our way through the crowd, my sister in law blamed Tik Tok for the chaos. It was a zoo of people oblivious to their surroundings. The roof was steep and slick in the rain. Having to walk around people pretending to have a high fashion photo shoot in a space that was tight, steep and crowded seemed ridiculous. In the sunshine, it would be comical. In inclement weather, it was maddening.
The view (when we could see around and between people taking selfies) was as breathtaking as always. The central roof corridor had hundreds of people on it, making me uncomfortable. I had the same feeling you get when you are on an elevator or boat and they push too many people on. You know you are over capacity but can’t do anything about it. So we waited in line to exit through the door with the single file staircase, while people pushed past us. I am quite sure we violated safety codes, but I tried not to think about it.
Earlier in another single file line, my husband had argued with a line jumper pushing his way past me. He claimed to work “here”, but was obviously a tourist showing the town to a relative. It was hard to watch chaos as people who believe lines are for other people forcibly pushed in front of those who had been patiently waiting to descend. Eventually, despite the lawlessness horde, we made it to the ground.
A local friend of my brother had recommended the 12 Gato 🐈⬛ (cats) restaurant to us. It was up a secret staircase in the Vittorio Emmanuel building and on the rooftop. A hidden oasis in a sea of crazy, the cozy restaurant was perfect. We lunched on great pizza far away from the crowds. While we were there I snuck out on the highline catwalk. I guess I hadn’t spent enough time on roof walks yet. Actually, I was hoping for a view of the 12 cats that lived on the roof. No luck….but I can say I walked on the rooftop of the Vittorio Emmanuel. I didn’t even know that was possible, and unlike the experience at the Duomo, I the only one on the roof.
Next, we took an aimless walk by gelato shops and high end fashion. My husband was fascinated with “Twizzy”, a car that I could fit in my purse. We found several models to peruse along the way, including one that almost didn’t stop as he crossed the road.
We were destined never to see Sforza castle in the sunlight. Each time I have visited, it has rained. Today was only a light drizzle, so we were able to walk the forecourt, the moat, and the porticos and still stay dry. We also walked the adjacent park to see the arch and ruins of the original walls while my husband happily engaged in people watching from a bench just inside the castle entrance.
As we made our way across town to the Convent San Mauricio, I saw a shoe store my brother has talked about for years. He has said every time he has visited Milan that he wanted a pair of “Harris” shoes, but he never buys them . Today with his wife, his sister, and his sister in law in attendance, he didn’t stand a chance. We made him try on shoes. We gave our opinions. We cajoled as he tried to talk himself out of the expense. And he finally got a pair of hand made, hand painted, Italian leather shoes from Milan. Bellissimo!
Next my sister in law stopped to buy an Italian pipe for my brother who couldn’t join us. She searched for the perfect fit. While I don’t care for tobacco, the pipe was a work of art.
Directly across the street sat the convent. The outside of the building was unassuming. It would be easy to walk right by and never notice it was a church. However, inside was one of the most beautiful churches I have ever seen. To me, it was more interesting and beautiful than either of the churches we had paid to visit. It was free and there were no crowds. Apparently, it is still off the radar. I hesitate even writing about it, because I hope it remains a calm place of contemplation.
The chapel was a riot of paintings of the saints. I didn’t know where to look as each surface was covered in pristine fresco . However the magic happened behind the chapel in the nuns walk. An intricate choir was surrounded by frescoes from 1200 to 1500. Noah’s ark, Adam and Eve, and numerous other biblical scenes played out in technicolor. The colors and themes were unique for their time period and each expertly done. It was a true visual delight.
Reluctantly, we made our way to the train station, where I endured the good natured teasing about wanting to see the train board. Everyone else was quite content to find a cafe for a snack before boarding. Once we got to the 20 minute mark, I kept sneaking out the door to check to see if our train had been assigned a track. I know logically that 15 minutes is enough time to find a train, but in a new station, I like to know where I am going. I want to make sure I am not running to catch a train. Clearly I was outnumbered. They teased that I was a control freak. My husband said my need to be early made him anxious. I tried to explain that being annoyed is not the same thing as anxiety disorder….and so it went.
Despite the ribbing, made our train with time to spare. My companions dozed off and on during the one hour trip back to Arona. Once we collected our car, we introduced the group to the Italian Appertivi. You buy a drink and for a small fee you get appetizers (sometimes they are free/in today’s case $2.00 euro). Our table was covered in food. We sipped and ate and laughed. Turns out we can have a whole lot of fun unsupervised.
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Milano At a March: Travel Goals
It was a priority to see the Last Supper at the Santa Maria Delle Grazie in Milan. To get the tickets into there Last Supper, we had to take a tour. I may have mentioned that I am generally not a tour person.The walking tour of Milan started at 8:15 am. Our house was at least one hour from the tour meeting location. To get there on time, we need to either drive to Milan in the rain and find parking or take the 6:05 train out of Arona.
We chose the train. Getting five people ready and to the train station by 5:45 was no easy feat. I tried to tamp down my need to be early and prepared for my husband and brother to make fun of my transportation anxiety. It can only be remedied by being reasonably early and in sight of the departure board. We boarded the train with no issues and settled in for an uneventful ride. It was definitely preferable to fighting city traffic.
We arrived in Milan Garibaldi station and transferred to the Metro trains. We only needed to take a few metro stops and then walk a few minutes to the church. Because everything went smoothly, we had extra time n our hands. So, we stopped for coffee and pastries. A classic Milanese breakfast.
Once at the church, we waited to meet our guide, who handed us headsets to wear throughout the tour. I reluctantly took them, not wanting to be part of an oblivious herd. Tours generally force to many people in to little space. But since it is the only way to see the Davinci Masterpiece, then guided tour it is.
Entering required showing id, getting a personalized ticket, and waiting in line to go through timed air-locked doors. When it was our turn we entered the dining room of the monastery. The Last Supper was painted on the wall of the dining room opposite the kitchen. The heat from the kitchen did a lot of damage over the years. At one point the monks chopped off the bottom of the painting (and Jesus’s feet) to enlarge the kitchen door. Seems ridiculous to us, but apparently someone was tired of ducking under the doorway.
We got 15 minutes to stare, take photos and wander the large room. There was a lesser known fresco by a different artist on the opposite wall depicting the crucifixion. It was lovely in its own right.
Once out of the dining hall, we entered the church. Until today, I always thought the Last Supper was in the church. Instead, individual chapels lined the walls commemorating various saints. I wandered away from the group and removed my headset trying to find the peace that I often feel in the quiet of holy spaces. A priest sat down at the organ for his practice period. Soft music filled the space and I felt myself relax. And then just as quickly, it was time to go.
Our guide was serious with occasional bursts of humor. Her advice when crossing the street, “make eye contact, never smile, and look aggressively at incoming traffic.” She told us she never paid to take her father on tours because he thought “everything was just old stones.”
She walked through the city at a fast clip and didn’t turn to see if everyone was with her or not. A few older members of the group struggled to keep up. She just marched straight ahead, talking all the while. I was too busy trying not to be trampled or run over by city traffic to notice what she was talking about.
We stopped at some Roman ruins. They were unspectacular We stopped outside a bakery. She pointed out that the traditional Milanese cake was “the ugly one.” She pointed out the shop where people buy food for the holidays. She urged us “don’t waste your money anywhere else”. Occasionally she would bring out an iPad and show us a picture of somewhere we couldn’t go in. “This is lovely inside. You can’t go in. Only once a year.” It was a forced march to nowhere.
Outside the stock exchange, there was a marble statue of a raised middle finger. Apparently the Milanese are still upset about the severe economic downturn and stock market losses of the early 2000’s and have enough of a sense of humor to make public, their private sentiments. At this point, she also told us that the statue somehow was related to the civil war between the facists and the monarchists during WWII. I didn’t catch the connection. But Italy is still trying to recover from there brush with fascism.
We briefly walked through Vittorio Emmanuel. Like always, thousands of tourists were vying for the perfect glamour shot. She told us Armani had designed a space suit and that fashion was going to space. She said she heard each suit would “cost 3 billion dollars” but hoped it wasn’t true.
We crossed the rainy plaza to stand in line at the Duomo. Each person that entered had to be wanded down and have their bags searched. The Duomo is cavernous. It is massive and dwarfed the slow moving line. Once inside we were invited to sit for an orientation lecture.
We heard how St. Charles, (Carlo Borromeo) carried a nail from the true cross through the streets of Milan to combat the plague. The nail is now keep high above the altar and is only brought down once a year in an elaborate ceremony . She told us about Andrea Bocelli singing alone in the Duomo during Covid while the nail was lowered as a symbol of hope. I watched the televised concert but did not understand the symbolism as it was happening. I wish I would have known.
We walked past tombs of bishops and the crypt of St Charles. We saw large canvases depicting the life of St. Charles. Endless marble statues and gold and silver candle sticks were everywhere. Dizzying stained glass let in diffuse light. Just when I was starting to like our no nonsense tour guide, she announced that her throat was sore and her time was up. Before I could say goodbye, she was gone. We were once again on our own.
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Zermatt Alpine Adventure: Travel Goals
I don’t usually think about bucket lists. Anywhere I am, is a worthy travel adventure as long as it is out of my ordinary. However, Zermatt and its wonderful Matterhorn have been on my wish list for decades. It seems unreal that we are on our way this morning. The road over the Simpson pass is winding and I am in the backseat with my sister in laws. It is cozy enough until my head hits the side of the car as we round another sharp corner.
The scenery through Northern Italy is incredible and continues to grow even more beautiful by the mile. We are so taken with the scenery that we don’t notice we are leaving Italy until we see two guards standing in the road. They wave at us and smile .
Another mile and we are at the Swiss border. A border control booth is in the middle of the road but closed. No one is in sight. I dream of a world of open borders. I guess some already live the dream and today we do to.
We park to stretch and make sure we don’t need to show passports to someone, but there is no one around. We visit the gas station instead to buy the required “vignette”, a sticker for your car that allows you to drive in Switzerland. They didn’t have any and told us to keep driving to the next town.
So we drive and drive some more over mountains and rivers. Along the way, we see the Swiss army waving guns at a rest stop. A base is at the bottom of the mountain so we assume they are training?
We cross the Simplon Pass amid high Alpine peaks and steep valleys. The bridges are stacked on the highest pylons I have ever seen. The tower like supports are so tall, I can’t actually see the ground below. It is a little freaky.
Eventually we get to Brig, however there are no gas stations along the route as promised. We drive on down the mountainside. Eventually we find a well stocked travel plaza. We buy our sticker for the car windshield and are finally street legal. We also buy pastries and coffee. There is excessive excitement over Diet Coke and the coffee machine with sugar free options. Neither have been seen in many days. But my favorite is a pretzel man complete with a stick of chocolate.
A short while later, after passing Swiss cows with bells and Valois sheep with bells, we arrive in Tasch. It is a town of services and parking garages. We must park our car and take the cog railway from here. Our timing is good. I buy tickets and we are on our way with no wait time.
We get to the train station in Zermatt and cross the street to the Gornergrat express train that will take us up the mountains. The tickets are not cheap, but it is why I came, so no matter. It is a bucket list item.
We window shop for awhile until our departure time and then board the gornergrat train. The views are stunning as we climb higher and higher.
A Swiss family strikes up a conversation and then thinks I am filming them because I am holding my phone. I am not. I just don’t want to miss the view. The larch trees are turning a glorious yellow. Monte Rosa, the Matterhorn and several other peaks surround us. I am in heaven.
We pass alpine lakes and pine forests. Just when I think it can’t get more stunning, I am stunned anew. It starts to snow as we disembark at Gornergrat glacier. There is a large viewing platform at what seems like the top of the world. We make our way up and then up some more. The air is thin. My husband really felt the altitude. So we took our time. Well he took his time. I raced ahead and didn’t know he was struggling until he finally caught up as I was taking photos.
There is a winter wonderland of glaciers and alpine peaks. Monte Rosa, Gornergrat, Matterhorn…..every way I turn is breathtaking. Honestly, I could have stayed forever.
It is long past lunch and most of the restaurants on the mountain are closed for the off-season between summer crowds and ski season. But we find a restaurant that will seat us. It is very hot inside, which is a shock to the system after the snow. And the menu consists of cheese….lots of cheese. When my sister in law says she is lactose intolerant, the waiters drolly responds “well you have certainly come to the right restaurant haven’t you?”
I order raclette, a traditional Swiss dish of melted cheese. We share a platter of runny cheese, pickled onions, pickled mini corn, actual mini pickles and boiled potatoes. A strange combination but uniquely Swiss.
After dinner, we visit a small museum with virtual hang gliding. Then we visit more viewing platforms. The clouds that threaten snow begin to clear, leaving glorious views of the mountains. A few stops down the mountain we decide to visit the alpine garden and the blue lake. Barely over the first terrace, my heel catches on a slate rock and I begin to fall. I know I can not regain my balance without potentially breaking an ankle or my face. So I immediately put my body into a ball. My sister in law frantically tries to grab my coat so I don’t keep rolling down the mountain. Once I am on the ground, I grab a rock to stop my descent.
I have a sore ankle, a sore knee, and a bruised ego but no real damage is done. And now I can tell the story of how I rolled down the Alps.
Deciding to walk the Alps in the mud and snow without boots and walking sticks probably wasn’t the smartest thing we have ever done, so we reluctantly board the train to take us back down the mountain.
Once in Zermatt, we wander its streets. Luxury and specialty shops line the main road. You can buy watches that cost more than my car, skin care products made with marmot oil, wooden figures, and chocolate. While I don’t like chocolate, I am surrounded by chocoholic hordes. The chocolate is beautiful, each piece stamped in gold to identify the seller.
While my crew shops for chocolate, I leave in search of a cow bell. I am in love with the delicate little bells they put on livestock. I will use mine for Christmas decorations.
Somehow Zermatt is more commercial than I hoped. It is charming yet inauthentic. An upscale mall pretending to be a small Swiss town. Expensive and intriguing. Yet somehow not reality….at least for me. I prefer the tiny town on the other side of Monta Rosa, Macanugna.
After a very full day, we head back to Lesa. The mountain passes are dramatic in the twilight. Storm clouds backlit by moonlight track our progress. You can’t see the steep drops on either side of the car, but I know they are there. Several sections of highway have construction with one lane traffic. Impatient drivers pass in highly questionable circumstances. But eventually we arrive safely at home. Exhausted and happy.
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Sharing the Love: Travel Goals
Sometimes I just enjoy things so much I want to share them. European traditional market days are some of my favorite travel days. Whether it is a giant flea market or small stalls, I am all in! So it was a delight to take my brother and two of my sister in laws on a market day adventure!
We bought pants and coats. Hand made florentine leather purses came with a discount because we bought three! We scoured messy accessory bins and perused Milan runway styles. When one sister in law wanted a scarf, I paid. She then handed it to our other sister in law to put in our shared market bag. I had already moved on before my sister in law put it in the bag. The vendor saw her bag the scarf. He hadn’t sold anything to her and thought she was stealing. He began yelling. She froze and just kept repeating “my family bought”. Eventually I realized what was happening and came back and waved to the seller. When he saw me he calmed down. It was a bit of excitement.
When our bags were full and our pocketbooks had enough, we caught a ferry to Isola Bella. I love the house and gardens and couldn’t wait to share the experience.
On our way, we took a boat to Isola Superiore or Fisherman’s Island. We lunched at Ara 36. They make fresh bread and pasta every day. The waiter is friendly and the prices are right. We had a great family meal.
Eventually we made our way to Isola Bella. This was our second time through the Borromeo Palace and I noticed many things that weren’t obvious the first time. It was much less crowded and the pace more relaxed.
The gardens were also different in the few weeks since we visited. The trees were turning vibrant colors and the fall flowers were now in bloom. The lily pads were still colorful and the same molting white peacock pranced among the visitors.
My husband found a seat at a cafe, while we wandered and took photos. Gardens are not his thing. But they are my favorite places. The tiered gardens and its many statues are beyond incredible. I don’t know if I could ever get enough of the views.
My brother, unfortunately had pressing business which required the internet at our house, so we took the first ferry back so he could head to the house. We thought ahead and brought separate cars so my husband now played chauffeur to the three ladies. Despite shopping half the day, we decided to shop some more so we could find the perfect gifts for those at home.
We walked down quiet lanes and peaked in shops. We looked for a pipe for my youngest brother (who couldn’t come with us) but had no luck. We chatted with shopkeepers and other tourists. Part of the fun of travel is the constant multilingual exchange.
We got a laugh when my sister in law couldn’t figure out how to get in the car. It had a tiny handle on the upper door near the window. She didn’t see it and stood by my window wondering why I wouldn’t let her in through the front door. I watched and wondered why she wasn’t getting in the back seat. Finally she said, “aren’t you going to let me in?” I looked at my lap and said, “where would you go up here?” But eventually we all made into our tiny car and headed home.
We finally tore my brother away from his many business calls and found a local restaurant that came highly recommended. La Rapanello had local fish and pasta made from scratch. I had the saffron risotto with hazelnuts. Heavenly goodness. My brother ordered it only so I could have the dish, because the minimum number needed to order was two. It is good to share things you love with the ones you love. We laughed as the candlelight and fire glow provided a lovely backdrop to close out another full day.
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Retracing Our Footsteps: Travel Goals
Sometimes you encounter a place you can’t wait to share. I was captivated by Orta San Guilio and couldn’t wait to share it with my family. After excitedly sharing the virtues of a visit, we drove over on a bright Monday morning. The destination did not disappoint.
First we trekked up the mountain to visit the sacred Mount of Orta, where a series of small chapels tell the story of Saint Francis of Assisi. My sister in law was captivated by the cemetery and so we took a detour. We visited graves of people who endured years of hardship through two world wars and a fascist regime. My husband decided to find a seat in the shade while we climbed the mountain. It took us awhile, but the rest of eventually made it up the steep incline to begin our pilgrimage.
The frescoes and the carvings are exquisite. My sisters in law were just as captivated by the artwork as I. We oohed and awed over facial expressions and intricate detail. I had to laugh because apparently last time I was here, I went out of order. The chapels make much more sense when you see them in chronological order.
After walking to every chapel and then three churches, we worked up quite an appetite. We found a restaurant, but the school was on lunch break. We were entertained by school children running in an out of the nearby store buying endless candy and soda. I’m pretty sure that was not a teacher or parent sanctioned lunch. But the shopkeeper was doing a great business.
After I had a wonderful lunch of saffron and truffle pasta, we boarded a boat to the basilica. The ancient structure is amazing. The frescoes could have been painted yesterday instead of centuries ago. There were far fewer people this time and we were able to linger over paintings of the saints. I fell deeper in love with Orta San Giulio.
In the crypt, the body of Saint Guilio layed where he has been for centuries in his glass coffin. The dark crypt was illuminated by dozens of candles and a brightly painted ceiling, but it was still a little creepy. It was also peaceful. You feel connected in time to an ancient tradition of faith.
After the basilica, we took the silent walk around the convent grounds. Signs extolled the virtues of silence and requested that guests stroll in quiet contemplation. We were only marginally successful.
After a day of holy landmarks, fresh pasta, and boat rides we opted for retail therapy. A giant shoe store more than fit the bill. I would be hard pressed to think of any store that had more shoes. But they also had clothes and purses, and luggage. Our kind of place.
It was late when we headed home, so we stopped in Arona for appertivi and dinner. We laughed and told stories. We sipped my sister in laws mystery drink and tried to place the flavors. She thought it tasted like horse liniment smelled. I thought of a garden right after a light rain. My brother said a barn. Everyone laughed at her overly earthy choice.
As we headed home, the moon was rising over the lake. The rock of Angeri was lit up like a beacon. My heart was full. I shared a place I love with others who appreciated it as much as I do. Connection and family.
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Valley of the Castles: Travel Goals
We are up at dawn. This is the first real adventure with my extended family. My brother drives us over the mountain in his rental car. I am now in the backseat. No longer the driver or the navigator, I am left to look out the side window. I try not to be a backseat driver, warning of electronic speed traps and urging him to stay on his side of the tiny roads. I fail and give unsolicited advice much to often.
We take the autostrada. The toll road has no roundabouts or towns to navigate. It is quick and also expensive (at least compared to tolls in the U.S.). But we arrive much faster and have more time to spend sightseeing.
We stop in Aosta. My brother and I bicker about where to park. My husband and sister in laws look on with amusement. They will be amused a lot. Two planners with a long history of sibling interaction make good travel companions.
Aosta is a Roman town in the valley between the Swiss, French, and Italian Alps. Near the St. Bernard and the Courmayeur passes, Aosta’s place along trade routes and lines of defense made it an important Roman outpost.
Today Aosta is a bustling ski town. The Roman ruins are a picturesque backdrop to shops and restaurants catering to tourists who can’t wait to ride the cable cars into the Alps.
We walk the old streets past remnants of Roman roads, walls and towers. It is Sunday afternoon and it seems the whole town is out for a stroll. Dogs have the right of way, with owners following behind. Alpine hats with long feathers and St. Bernards add local color.
We find ourselves in the basilica of St. John just before a baptism ceremony. While the church is open to visitors, it felt a bit like crashing a wedding. We head down into the crypt only to discover a woman sitting alone in the dark. Now we are funeral crashers.
Outside we notice the entrance to the Roman cryptoporticus tunnels. These long underground corridors ran under the ancient Roman temple complex and probably served as store rooms and military facilities (while also providing support for the above ground structures.)
Like amateur archeologists, we head across town to a 4th century Christian church (San Lorenzo) that had been excavated. The ruins, in the shape of the cross, housed the bodies of at least three early bishops. I was fascinated by belt buckles, rings, and other artifacts. When you see “antiquities”, you realize modern life is not all that advanced. Much of what we have hasn’t changed all that much.
We stop for pizza. Few people at the pizzaria speak English. My sister in law can’t have dairy in this country of fresh cheese. She orders spaghetti which is delivered full of Parmesan. She orders a drink and receives a different variant (in fairness when the waiter came back to the table…we thought to check the order…she was trying to tell us they didn’t have the right ingredients. My language skills let me know she was asking about the drink order but not the details.). My pizza was good, with lots of fresh mozzarella. I feel sad for my sister-in-law, but not bad enough to gloat.
The Aosta valley has over 100 castles. We leave the town of Aosta and took local roads down the valley to get closer to them. We stopped in Bard. Fort de Bard is an imposing castle that has been guarding the valley for centuries. It stopped Napoleon’s army during their invasion from Austria. Eventually, as borders have become fluid, it turned into a tourist attraction.
A combination of funiculars and lifts take you to the top of the mountain fortress. The views of the river and surrounding valley are breathtaking. The fort itself has been repurposed for a series of museums, event spaces, and cultural centers. Art Galleries, playgrounds, shops, restaurants, and museums all peacefully coexist for visitors and locals alike.
We laugh our way through galleries of modern art, alpine history, comic book heroes, marvel movie characters, and military history. We take our pictures in the don jon/ dungeon. We sit in replicas of ski trams, country kitchens and school rooms to take funny photos.
All the while, we wind further down the mountain. Eventually, at valley floor, we find ourselves in a medieval village. I couldn’t tell where we parked but I followed my siblings who were following signs. We sampled bread and purchased some to take home. We took even more pictures.
Most of all we enjoyed just being together. There is something so comforting about laughing with people you have known all your life. I don’t see my family often enough, so this time is precious to me. We are missing my youngest brother who was unable to come. He is not here physically, but is in my heart (and we love that my awesome sister in law is here to represent).
At the end of a long day, we stop in Arona for food. We pick a lovely restaurant at the lakefront. My pasta arrives as a work of art. The walnut emulsion….. no words. Nothing could be better…..
Except maybe the dessert…..
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Anticipated Arrivals: Travel Goals
I love hosting company, especially if the company is family. Today my siblings, minus my youngest brother are coming to join us at our Italian retreat. The house has been cleaned. Groceries are bought and now I wait impatiently for their arrival.
I take a walk around our quiet neighborhood waiting for their plane to land. The rain has stopped and the flowers are fresh and vibrant in the diffuse morning light. The sheep on the corner lot bleat a greeting.
The water is flowing fast after three days of rain, but the ducks don’t seem to mind. Neither does the Boston terrier that sneaks up behind me, snorting and jumping. He wants to play. So we run for awhile, while his owner chats in Italian. I smile when appropriate….but can’t command enough words to converse.
The trees are exploding in color and I decide that if the family isn’t exhausted when they arrive, I will suggest a visit to the nearby Villa Pallavicino. The gardens there are full of old growth trees that should be in peak form.
Now I am impatient, so I text to see if their plane arrived. They reply!….on the runway and taxiing to the gate. By my calculations, they should be to the house by 12:30. I walk to the park and consider what to make for a welcome lunch.
I enjoy the explosion of color and the morning sun on the way back to the house. It is strange to see plants that I associate with Spring in full bloom in late October.
Finally, they are here. Hugs and smiles abound as we welcome them to our temporary home. Everyone explores their rooms and begins to unpack while I happily assemble an antipasto platter and make a tortellini.
We eat and share travel stories. They do want to stay awake to avoid jet lag so we head to the Villa Pallavicino. It has changed a great deal in the three weeks since we were there last.
The waterfalls are much larger. Plants are in bloom that weren’t and plants that were in bloom aren’t. The trees are beginning to show color. The animals are less active and the crowds have disappeared.
Perhaps because there were few other people….or maybe because we love animals… we found a few friends. A smiling goat who guarded the bridge. A nosy llama. A white peacock followed us to a table and would have gladly shared my cappuccino. Stories and smiles abound.
When we tired of gardens, we turned to galleries. The small Stresa gallery told the story of the statues along the avenue of villas. Shops were selling wares, but as we entered a small bodega, the shop keeper lamented that tourists to the islands “look but don’t buy”. He was a little rude and served the locals while loudly lamenting in Italian that tourists never bought anything. He didn’t know my brother very well. He, because he never met an Italian meat that he didn’t like, loaded up on salami. The shop keeper quieted down.
Stresa was strange for a Saturday. The currency exchanges were closed. The restaurants in the square were not all open. Perhaps this is what end of season looks like or perhaps it is the prolonged rain. Either way…it is a much slower pace. As it starts to rain, we wander through flea market stalls and take in the lakeside sites.
Dinner consists of small nibbles of fresh cheese, bread, olives, and lots of salami. The sister in laws play games while the husbands watch football. Laughter and love. It is good to have family in the house.
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Between a Rock and a Foggy Place: Travel Goals
It is still raining in Lesa. We head to Varese where there are a few indoor museums. The weather there should be clear and we will be able to visit the Sacred Mountain of Varese.
We head out and the rain stops as we get farther down the road. It is looking pretty good, until we get within a few miles from our destination. A dense fog sets in. The higher we get on the mountain, the harder it is to see. We can barely see a few feet in front of us. The road is winding. We do our best to follow road signs but our gps tells us to enter a narrow alley. We miss the turn, but are only 100s of meters away. Unsure what to do and clearly driving away from our destination museum, we reluctantly turn around and enter the alley.
I don’t like it. It doesn’t look like a legitimate road. The gps is insistent. We meet cars coming out of the alley, so we assume that we need brave it. We hold our breath and keep going. We pass a small parking lot for a hotel. We suddenly see a sign telling us we can’t enter and that traffic is not allowed but there is no way to turn around. Literally…no way.
We try backing up. There is a tricky turn between a car, a wall, and a rock ledge. Unfortunately the rock ledge left its mark. A small mark on the car, but unsettling all the same. The driver (aka husband) does a great job keeping his cool and backing us up the road until we can turn around. We drive back to the main road.
Now the fog is unsettling. It is so thick we struggle to see at all. We know we are on the side of a mountain, but can’t see the edge. The gps completely loses its signal. I see a sign pointing to the museum we are looking for and we creep in that direction. I ask that we park because I need out of the car, but honestly we don’t know where we are. I walk through the fog to take a photo of a map. It is not very helpful. I see the map, but I can’t see any physical landmarks to help orient us.
It looks like we can drive to the museum, but a short way down the road we encounter another road restriction. This one we can see in time to turn around. Now I am very anxious to park. I just want out of the car and out of the fog for a while. We waste a good bit of time trying to determine if we need to pay to park. We decide the sign is saying to pay only on the weekends. This is the most confusing place we have ever visited. We are unsure if it is the roads, the signage, the fog or a combination of the three, but we struggle to figure out what to do and where to go.
We set off through the fog and walk past the resident only parking. We think we are at a historic religious site, but apparently it is also a town (which may be why the gps and signs took us the wrong way?). It is hard to make sense of anything in the fog. We are now walking in a pedestrian only zone. Is this where we were driving earlier?
I make out a restaurant and am ready to call it quits. We can have a coffee and pastry and call it a day. My husband encourages me to walk on. The museum becomes visible exactly four steps from where I was just standing ready to give up. Victory is ours!
The small museum was built by the artist hired to do renovations on the monastery. It is a villa, full of the owner’s collections of ancient artifacts…marble from the Shaw of Iran, renaissance art., Grecian urns, Ming vases, Roman statues. The pieces are eclectic and weirdly wonderful. My favorite museum piece is the gypsum mold for the bronze doors of a Roman church. The artist carved the mold, covered it with wax and then poured the bronze on top. The wax melted and the bronze separated and voila! I saw the doors in Rome long ago, but find that I am much more interested in the mold.
Next, we search for lunch. In an eerie walk through streets of tunnels, stairs, caves, and endless fog, we finally find a restaurant promising fine dining, and the perfect terrace view. We will never know about the view, but we can at least try the food. Besides, it is warm inside and there is beautiful music playing.
We have the place to ourselves. They seat us at a lovely table in front of a window, better to view the fog I guess. The tagliatelle with truffle butter rocks my world. Instant mood adjustment!
Nourished, we head out to conquer the sacred mountain. The church is part of an ancient convent formed by Catherine and Juliana in the 1400’s. The small, Saints Chapel is dedicated to their remains. While Jesus is honored in the church with a small sculpture hidden in front of the pipes of the organ, the real feature of the church is Mary.
She is every where. In paintings, in statues, and larger than life in a glass encased effigy in the center of the altar. Excavations show that this “cult of Mary” (not my words….actually on the English translation placard) had been worshiping on the mountain at this place since the 400’s. It became a pilgrimage Mecca for women and especially mothers.
A small museum holds a hand illuminated psalter. The painted details in vibrant color and gold leaf are extraordinary. If I could, I would sit all day and examine each glorious page. The museum also holds endless artistic renderings of the Madonna, sometimes with child and sometimes alone.
But the museum’s real treasure lies in the crypt under the church. The original frescoes from the 11th century are still perfectly intact. At least seven priests are buried here. Glass walkways reveal the graves and further back in the crypt, the remains of the 4th century church. Graffiti in Latin covers some of the fresco. You can clearly read, “I, (name of person) was here. 1535”. Almost 500 years in the past, people couldn’t resist the urge to leave their mark.
We emerge from the crypt to a new world. The fog has lifted. The sun is shining. Four lakes, including Varese and Maggiore are visible. Suddenly the Sacred Mountain makes a little more sense. It is an unusual place, built into the mountain. With a vague understanding of where we are in relation to our car, we walk toward our parking space. Or at least where we think we parked.
Up steps. Down a hillside. Through a tunnel. Under a building. Onto a street, that suddenly becomes a staircase. And so it goes. Pope John Paul in bronze points the way back to the Moses fountain. Suddenly the road we had stumbled down hours before appears. It is on the side of a steep mountain. Had I wandered to the edge in the fog…well let’s just leave it at that. It is a long, long way down.
We find our car, but still have no gps. But now we can see more than four feet in front of us, so we try to retrace our steps. We notice a sign at the site of our near disaster earlier in the day. It says limited traffic. It should say Danger! Keep out! My strong opinion…..but for my sanity I’ll just let that go.
Back at home, the sun is shining and I have energy to burn. So I walk to the lake. The small river Erno is roaring from the three days of rainfall. But the lake is serene. The fishermen are out in force, but I have the beach to myself. A quiet place to count my blessings… a patient husband… grace… three beautiful children…..this amazing place…..
Travel can be intense. It can be confusing and stressful. It can also be peaceful and life giving. It always changes you. When to fog lifts, you always see more clearly.
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Rainy Retail Therapy
It is set to rain all day and all night…..again. I search the map for anyplace within three hours that might be deluge free. I find nothing. My next search is for indoor places. Neither of us want to walk all day in heavy rainfall. My shoes are still wet from yesterday.
So we set off on a drive to the Vicolungo Fashion Outlet situated outside Novara Italy, between Milan and Turin. High fashion in a dry environment sounds good to me. My husband is a good sport, although not quite as excited as I am.
On the way we pass flooded rice fields and vineyards. We spot unidentified creatures and birds in the stubble of the recent harvest. The birds line up by the dozens behind tractors plowing mud. Perhaps the farmer is also churning up worms? Or maybe the birds are also looking for a distraction from the unrelenting water.
The rainwater collects on the narrow roadway in pools, especially in the roundabouts…..and there are a lot of roundabouts. We zig zag in and out of old towns, some abandoned. Eventually we make our way to the massive shopping complex. We shake our heads in frustration when we have to pass through a tiny opening, barely large enough for a turning car, to get into a massive parking lot.
The mall is outdoors with covered walkways. Many of the fashion brands are represented, including familiar American Names. I am interested in anything I have not seen before. I am not wasting time on stores found in every American high end mall. Lucky for me, most shops are Italian brands that I have never seen before….and may never see again.
There are men’s stores with suits tailored tight to the body paired with tasteful shirts and colorful ties. Italian fashion is breathtaking in its own way. It is a place where men can exhibit refined style and understated elegance through a knitted scarf, an upturned sleeve, a tailored pant leg or a beautiful leather shoe. And Italian men love fashion. I love that Italian men love fashion.
Women’s fashion was more diverse. Entire stores of plain cashmere sweaters in every color of the rainbow dotted the mall. The next shop held only coats. The next had high fashion evening gowns and silk suits. A few stores had mid-season collection sales. Many items, like a baby blue silk suit with ostrich feathers down the back of each sleeve, were entirely and fantastically impractical. But eventually, I found my store ….full of fine things that a midwestern girl could wear with a little spring in her step.
I settled on accessories:a wool hat, suede gloves, earrings, and a little makeup. Reluctantly, I put down the blue suede boots, only because they would not fit in my suitcase.
My driver (aka husband) finds that he can also get in on the fun. A candy outlet provides pounds of licorice. In a casual men’s store, a cable knit sweater joins his collection. He will also have to carefully pack his suitcase if he doesn’t watch it.
It is still raining when we decide to try “Billy’s Tacos”. While it seems a strange choice, we have been eating pasta daily for weeks. Honestly, after trying “Italian tacos” we determine that we should stick with pasta. The food at this chain restaurant is not good…like a can of nacho cheese dip with some chicken pieces in a dry, cold, tortilla. I pay extra for taco sauce because I am craving spices. I receive spaghetti sauce in a plastic cup. I dip my tortillas anyway. Oh well, we had to try. Epic fail. Lesson learned.
Some days are just rainy. Sometimes the food is not good. Some days you find handmade Italian leather at prices you adore. Travel is like that. If you take each day as it comes, it is always an adventure.
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Prisoner of Hopes 