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Rainy Days Are Still Beautiful: Travel Goals
Sunny, magical days have to be interrupted occasionally. And so the rain set in for a multi-day period of grey clouds and damp pavement. Since we were in Italy to experience Italy, we set off for a wet drive around the lake to Cannobio on Lake Maggiore (….not to be confused with Cannobio on Lake Como).
Despite the heavy rain warnings, the rain here (at least to these midwestern travelers who are very used to severe thunderstorms and torrential rain) seemed light, slow, and steady. The rain would eventually accumulate to about five inches over the course of three days.
We stoped at the lake front in Cannobio and could just barely make out the mountain across the lake. It would disappear and reappear throughout the morning as the clouds rolled by. The fog had its own charm, making the landscape dramatic and constantly changing.
We decided to walk the city, but needed to find a more central parking lot. This was always the worst parts of days, as finding a spot to park in an unfamiliar town that was built before cars were invented was always an uncertain quest. It usually involved circling the perimeter of the city until you either randomly guessed what lot might be closer to where you needed to be…. or you ceased to care about location and you just took a spot because it was available and you were tired of trying. We opted to take the only available spot in a lot about five blocks from the Main Street. It was a good find.
The next part of our rainy Italian adventure was to determine which unmarked alley would actually get us from our car to the town. If we were lucky, we might occasionally see a sign to “historico Centro”. In fairness, this town did not ask for visitors. If an Italian came to my town, there would not be signs either…..but they could drive around and park in front of literally anywhere. I was walking in the rain, and not thinking about my usual support of reduced dependence on automobiles.
We eventually found the right path. I was being so careful to step around the puddles forming on the stone streets. In my focus to stay dry, I hopped onto a flagstone tile and it immediately sunk down into a puddle, completely soaking my feet. With wet socks and shoes making squishing noises while I walked, we finally found the Main Street. It was full of quaint shops. Ahhh, Italy…the rain was no longer on my mind.
Cheese shops, meat shops, wine shops, leather shops, tailors, …. On one long street all you need…Simple, walkable, communal…. I actually liked this better than having to drive all over town…..even in the rain. We have definitely lost something in America with our big box stores far removed from the lifeblood of our towns.
We stepped into a botteglia shop. It was full of a variety of bottled beverages from the region. The shop keeper was excited that Americans had wandered in on a slow, rainy day. We chatted, mixing languages in the way you do when neither party is fluent in the other’s language. She gave us samples of her favorites. These things we may never have experienced had we not wandered in the rain. After a pleasant respite, we bought “Paradisio”. Paradise in a bottle….I was unsure what is in it, but it did taste good. And the shopkeeper was more than gracious. We had a wonderful cultural exchange that was unexpected.
Me being me, we also visited churches with stunning marble interiors. I ducked in courtyards with brightly colored statues of ducks (pun intended). Similar colored frogs hung from balconies. Foxes stood in the park. Large yellow birds lined city hall. The colorful creations warmed a dreary day. These whimsical animals speak of civic pride and community.
Before we knew it, it was time for lunch. We walked the row of restaurants along the pier and selected the “sport bar” solely because it had a large outdoor canopy with functional gas heaters and blankets. I wrapped up in a lap blanket, under a heater and attempted to dry. Meanwhile, the waiter brought appetizers of olives and bread. I took the plunge and tried the aperol spritz, a local favorite. It was light and fruity. I ordered the local risotto, loaded with fresh cheese. The risotto was definitely not light, but it was delicious.
Fortified with a heavy midday meal and a newly purchased umbrella, we stopped in the town of Ghiffa. It boasted yet another Sacro Monte. It was the smallest sacred mountain shrine we had visited. The carvings were interesting, but much simpler the other sites. The chapels were younger, dating from the 1600-1700’s. But they were not as well kept.
What I noticed most was the lack of fresco. The carvings were mounted to largely bare walls. The simplicity and austerity of the place somehow fit the rainy afternoon. I wondered for a bit about why the newest site was also less exceptional. Does modernity diminish beauty? Do we value cost over craftsmanship or is it something else?
Except for the car that tried to run me over in the parking lot and a few workers conversing on the perimeter, the place was devoid of people. A land time forgot. We explored in the fog alone.
In an interesting landscaping choice, the walkways made a circle around the chapels, but did not actually lead to a chapel. To visit each area, you had to go off the path and through the water logged yard. It didn’t really matter. My feet couldn’t get any wetter. My pants, it turned out, could get a lot wetter. When I stepped on an unassuming flagstone tile, it tilted and created a plume of water that soaked my entire torso. Suddenly wet to my waist, I squished my way to chapel of Abraham…. At least there was a great view of Lake Maggiore from up here on the sacred mountain…..oh dense fog…. I still had a good imagination even if had temporarily misplaced my sense of humor.
We laughed in the car as I wrung out my socks and lower pant legs. In no time at all we were down the mountain and back on the road to civilization. Needing groceries, we found an Aldi and happily purchased fresh cheese, Italian salami, fresh bread, and a variety of other treats.
Back at the house, I found some dry clothes. The rainy day provoked a nesting response so I started a load of laundry and cooked up some steak. After dinner we curled up on the couch and settled in for a James Bond marathon. It has been a slow day. We actually didn’t do much, except walk around in places that were supposed to keep us semi-dry. (At least half of my body did stay dry, so the mission was accomplished. In future, I will need to state my intentions differently). Unplanned and not the type of day you would ever see in a travel book, we had an adventure into the unknown and we laughed …. a lot. That is always a travel goal win even in soggy shoes.
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Markets and Mountains: Travel Goals
Today is my favorite day! When I travel in Italy, I can’t wait for market day, the day that a town has a pop up outdoor market. Usually each town has a set day for the market. In that way vendors can go from town to town, and the townspeople can plan their shopping. This tradition has been going on for centuries.
It will take a full two hours to visit the large market in Arona. (Just to walk end to end, more time will be needed if we linger at stalls.) It is crowded and we had to park far from the market and walk. All the lots nearby are a circus of cars vying for an open spot. We figure a nice stroll through the park is more appealing. So we park by the lake and walk around to the ferry dock where the market begins.
You can find most anything at the market. Clothes, household items, bedding, luggage, food….it is all there. Bargains are waiting for me! I love market day! I love the hunt for bargains. Women throw clothes in bins. They go back and forth looking for the illusory “best deal”. I find a few, but the joy is really in the hunt.
We encounter one ill tempered salesman…out of hundreds of stalls. I stop to admire an all weather jacket that I thought would make a nice Christmas gift. The man starts asking we questions in Italian. He seems angry and aggressive. I say sorry, I don’t speak Italiano. He peppers me with questions, “Where are you from. Do you work? What kind of jacket do you wear?” I said “I don’t know how to answer the question as I wear many kinds of jackets.” He yells “ you can’t touch my jackets your hands aren’t clean they will ruin the finish. This is for your education!”
I am very confused. Everyone in the market handles goods in the market with abandon. You have to touch and weigh and feel to know what you are getting. There is no sign asking me not to touch (I can read some Italian). They are not in plastic. I was actually just looking for a price thinking I would buy the jacket, but there was no tag visible. So I touched the collar to find a tag. After the scolding, we left. No sale. Never will be a sale, if I encounter him in another town.
After all that shopping, we stop at Muu House, another American themed pizza and steak house. At night they offer all you can eat pizza. By day they offer a three course lunch. I have the pasta with olives and tuna…then an angus chopped steak….and a salad…..and espresso. And I moo all the way to car in stuffed misery.
We venture father lup the road to Varallo to see the Sacro Monte de Varallo. This pilgrimage area on the top of the mountain is a series of over 40 chapels decorated with scenes from the life of Christ. Each scene has dozens of life size figures carved by Ferrari. The earliest chapels date to 1514. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
We start down the mountain path and as I put my hand on the rail, something moves. A lizard does not appreciate me disturbing its afternoon sun. He reluctantly scurries away. Maintenance workers chat nearby.
The earliest chapels deal with nativity themes. The buildings are modeled after buildings in the holy land. Inside ate wise men and shepherds. The statues are surrounded by frescoes, giving a 3-d effect.
About halfway through the path of chapels, we reach the basilica. It is an impressive church and the focal point of the mountain. Painted archways and marble columns draw your eye toward the altar.
Even in the sanctuary, the combination of carving and frescoes create visually stunning effects. The prophets and the apostles float on clouds around the pulpit and upward toward the dome over the altar. There is a glass canopy on the floor that is really a hidden dome for the crypt that sits between marble columns.
Steps lead downward to the crypt of the mother. This small chapel is adorned all in white. A wooden Madonna lies in a glass coffin. You can walk a circle around the coffin as you pray. People have tacked photos, baby bibs, and prayers throughout the chapel. I can’t tell if the artifacts are to pray for a successful birth or to mourn the loss of a child or both. It is clear this is an active pilgrimage site.
Elsewhere in the basilica people leave rosaries and sacred hearts. There are photos of cars and funeral notices. Priests wander outside in long robes. The sacred mountain clearly still has a steady stream of visitors, despite its remote location.
We take our time, drinking in the experience. We crawl into the tomb of Jesus on our hands and knees. We stand behind a red curtain to view the crucifixion scene. We go up and down stairs and then up and down sides of the mountain, visiting chapel after chapel.
In each chapel, I marvel at the number of statues and the detail put into each one. A few stations are closed for renovations. It is wonderful that they are being preserved. Many statues are peeling paint and losing hair. But even in disarray, they are impressive.
Our tour done, we need to leave the mountain. We descend on tiny, narrow roads only to find that we have to drive over another mountain to get home. Along the way, we drive behind a farmer escorting a wayward cow down the highway. Herding by following behind in a jeep.
You are never sure what you will find on a mountain road. But if the sun is shining and your trunk is full from market day treasure and you were able to walk the sacred mountain….I’ll call that a wonderful day. Views of Lake Orta as the sun is setting is definitely a bonus.
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A Walk On the Wild Side: Travel Goals
After several weeks of touring historic sites and churches, we decided to broaden our Italian experience. Our destination for a local weekend experience was the Pombia Safari park. It is essentially a drive through zoo. You could drive your own car or ride in their safari wagon. We opted to drive.
We arrived early, parked, and had a cup of cappuccino inside a small restaurant adjacent to their campground while we waited for the park to open. It was hard to figure out what to do next. There were toll booths where cars would queue. But the signs and different colored lines did not make it obvious which line we should be in. I could translate the words, but the contextual meaning did not translate at all. So we did what we always do….picked a line…. Watched the locals…..and faked it.
We were handed maps and several tickets (I had no idea what they were all for). And we headed up the hill behind the 10 cars in front of us. Steep hills, large animals, small car, manual transmission…..what could go wrong?
To ease you into the experience, you meander through antelope, ibex, kudus and ostrich. Then there are zebras and giraffes. Suddenly there is a rhino bigger than your car standing outside your window. I only became worried when we were stopped right next to the hippos. When I was in Africa, the guides would not let you near a hippo. They insisted that they were the most dangerous. And here they were, a stones throw from my open window walking toward us and the hay thrown out for them by my car tire.
I had just settled down from the close encounters in the safari area when we approached a new fence. This one had a sign that said “Danger of Death”. There was no off ramp, so we read the sign as we followed the line of cars into the enclosure.
We were going to drive through fields of free roaming lions and tigers. Each field had a guard in a watchtower and also one on the ground in a safari jeep. I couldn’t decide if that should make me feel safe or worried. My direction, if something should go wrong, was to stay in the car and “hoot” repeatedly. I think the translation was actually to honk, but we practiced our hoots just in case.
Actually, it was delightful. The big cats were well fed and generally lazy. They played and yawned and rolled. No excitement, other than to be near a powerful creature for a few minutes in the afternoon sun. I could have stayed longer but the parade of cars rolled us along with them. Next we drove into the goats, camels and cattle section. It was a bit of a let down after close encounters with the African big five.
After the safari drive, you park and walk the rest of the park. There was a sea lion show held in a large above ground swimming pool under a tent. We didn’t understand a word of the show, but children’s laughter and animal antics always translate. We have seen enough sea lion shows to anticipate the punchlines.
Perhaps my favorite part of the day was the walk through the lemur enclosure. Only a few people at a time got to wander through lemur land. It reminded me of the up close and personal experiences we had in Australia zoos. The animals decide how much or how little interaction they want. You stay in your lane and let them come to you. And they were curious. I can never get enough of close encounters.
The park had a dinosaur garden, a reptile house, and a bird walk. Because Italians are fascinated by Westerns, there was even an old west town. In the summer, there was a water park (closed on the day of our visit) and an arcade area. There is even an amusement park. Which may explain the extra tickets, but we opted to forgo the rides.
It had been a good visit. The zoo experience is something that translates world wide. Smiles and giggles are universal. And so are hotdog and hamburger zoo meals, apparently. You see the same smiles and excitement and the same melt downs no matter the country.
Leaving the animal park, we set out to explore wine country. We live in an area with a variety of wineries and we were interested in the comparison. A few turns and we were on a winding two lane road with no shoulder weaving through vineyards. That looked familiar, but there were no tasting rooms or live music venues. In fact most wineries in this region indicated they were by appointment only. One field had a small booth set up by the road and we almost stopped. But I had found a designated azienda Agricola or working farm/vineyard that had good reviews that was supposedly open.
We drove to the farm. There was a sign indicating we were at the right place, but there was only a house and a barn. Vineyards stretched in every direction but nothing resembled a winery. We decided to turn around beside the barn and just leave.
As we drove from behind the barn, a man appeared and directed us onto his driveway. We got out and greeted him. He opened his garage door. It was full of wine. He didn’t speak much English and we spoke even less Italian. He would say something in Italian and hand me a bottle. I would smile and nod. The only bottle he didn’t hand me was a large green unmarked bottle. I pointed. He said “all the grapes. We drink for dinner.” At least that is what I think he said.
It was a little awkward, being the only ones in a strangers garage. We aren’t really drinkers, but we were here to buy wine. We wanted an authentic Italian experience. We actually knew nothing about what we are buying, but the man seemed nice and sincere. It couldn’t get more authentic. So I took what was offered. And that is how I ended up with several bottles of wine in the trunk (that rolled around all the way home….just imagine all those round abouts). We spent $20.00 total and came home with “all the grapes”, literally. Just another walk on the wild side.
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The End of the Road: Travel Goals
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.
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Stranded: Travel Goals
Sometimes things are not as you want them to be. You just have to take a deep breath and deal with them as they are. We wanted to take the ferry to Intra and then on Isola Madre, the last Borromean island we hadn’t visited. It was market day in Intra…and I love market day. The tourist office we normally use to buy tickets and exchange money wasn’t open. It should have been open according to posted hours, but it was locked up tight. I needed to exchange money so we walked a few blocks to another agency with higher rates. Just an inconvenience.
We went to buy ferry tickets and the schedules didn’t line up correctly. Market day was just a dream. It couldn’t happen due to a reduced ferry schedule. Instead, we bought all day passes with the intent to island hop.
We needed to secure the car before we set out. The parking meter wasn’t working. Instead of all day parking, we had to settle for a 6 pm limit. We grabbed a cappuccino and settled in to wait for the ferry and replan our day. It started to rain, even though it wasn’t supposed to. Since we had to skip the market (it broke my heart) and we decided to head straight to Isola Madre and work our way back.
As we arrived, the ferry boatman called it mamma island. I smiled as I stepped onto the green island. We exited the boat up steep stairs and entered a series of rope lines. I paused to try and figure out where to go. The crowd went left. My husband grumbled to move along and quit blocking the line. I said I wasn’t sure… but we moved along down the hill. As I feared, the crowd went the wrong way and now we had to head back up the long steep hill.
Isola Madre was beautiful, even in the rain. Old trees. Lush shrubbery. And lots of wonderful pheasants. The birds were everywhere and didn’t mind the rain. The ran out of bushes across the paths. They danced and preened and clucked and scratched and scurried. I enjoyed watching their play.
I ducked in and out of trees along paths through old growth forest. Watching the birds, I appreciated their dancing and chirping. The pheasants were mesmerizing balls of color and movement. Alone in the trees, it was easy to feel timeless and a part of nature.
After walking circles among the trees, we finally arrived at the Villa. It was an imposing multistory building with a pile of umbrellas on the porch. Unlike the other Borromeo properties, this felt less like a palace and more like a home.
We toured the villa. Its darker wood and cozy rooms seemed somehow livable. I could see myself feeling at home here. I tried to imagine waking up with the glorious view. Of course it would come with the damp chill air. I was beginning to shiver and pretty much lost feeling in my fingers.
In a weird twist, we discovered that the owner had built a puppet theater in the house. At some point, the Borromeo of the day had hosted the King of Savoy who apparently liked puppets. Just like that,one of the rooms became a puppet show. It was weird and most of the puppets looked like their day wasn’t going so well either. I could relate. Just when you thought the figures couldn’t be any more depressing, the next theatre actually depicted hell. Demons, skeletons, and Satan himself waited on stage. What a cheery entertainment option.
The remaining rooms were filled with antique furniture and family paintings. They were interesting, but not as interesting as the argument the estate workers were having in the large salon. I don’t really understand Italian all that well, but it sounded like they were having a disagreement over the placement of a chair. It is amazing what humans will find to argue about, even in seemingly perfect surroundings. I guess that should tell me that it never really is about circumstances …,really….it is always about our wants and the need to have our way (Buddhists may be on to something.)
We really did enjoy Isola Madre. After the house tour, we found more birds, an aviary, and even a beautiful chapel. After one pm, we began to get a little hungry. But, we couldn’t find the way out. Each exit we tried was blocked. Finally, after wandering around in the rain for quite some time, we found a way out. It led to a private boat dock, so we had to climb back uphill to the ferry.
We found our dock. It had a sign that the next ferry wouldn’t be back until 2:30. I volunteered to go back up and down the steep steps to the restaurant to see if I could get food. I got to the small restaurant only to find out that we could only eat if we were seated. They did sell me water.
So …..I went back up the hill and then down the steep steps to rejoin my husband. After a little while, he set off to find a bathroom…..which was of course at the end of island, up the steps to go down the hill…..awesome….. But finally a boat came, after an hour and a half of waiting in the rain. You don’t always get the circumstances you want.
We decided to salvage the day by going to Isola Pescatori for lunch. I love the atmosphere of the restaurants on the fishing island. It would be a joy! We disembarked and began to look for a restaurant. I noticed they were all closing for their mid day break. Seriously. I rushed back to the busiest restaurant to see if they would seat us. A tour group blocked the sidewalk and wouldn’t move despite my insistent scuzzi, scuzzi! It was now almost three and the restaurants, once closed wouldn’t open until at least seven pm.
Luckily, we were seated. I must have looked desperate. We weren’t even the last ones to arrive late and slightly wet from the rain. Thanks to the hostess, we had a great meal on a dock overlooking a beautiful lake. There were space heaters and tiramisu. My day was looking up. Sometimes it is all about managing your expectations and enjoying where you are. A cat joined us at the table, lounging in an empty chair and trying to share our meal. He understood that sometimes you have to make your own fun.
We decided to walk back to a shop we liked and buy some supplies for the house. It was closed…empty….like it had never existed. End of season brought a hard stop to the Italian market. So we just reboarded the ferry. This time it was only a 15 minute wait. We were back to our car with time to spare on the parking meter. Our plans didn’t quite work out.
It would be easy to complain about the day, but I know I am privileged to even be able to say that I had to spend a day stranded on an island of Lake Maggiore in the rain. We had moments of disappointment, but I also had moments of delight. And even though things didn’t always work out the way I wanted, they worked out as they should. It is a lesson I will remember. I have always said that it is not really about what happens to you. How you respond is everything.
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Been There: Travel Goals
I am a contrary traveler. I don’t mean to be, but I almost never enjoy the “it” places. I read the guidebooks and just to say we have been there, we dutifully go, to the “must see” places and I am almost always disappointed. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like the so called “ugly” tourists who have no appreciation for the people or the culture they are visiting. I don’t enjoy witnessing tourists who complain about everything because it is not what they are used to. Lake Como was the “it” place that really wasn’t…at least for me.
We arrived in town and were lucky enough to snag one of the last spots in the central parking garage. This was a blessing because the Main Street was flooded and traffic was congested. After parking, we tried to visit the waterfront, but most of the park had construction barriers and was blocked off. We finally found a path through to the lake. The water was high and flooding the sidewalks. Unlike the rest of our experience in the Northern lakes region, there was a lot of trash…everywhere. Plastic floated in the lake. Rubbish was piled on the sidewalks. Debris clogged the piers. People jammed the walkways. We kept moving to avoid being run over by bicycles and/or baby carriages.
The promenade of villas was lovely. However, everyone else thought so too. I was clipped by a cyclist who thought one ring of their bell would help me figure out how an object moving at 15 miles an hour on a crowded sidewalk would manifest behind me. No warning just a ding as it ran into my shoulder.
We made it to the Villa Olna which ….was closed for construction. No matter, the view was lovely. We decided to find a cafe, use the toilette and have a cappuccino. Except the lone cafe did not have a public restroom, nor did the next, or the next, or the next.
Twenty minutes later, we made it back to the Volta museum. We weren’t planning to visit, but since the bathroom was only for paying customers….we became paying customers. It seems in Como, even basic human needs come with a price. The welcoming attendant wanted to give us an overview of the museum, but I really only wanted direction to the basement toilette area. She was disappointed. I was relieved.
The Volta museum had an interesting collection of the scientific equipment that led Alexander Volta to invent the battery. I recognized some of the experiments from my science classes. (In another life, I would have been quite content to be a chemist.) The museum was small, so we quickly made our round of encased copper wire, frog legs, and electric conductors.
The next order of business was lunch. For some, lunch in Como was an opportunity to see and be seen. For us, it was just another opportunity to eat. We walked by fancy tables with fancy prices and found a quiet outdoor table with simple pasta. No one would see me behind the shrubbery….but then I didn’t have to see the hundreds of wannabe models pursing their lips, crossing their feet and posing their elbow in the street. The number of influencer wannabes in the center of Como was exhausting and distracting. A few such individuals in a day is hilarious. Hundreds of them are maddening.
At lunch we chatted with a German couple, who were very upset that the restaurant did not provide menus. We also are not a fan of the order by QR code (it makes it alot harder to search and translate). But when wife yelled at the wait staff, I had to put her in the ugly tourist category. A British couple, sat down and chatted with us. They took a ferry boat to Como because they thought it would a fun excursion for lunch. When they arrived they had to immediately stand in line for a return ticket. It took one and a half hours to get said ticket. They were unable to get the two o’clock return and had to take a 6:30 pm boat. Welcome to “itville”. We wished them luck finding a way to stay sane in the crush of Como tourism.
Despite the odds, I found solace in the cathedral. The grand beauty and the quiet reverence was just what I needed. The high vaulted ceilings seemed to dwarf the large altarpieces. Tapestry hung from the ceilings. Carved lecterns and statuary clamored for attention. While there was a steady stream of visitors, apparently most of the Como crowd preferred to try to look beautiful (taking selfies in the street) instead of seeking beauty indoors….thankfully the crowds remained outside.
As a nice surprise, musicians played just outside the cathedral. We stopped to listen before we made our way to the funicular. Street musicians make everything a little more tolerable. We needed the pick me up.
After a 15 minute walk that took us along the fringes of the flood water, we reached the ticket booth for the funicular. Hundreds of people were in line. We turned around. The only thing worse than standing in line for an hour is being herded into an overcrowded tin can for an uncomfortable ride up a mountain to stand in line for at least another hour to be herded into an overcrowded carriage for a ride back down the mountain. We declined.
Instead, we fought our way back through the crowds. We pieced together a semi dry path through flood water. We dodged construction fences and eventually found our car. After navigating the exit road… I waved goodbye to Como. Been there, done that. Unfortunately, I couldn’t recommend it. Not my people, not my place.
Of course, when I tell you that I spent an hour happily cruising an Italian Superstore (think giant grocery store) later that day, you may be skeptical about taking my travel advice. But I will say this, I got some amazing bread for 1 euro. I found multiple varieties of Moscato d’Asti for around 3 euro each. I figured out that if you wait in the check out line, you may be in an aisle that entitles the elderly, handicapped, and pregnant to step in front of you. And more importantly, they will step in front of you in much the same way cars and bicycles pass you on the roadway. Rapidly, aggressively, and with hand gestures. No matter that I am holding a loaf of bread and two bottles and they have carts laden with a week’s grocery, I am after all just a visitor in their lane. And there is no where I would rather be. Mangia bene!
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In Search of Counts and Kings: Travel Goals
It is still raining on the banks of lake Maggiore. Today we took a long drive to the city of the Kings of Savoy, Venaria Reale. It is sunny there. The drive took just under three hours as we rejected the autostrade in favor of backroads.. We saw farm houses and vineyards as we meandered through farm country. Brand new combines and beat up tractors made their way through small town intersections. Autumn leaves fell onto golden fields.
The gps took us on a “short cut” through rice fields. Although the one lane road with two way traffic was already unnerving, the deep ditches full of water inches from our tires made the 10 miles extra interesting. Thankfully there were only a few other cars (probably farmers wondering how we got into their fields). We, however, were blessed with our first ever up close look at a rice farm. We also had the good fortune to encounter a large fox, a pair of cranes, and a wide variety of smaller birds. Sometimes detours off the highway are well worth it.
After unexpectedly being dumped onto the autostrada just outside Turin, we navigated city traffic until we reached the peaceful town of Venaria. With surprising ease, we found parking and a large ticket office. The only confusing part can within the ticket office. There was no information about what you were queuing up to purchase. This was a problem, because we were here due to the fact that the sun was shining. I hadn’t done much research beyond dry and palace to tour. When I got to the front of the line to talk to a salesperson, I was met with a blank stare. When I asked about information… blank stare. Not a don’t understand you but let me try to help stare. It was a “you don’t exist to me” stare. Finally, in frustration, I asked for “dua bigliettos”. She handed me two tickets and the information I had asked for prior to purchase. Armed with tickets and a map, we headed out to explore.
The palace was much larger than I expected, with extensive gardens. We wound through former servant areas that had been turned into museum exhibits about the Savoy family and the extensive changes the building had undergone over the centuries. The rooms were large, but unfortunately most of the furnishings were lost. So we looked at a lot of sparsely furnished rooms with some of the recovered art collections.
Things changed as we traveled into the kings area. Even the architecture screamed power. A great hallway that rivaled the Versailles hall of mirrors ( I liked this one better), greeted us with a cheery parquet floor. The white sculpted ceiling was a picture of understated elegance.
We stopped for lunch at a terrace cafe. I ordered a panini drizzled with balsamic-a. The palace workers queued up behind us and were aggressive in getting served. I wondered if the hunger games were about to break out. It was clear that two American tourists were a nuisance in there otherwise ordered day. The guy in line behind us almost climbed into my husband’s back pocket as he pushed to get to his sandwich.
However as I sat and lingered over my food while drinking in the expansive views of the garden and of the French Alps…my pushy friends inhaled their sandwich, slammed back their cappuccino, and left. Hurry and stress…things I left behind in America. Things I had not seen elsewhere in Italy. These Torinos were intense.
The next stop was the royal chapel. It was beautiful and elegant. Giant panels of medieval art told the stories of the Bible. Statues honored old testament figures and modern saints. The acoustics were great and I couldn’t helping singing. Ave Maria rang out in perfect echo. I smiled to myself, looking up to see my husband watching me with amusement. Oops.
The tour ended in the stables, which is now home to the royal barge. A gilded throne for use on the water, the barge was created to make a statement. It was not clear where this floating grand canoe would be used as there are no large bodies of water nearby. Perhaps it was just used to float the garden canal, a distance of perhaps a half mile just beyond the rose garden. Maybe it traveled with the Savoys.
The stables also housed gilded carriages and golden harnesses for the matched teams that provided the horse power. It seemed the Savoys traveled in style.
I wandered the gardens, but they lacked luster. The groundskeeper had let them turn to end of season ruin. The Neptune fountain and grotto, however, represented the former glory of the garden. Recently restored, the fountain was dazzling in the fall sunlight. The restoration team, left enough of the original foundation and ruins intact that you felt antiquity amidst the modern facade.
After a necessary gelato, we were back on the road. We decided to take a northern route to Lake Maggiore. We had enough of rice fields for one day. As we headed into the mountains, the views from the car were breathtaking. It was a much better road than the morning’s farm country, despite the hills. Our car didn’t go up the steep inclines very fast, but it made it. Sure, we had some unhappy Italian drivers aggressively riding our bumpers and creating the infamous Italian third lane as they passed us (usually on a blind curve); but over all it was a pleasant and scenic drive…..at least for me, because I wasn’t the one behind the wheel.
Traffic got a little intense in the town of Ivrea. I was quite taken with the town. Castles, waterfalls, churches, and snarling ridiculous traffic. I would love to go back, but I may have to find another driver. My usual chauffeur isn’t sure he wants a repeat.
Our drive got a little longer due to numerous traffic jams. We never saw a cause. Perhaps it was just Italian rush hour as everyone headed home through very small towns, round abouts, and one way streets. The end effect was arrival in nearby Arona well past our dinner time. We decided that it made sense to park the car, take a leisurely stroll along the lakeside, and enjoy the ultimate comfort food. Pizza! We ate like royalty…..at least I did…I don’t think the chauffeur was happy with his choice. At least the queen was happy.
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Gardens and Galleries in Verbania: Travel Goals
Some days just exceed expectations. I woke up to a beautiful pink sunrise. The rain had washed the earth clean and the birds were singing their thanks. We had no where to be and took our time, lingering over coffee.
We drove around the lake to Verbania and the Villa Taranto. I wasn’t expecting much. It was known for its garden, but in mid-October the flowers are usually past their prime. But the day continued to exceed expectations. Thousands of dahlias greeted us. My friend’s father died last week. I missed the remembrance because we are in Italy. He used to raise dahlias. I thought fondly of days long past as I walked amongst the giant blossoms.
The garden was large, with views of the lake and the Alps. We caught a glimpse of the Villa, but the main attraction was the glorious trees and perfect landscaping. Each new tree welcomed me with bright leaves and sturdy trunks. I breathed in the intoxicating smells of eucalyptus and magnolias. Lemon trees were surprisingly pungent and unpleasant. But they were still lovely to see.
We had coffee and tiny pastries at the water garden. Koi and water lilies made peaceful companions. Colorful blooms danced in the breeze under the watchful eyes of bronze water nymphs. Palm trees juxtaposed themselves against snow covered mountains, creating a surreal atmosphere.
I could have lingered all day in this garden of endless delights. The master gardeners clearly took great pride in their work. The benches were wet from the overnight rain or we would have curled up and basked in the glow of Lake Maggiore for the afternoon. But hunger won out. We stopped for gelato (the only disappointment for the day…the scoop was minuscule) to ward off stomach rumbling.
Soon after leaving the garden, we arrived in downtown Pallanza. Following narrow one way streets, we parked next to a police station. I read that there was a small museum in town and we decided to give it a try. We weren’t expecting much.
They asked how two Americans found themselves in Palanza on a Wednesday afternoon. We just smiled and said we were exploring the nearby towns one by one. They asked if we wanted a tour and we said we preferred to explore on our own.
Art, in my opinion should be experienced. I don’t want to give my attention to someone telling me how I should react or what I should notice. I want my reaction to be authentic and let the pieces speak for themselves. In this case the main collection was of a local sculptor of Russian Italian ancestry, Paolo Troubetzkoy. He had dozens of a sculptures depicting life in the late 1800’s to early 1900’s period. He had apparently studied with Rodin and had hosted many famous people of the day. The collection was quite interesting.
Most surprising was the collection of landscapes. We found one of the cascata de Toce waterfall we had visited earlier. Even though it was painted in the 1800s, we recognized the inn where we ate lunch and the path we walked. Charming canvas evoking the warmth of the region. Most of all, we were stunned and moved by a large painting of farm workers. The emotion on the faces pulled you into the painting. It was startling and breathtaking and beautiful. A picture can’t really do it justice.
So many surprises this day! We had missed lunch, because we were so caught up in unexpected delights. On the way home, we stopped at a McDonald’s for comfort fries. It was in a shopping mall. Of course I had to check out the local shopping experience. Next door, I was delighted to find an Aldi. Great food, cheese, fruit, bread, meat…the day just keeps getting better. At days end we feasted on steak and celebrated our good fortune. I love it when a day is full of pleasant surprises.
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Rainy Day In Milano: Travel Goals
Today was a washout. It rained all night and all day. Outside adventures at the Lake looked dismal. I searched the radar for anywhere dry and came up empty. So we headed to Arona, parked blocks away from the train station, and walked through the flood to buy a round trip ticket to Milan. We figured there would be plenty of indoor sights to keep us occupied.
One hour later, we arrived at Milan Centrale station. It was a circus of people. There were people stacked upon people in every direction. It you stopped, you were pushed aside or ran over. Every few minutes, you were warned of pickpockets via loudspeaker.
In this environment, we walked down to the metro station and got in a long line to buy a metro pass. Several machines sat empty as they weren’t working. The ones that were working were acting up and were not particularly easy to use. After two failed attempts to buy a metro pass, we finally found a line at a machine that worked. I was exhausted and we hadn’t even left the station.
It took me several tries to enter the metro station, even though I had a valid ticket. It turned out that you don’t put a day pass in the slot labeled ticket. Why should a ticket go in a ticket slot? Instead, it you needed to tap it on the tap screen labeled credit card. Hmmm….live and learn.
Just a few stops away, we exited the metro in the pouring rain and found ourselves standing in front of the iconic duomo. The church really is stunning, but we were coming back to tour it in a few weeks so there was no need to get soaked to the bone on this day.
Instead, we headed (along with a few thousand other people trying to get out of the rain) under the glass cover of the Vittorio Emmanuel mall. This luxury shopping area is covered by ornate glass canopies. Prada, Gucci, and other designers keep signature stores here. Instead of shoppers, many people were huddled to stay out of the rain. Teenage girls were pursing lips and twisting hips to take the perfect selfie in brand name paradise. We dodged the makeshift catwalks and headed to find the Leonardo 6 museum. Despite google maps, we soon found ourselves back on the street in the rain somewhere near the Teatro Scala. I knew that wasn’t right so we backtracked to a small elevator with a tiny sign telling us to go up a few floors to the museum entrance.
Leonardo 6 is a museum dedicated to the inventions of Leonardo d’Vinci. It is a relatively small museum that has all of his sketches computerized. You can explore electronic and physical 3-d models. We were intrigued.
It was fascinating to see how many ideas Leonardo had that were well ahead of his time. They were futuristic, viable, and beautiful. There were flying machines, weapons of war, musical instruments, machines to help industry, and general flights of fancy.
Some rooms had interactive technology to let you listen to instruments he invented, to ride in a video simulation past his inventions and to explore his masterpiece paintings. As a culmination, we entered a recreated room with a historically accurate replica of the last supper fresco. One end of the gallery had the faithful recreation (they used specialized technology and every known restoration record) of the painting to recreate the original colors. The other wall had an interactive technological display where you could compare the current state of the fresco with the recreation. The museum was actually fascinating (if a little crowded with small children that parents were letting run amok and pound on computer equipment they were too young to operate) and more importantly…we stayed dry for a few hours.
It was early afternoon, and we made a dash back to the metro to Sforza Castle where we hoped to find some lunch. The streets were flooded with inches of standing water. Crossing the street was a wading challenge. We would walk a block down the street to cross on batches of higher ground and then walk back up the street to resume our route. All the while, we retreated from the side walk when cars drove by sending a flume of water into the air and onto unobservant pedestrians.
Eventually, we found a restaurant. The menus were QR codes in Italian. So we couldn’t use google translate to read the menu. Luckily a waitress gave us choices in English plain enough that we could order. I had a nice pumpkin soup to take the chill off my rapidly numbing fingertips. My husband was fascinated by a man that walked in off the street (in a nice suit) who chatted with the waiters and ate the bread off the table of the diners who had just left the restaurant. Once the bread was gone, he said his goodbyes and disappeared back into the rain. Meanwhile, I asked for coffee. I forgot that when you don’t specify you get a thimble of very, very dark espresso. It was a jolt.
After lunch, the rain had died down a little so we walked around the Sforza castle. Tourists were huddled in each port doorway like drowned rats. I stopped to take a few photos and read how the duchess Sforza had to build a tower to keep her brother in law from killing her and her son after her husband died unexpectedly. Nothing like medieval family drama, and the castle is dramatic.
By now the rain was once again picking up. My husband’s umbrella sprang a leak and I had soaked through my top coat. It seemed like a good time to say arrivederci.
The train station was crowded, as always, and our train tickets didn’t work at the turnstiles. We were sent to a manager who waived us through with barely a look. Our train wasn’t on the departures board so I headed to find a Tren nord employee, because our ticket didn’t have the train number or final destination. We only knew we needed to stop in Arona. Just as I located an employee our train popped up on the board. At least we were reasonably sure it was our train.
We headed to the train to sit and dry out. I stopped to validate our ticket, but unlike the stamping machine on our inbound trip; the machines had QR codes. Our tickets blinked invalid…of course. But we knew we paid and no one had checked tickets the last two times we took the train so my husband told me to board and not worry about it. He was getting impatient with my travel anxiety (which I sometimes get when things aren’t working as they should). I got off the train one more time to try to validate at a nearby kiosk, but no luck.
The train left the station on time and none else had stopped to validate. (Yes, I was obsessing a bit about not validating the ticket. On a prior trip, I had watched a friend get a hefty ticket when she forgot to time stamp her return trip. So I wanted to make sure it didn’t happen to us.) We had just settled in for the return trip when a conductor stopped and asked for our tickets. I held my breath, waiting to get a fine. We handed over our tickets. He glanced at them briefly smiled and said have a good evening. I relaxed and settled in for the comfortable ride to Arona. Even rainy days can be wonderful….if you are adventurous.
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Convents, Cable Cars, and Clothing: Travel Goals
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.
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Prisoner of Hopes 