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Mottarone, the tiniest Alp: Travel Goals
The morning broke cool and cloudy. Because the forecast for the rest of the week included rain, we decided to drive up to the top of Mottarone. The smallest mountain in the Alps. The tiniest Alp.
The road was surprisingly busy, and unsurprisingly winding and narrow. Gangs of cyclists clogged the road. Once we got close to the top, a toll gate barred the way until we coughed up $10.00. Once we were in the parklands, people were erratically parking on the roadway. Dozens of people roamed the woods carrying small wicker baskets for mushrooms. Who knew the top of a mountain would be this busy?
Our first destination was Alpyland, an alpine slide built on the top of the mountain. Once safely settled in the small dirt parking lot perched under the trees on the side of the mountain. We walked up a steep path for about eight minutes. The concrete was cracked and the trail looked deserted. It was easy to believe we were lost on the mountain. Honestly, I was beginning to wonder if google maps was pranking us. But eventually we found the launch platform.
We entered the coaster line behind eight women from Spain (probably in their 60’s) who were obviously on a girl’s trip. They laughed and argued and laughed some more. The teenage car operator tried to show them how to operate the cart with hand breaks as they bickered amongst themselves. My Spanish isn’t great, but I recognized the name calling and the “I can’t believe you got me into this you cow!” Comment.
I couldn’t help giggling with them as they reminded me of me when I am traveling with friends. There is something wonderful about strong women enjoying each other’s company. It is powerfully inviting, especially when they so clearly adored each other.
The run was great fun with incredible views. After four minutes, I found myself at the bottom of the course along with all of the women in cars in front of me. The lead car of two women were stuck. They had pulled the handbrake and stopped the car from reaching the return pulley that would transport the car back up the mountain.
The friends began to tell them to push the handles forward to go forward. The woman would push forward for a few seconds and shrug. The next friend asked her to try to wiggle the car forward. She called her friend a name I won’t repeat. This went on for several minutes. The cars were stacking up. Finally a worker came down from the top of the run on a bobsled and pushed them onto the return pulley. Back up the mountain we went.
At the top of the mountain, under an abandoned chair lift, we watched the end of a trekking race. Race walking up the mountain seemed like a good way to ruin an otherwise pleasant hike, but people young and old were finishing to cheers. It was too much work for a cold morning, I opted for coffee by the fire instead.
We entered an alpine hut and ordered cappuccino. A small child toddled around our seats and tried his best to swipe a drink. His mother followed and swooped in before he could accomplish his mission. She had a dog the size of a small horse tied to her waist and paced the length of the room. Bikers entered in the midst of the chaos, ordered shots of sambuca and then left as quickly as they had arrived. We were definitely out of the tourist zone and deep into local entertainment areas.
After all the excitement and the coffee, I needed to use the restroom. To find it, I descended down three flights of stairs. I felt like I was climbing back down the mountain. Once in the restroom, I opened the door to the stall and stepped in, only to have the lights go out immediately. I opened the door, hit the switch and stepped back inside. It was a vault toilet. This was not my first encounter, so I remained nonplussed…until the lights went out again. I apparently reached the limits of coordination …. squatting and fishing my cell phone out of my pack in order to use the flashlight app ….because in the pitch darkness, I didn’t want to fall in the vault toilet. Good times. Nevertheless, I made it work. When in Mottorone….
After that little adventure, we headed back up the trail to the car for a short drive to the village of Alpino. The Lions Club International sponsors a small alpine garden. The plantings were nice, but the view of the lake was spectacular. There was soft classical music from hidden speakers. Cow bells jingled nearby. We sat on a bench and just enjoyed the sights and sounds of peace.
Eventually we had to head back to civilization. There were far fewer cars to dodge on the way down the mountain than there was on the way up. In a small town near Stresa, a woman driving in the opposite direction couldn’t wait for us to pass a narrow section between buildings and we found ourselves at a dead stop with only an inch to spare between us and the building. We tried to stop and back up, but she just kept coming. I held my breath, which obviously made the car small enough to inch through unscathed. I try to do my part.
After that ordeal we needed sustenance. Cava restaurant in Baveno seemed like a good choice. We sat outside by the lake and watched the boats glide by. I ordered fried fish with fried legumes. I found a lot of surprises in my dinner. Fried broccoli, peppers, potatoes, squash, and pumpkin joined my fried fish fillets. But most surprising was the fried minnow. I’m not sure how he got in there.
While we were in Baveno, we strolled up the street to the local church complex. The baptistery was completed in 1100. It held frescoes and artifacts from several centuries. I found it a peaceful place to unwind after a full morning.
Despite just having a large lunch, we decided on one final stop. Gelato…an Italian essential…an afternoon ritual among the tourists. I ordered a small caramel. My husband ordered a waffle cone. It came with four scoops! The man who had driven up to the peak of the tiniest Alps now had to conquer the largest gelato. Thankfully in both cases he was up to the challenge.
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Climbing the Sacred Mountain After Sailing to the Island of Silence: Travel Goals
Saturday in Northern Italy is marked by hordes of men on bicycles taking over the roadways. These biker gangs are problematic because the roads are narrow as they curve up and down the foothills of the Alps. The general rule I’ve determined is the narrower the road and the more blind curves, the more cyclists you will find clogging the roads. I pointed out to my husband that you rarely see women participating in this madness. Could be cultural but probably is just common sense.
Despite the lawless hordes of cyclists, we fearlessly headed over the mountain to Orta San Giulio. The tiny town of about 1,600 people is considered one of the most beautiful villages in Italy. We arrived early and found a good parking spot with surprising ease. However, the parking ticket machine gave everyone fits. It only worked on every third or fourth try (no matter who was using it) and the line for tickets snaked across the parking lot. We finally received a ticket on our third attempt.
A short walk downhill afforded our first glimpse of Isola San Giulio. It is a breathtaking isle, sitting like a jewel in the middle of Lake Orta. We wandered down narrow streets lined with shops to Piazza Mario Motta, the historic city center. The piazza is lovely, with medieval buildings and outdoor restaurants, but all I could see was the boats. Dozens of boats that could supposedly take us to the island. I didn’t see a queue, so I asked a man in a captain’s hat. He took my hand and lead me onto his boat. Five euro for a round trip ride. A bargain. Memories of an early morning ride in Venice flashed through my mind as I settled with my husband into the back of the water taxi. Descending into the hatch of a distinctive wooden taxi boat, makes you feel very cosmopolitan.
The quick boat ride landed us at the steps of Basilica San Giulio. It was supposedly the last church built by Julius of Novara. The legend claims that he appeared in 390 and freed the area of dragons. The small church he founded grew to a medieval church of some size, only to be destroyed by Holy Roman Emperor Otto in 962 because it was being used as a fortress by Queen Willa. The current structure was more modern, constructed in 1100 A.D.
The sanctuary was an impressive display of fresco and carving. I lingered over the brightly colored paintings of Mary, St Sebastian, St. Roche (Rocco), St. Julius, and others. They could have been painted yesterday instead of hundreds of years ago.
In the crypt, a candlelight vigil surrounded the remains of San Giulio. It was a beautiful place, a peaceful place. But the reverence that I usually feel in ancient churches was marred by endless tour groups. It is the weekend, and we are sandwiched between a busload of German senior citizens and a carload of Italian grannies having a family reunion. We can’t exit the crypt or the church because they stop in small bunches right in front of the doorways, huddled together and not at all responsive to excuse me, scusi, or verzeihung.
My patience wearing thin, we moved on to walk the street that circles the island. Signs remind you that the holy order has taken a vow of silence and request that you also walk in quiet contemplation. I was happy to comply. Sadly, a family with screaming children, the Italian reunion group, and all those German elders were incapable. We walked every side alley to the water edge we could find to let them pass. Silence. Perfection.
The short walk on the island’s only road was magical to me, but decidedly not for everyone. I loved the ancient walls and only occasional glimpses of water. I loved that it was devoid of touristy attractions. The only shop was a small gallery at the end of the walk. I bought a small metal Vespa to hang on my Christmas tree.
Once back on the mainland, we walked along the shore, taking photos of the island. We decided to walk up the steep via de cappucina to the Holy Mountain of St. Francis. It was a strenuous yet beautiful walk. The street just kept going up and getting steeper all the time. The mountain was the home of a large Franciscan church and numerous small chapels depicting the life of Saint Francis.
I am not sure what I expected. Grannies sat on every surface, pulling paninis out of purses and gossiping with smiles. Children played soccer in the grass in between chapels. It seemed like a festival. The church itself was a little underwhelming considering my long climb. The church was dark, but you could turn on the lights by inserting two euro in a coin box. Considering I was the only one inside, while a party was going on outdoors, I made a quick circuit and a quick exit.
The views from the plaza in front of the church were truly breathtaking. Isola San Giulio sparkled like a jewel in the middle of Lake Orta. We took a few selfies, but my husband has had enough and went to find a bench.
I was on my own to explore the Sacro Monte di Orta. The twenty or so chapels were unlike anything I had ever seen. Intricate, painted terra cotta sculptures were set up like elaborate life size doll houses. Some chapels were well kept and illuminated, some were dark and in decline.Each held surprises. A chariot of fire. A women breastfeeding a child. Soldiers. Children at play. All carefully crafted and brightly painted.
In between the chapels, I had glorious mountain views of beautiful lake Orta. Children’s voices were carrying on the breeze as they played tag in the park. Grandmothers now ate gelato (Where did that come from? They couldn’t have that in their purse?) and shared more stories. A cool breeze gently twisted the turning leaves.
Although I had limited information about what I was actually witnessing, I walked on and became part of the story.
I took a few videos to remember a place in time on the sacred mountain. I knew I had never encountered anything quite like this before. It was rare and wonderful.
I was no longer sure where to look when I entered a chapel. My senses were overloaded. The scenes ran together inside. Outside each view was more wonderful than the next. It was a beautiful afternoon.
Finally, I completed the circuit and reached the last chapel. Its doorway opened onto a beautiful view of the lake and lower town. Perfection.
After finding my husband, we made our slow descent to the piazza near the port. I found a few statues, shrines, and churches to visit along the way. The way down sure seemed faster than the long climb uphill.
We found a small restaurant tucked in a side street away from the crowd. The beautiful sounds of a saxophone play in the distance. A leisurely meal is a gift when the food is fresh and delicious. I have a pumpkin, Gorgonzola, and pistachio gnocchi. It was beyond expectation. Homemade bread for dipping and a glass of moscato rounded out a beautiful day.
I have walked miles and could do it all again. The silent island and the holy mountain are special places. I feel energized. I feel centered. I feel whole.
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Along the Via Novara: Travel Goals
We started out with no expectations for the day. We were visiting the Italian city of Novara for no other reason that our wonderful neighbors’ family is from the area. We wanted to explore and send pictures to honor our friends. The town had about 100,000 people and we approached through farm country. Gorgonzola cheese and milk factories lined the highway.
Once in Novara, we circled the old city trying to find a parking spot. You are not allowed to drive in the inner ring. The entire downtown area is pedestrian only. Everyone obviously tries to park as close as they can to the city center. We drive past a spot unsure of where to park. The next two lots were full. In the next one, the ticket machine was broken. There was a traffic jam in the lot as the cars all tried to back up in the line and make it out onto the street without the use of the exit gate. Another try, another lot full. Full. Full. Full. Finally, 50 minutes after we entered the city we acquire a parking spot. It felt like a small victory.
Ironically, the street we use to walk into the old city goes past the very first lot we tried. We venture through the lovely Parco Bambin toward the Castello Sforzesco. It is not open for tours so we take some photos and move into the Piazza Martiri Della Liberty across the street. The plaza sadly, is now a parking lot with a lovely statue. But we don’t want to be run over by parking obsessed drivers, so we move along. The competition for a space is intense…..even for Italy.
Inside the pedestrian zone, it was a different world. The streets were peaceful and almost deserted. We headed to the Basilica San Gaudenzio, whose spire towers over the city. In the meantime, we are almost run over by a driver who apparently is allowed to drive in the pedestrian zone. Occasionally cars pass going way too fast for a road that has little room for pedestrians to get out of the way. The must have houses in the city center.
Novara was full of colorful churches. Each older than the next. The Chiesi San Marco had an explosion of golden icons screening the alter. Faint smells of incense and the candle glow warmed the room. We sat for a while and then resumed our trek across town.
Basilica San Gaudenzio was a surprise. Although we could easily see it across the city, it remained hidden by the narrow streets until we were at its doorstep. The spire shot upwards toward the heavens. Delicate and beautiful on the outside, on the inside, the cupola seemed to open into heaven itself.
Several chapels, offered additional places for reflection. The frescoes provided colorful reminders of the lives of the Saints. The wooden pews were embossed with coats of arms of local nobility.
An organist was practicing and the pipes rang loud and true. A call to worship as I studied medieval art on walls, ceilings, altarpieces, screens…. I was overwhelmed.
Reluctantly, we left the church and walked the lanes to more and more churches, villas, and piazzas. Old buildings have new life as banks, libraries, galleries, shops, and government buildings. Down the Corso Cavour to Palazzo Bellini, Chiesi San Martino, and Piazza Marriott. History is honored. The future is secure.
We strolled up and down the Corso Cavour, an ancient trade route running across Italy to the Alps. Napoleon took this road as a guest and then as a conqueror. In this day it was full of ordinary people going about their business. When it was time for a mid day meal and we half heartedly began pursuing a restaurant. Mostly, I just liked the excuse of looking into hidden palazzos. There could be a restaurant there….right?
Before lunch, I wanted to see the cathedral of Santa Maria Assunta. We walked in the direction of the bell tower. We reached a beautiful street of endless colonnades. But the church courtyard was locked with large iron gates. A sign on the church door said entrance but there was no visible no way in. I double checked the schedule which assured me the church was open…except it wasn’t.
I didn’t give up easily. We walked around the entire church complex (not the easiest thing to do in a medieval city). While we did not find a way into the church, we did find a lovely square that used to be the canon house. A quiet walk around was as close to the church as we came. We also found an alley, a car park, a large bank, several dead ends, and construction zones. We did not find the church interior or the museum.
On the last corner, I found a small exterior chapel. It was a small consolation. I stopped for a moment to reflect that life comes with no guarantees about outcomes. Instead, we have to enjoy the little unexpected pleasures. The small chapel was a pleasure in muted pinks and candle glow.
The shops closed for the afternoon siesta period (Riposo). Foot traffic slowed and the crowds became settled in plazas, on steps, on benches, or in cafes. School children clustered in groups, enjoying their lunch period (which seemingly is a few hours).
We also settled, in a lovely cafe in Piazza Marriott, across from the palazzo of the governor of Novara. I ordered a pear, Gorgonzola, and pecan pizza. It was so large I took some home with me. No rush, no English spoken within earshot, no worries. I felt once again, truly lost in Italian culture . Novara was not a tourist town. There were no busloads of retirees on holiday crowding the streets. There were no lines or entry tickets. Most places that may have drawn tourists were closed. Novara was a working town…dependable….bustling…quirky…solid….interesting, … A place that is not unwelcoming, but has no need to impress. It was a town that this show-me state girl could appreciate. If it weren’t for the fabulous architecture and the food, I could almost pretend I was in a Missouri college town. (I know, Mizzou grads….Shakespeares pizza is very good….but it is not in the same league. Ditto the columns…..Trust me on this one.)
After a long lunch, we slowly made our way back to the parking lot on the fringes of the city center. A friendly man greeted us as we paid for our parking. The gps routed us in a different direction out of town and we came home through farm country. It seemed at Novara has more in common with Missouri than I thought. I just wish we had all those wonderful cheese factories in addition to pig farms and corn fields.
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Alpine Adventure: Travel Goals
It was raining this morning. Light misty rain, but moving into an all day steady drizzle. I searched google maps and apple weather for patches of dryness to see if anywhere close was a better way to spend our day. Rain. Check again. More rain. Eventually, I found dry patches high in the Italian Alps.
Actually my handsome chauffeur needs very little encouragement. Sometimes I can’t believe he is so agreeable. I love that about him. So with our trusty google maps we head for the Alps.
We drove about 90 minutes. Through mountain tunnels and little towns, our car chugged along. The Ticino area followed the banks of the Toce River. Back and forth across the river we went, hugging the steep mountain roads.
The towns were charming. Some presented themselves as pristine resort areas for hikers and skiers, others were largely abandoned. Structures with collapsed roofs were refuge for cows with enormous bells tied to their necks. Their gentle mooing and the tinkling of the bells made me smile. I asked to stop the car several times, so I could sit with the window down and just listen.
At the top of the mountain, we found Cascata de Toce. The waterfall is the start of the river that winds its way through the Ossula Valley. Sitting alongside like a proud parent, was a lovely yellow hotel and cafe. Sipping cappuccino by a pellet fueled heater, I almost forgot it was barely 40 degrees outside. Cloudy with high visibility, it wasn’t raining. My weather app was correct. The waterfall was spectacular. The Panini fresh. Life was as it should be lived. At least in my world.
Next to the restaurant, stood an old Walser chapel. The Walkers are people of German descent who have lived in Northern Italy for generations. This road was once a primary trade route. The hotel was a way station and the chapel a place to give thanks for safe passage over the mountain. Today the road isn’t used much with the addition of autostradas and super tunnels, but the chapel is still a small and beautiful reminder to give thanks for our many travel blessings.
On our way back down the mountain we hiked to the foot of the waterfall, dodging cow patties and muddy tracks of livestock. Old men made makeshift paddocks out of string for their cows. Sheep wandered down the road. I was ridiculously happy. Like a small child on their first trip to the zoo, I clapped my hands and repeatedly rolled down the window to listen for the jingling of the bells.
We also stopped at the Premia Baths, a modern geothermal pool facility at the base of yet another waterfall. We bought the swim caps as they are mandatory. We dressed in our respective locker rooms and reemerged into the pools. I went the wrong way and was chased back by the attendant to the correct entrance. You are required to enter through a long corridor of shower heads. You must enter the pool already wet. Maybe the shower cap doesn’t look right unless it is wet.
For the next hour, I was in heaven. Hot water with massaging waterfalls of water treated my back. Jacuzzi jets, lounging water massage tables, cold baths, hot baths….all under the shadows of glorious alpine mountains. With waterfalls in view and an abundance of trees and flowers. I thought I had entered paradise. A hot bath with messaging jets in nature is about as close to heaven as I could imagine.
The drive back was simple enough. We stopped in Crodo to see the historic baths but the building was closed and the grounds were in disrepair. Cows had taken residence on the lawn, content to lay chewing in place. So, back down the valley we went.
Today was an alpine adventure with wonderful, hidden delights at every turn. Rainy days are sometimes the best days, especially if stumble into a paradise you didn’t even know existed just a few hours before.
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Birthday Journey To Locarno: Travel Goals
Today I turn 58 years old. To celebrate, I am traveling to Locarno Switzerland. It sounded like a great idea, yesterday, when after an “uphill day”, the travel office in Stresa was finally able to book it. After two unsuccessful attempts to purchase seats had failed, finally getting tickets for the rail and ferry Swiss adventure felt like a triumph.
But this morning, as I am standing at the train station and looking at the information board that says train delayed…. I realize it is the kind of day that stresses me out. I need to make five different transportation connections. I don’t like connections, especially when there are transportation delays. My anxiety grows incrementally.
My husband tells me to chill out. We have an espresso and a cappuccino while we wait. It helps. Exactly six minutes late, our first regional train arrives. It is a double decker. Clean. Bright. The kind of train I would really enjoy riding if I wasn’t on a strict timetable. Once the train takes off with me in it, I relax a bit. There are large screens that signal each upcoming stop. I appreciate not having to count stops.
We arrive in Domodossola with 15 minutes to spare. My worry was for nothing as we simply walk down a flight of stairs to the next platform. The station is very old. The small gauge, scenic train is in an underground tunnel. We find our car and our reserved seats, conveniently labeled with stickers of our seat numbers. It is a panoramic car with wrap around windows to allow views of the stunning scenery. Four seats face each other. Our seat mates, whose legs intertwine with ours (the seating is very, very tight) are from Romania. The giant of a man moves to allow his wife (and us more room). He sits across the aisle with two women from Asheville, North Carolina. They tell us about the devastating effects of hurricane Helene, and how they were told not to come home just yet as the roads to their houses were not passable. We hear stories of the son in charge of rescue and the husband securing property and working to restore power. They share fears about politics and are resigned to a long recovery.
We hear about Romania and Dracula’s castle. There are references to American movies. At one point, I am the demanding tourist. The women pull down the shades when the sun comes out. But I am on a sightseeing train with panoramic windows. I appreciate their minds are elsewhere…but it is my birthday and I came to see the Alps. I politely ask them if they minded raising the shade. They say of course.
Continuous conversation and beautiful scenery help pass the two hour journey up the central valley to Locarno. Trees and mountains, rivers and waterfalls, tales of Transylvania and hurricanes run together in pleasant fashion. Small village train stations mark our passage as we pass through each in short time segments.
We arrive in Locarno with no fanfare. It is the end of the line. Everyone must get off. We stop to find a restroom, but the entry to the toilette is $1.50, only payable by swiss coin. We have none. We go across the street to the tourist office and are directed to a toilette in the adjoining hall. This time a machine lock charges $1.50 only payable by credit card. A rude welcome to Switzerland. A Swiss man holds the door for a group of tourists and shakes his head like he sees the confusion and disbelief daily.
I want to visit the Convent Sanctuario Della Madonna Del Sasso. It is on the top of a mountain. We hope to take a funicular to the entrance. It is also lunch time, but it makes the most sense to me to get up the mountain (if it is like Italy, things tend to shut down mid day). I promise my husband we can eat in the upper town. We walk down a street lined with shops and a McDonald’s. I notice that things in Switzerland are very expensive. We pass a busy McDonald’s and next door we find the funicular. There is no one to sell tickets. The driver of the train is also the ticket master. We queue up with the locals and do what they do. We don’t have any Swiss money and the driver is annoyed to deal with a card.
The ride, however, is lovely and short. My husband is thankful for the ride up the mountain until he realizes that the station is not at the convent. We passed it on the way up. We have several stairs to go to get to the convent. We walk back down the mountain. It looks like there used to be a stop near the church that is now closed.
The Madonna del Sasso is a quirky place. The views from this convent, perched against the mountain, are breathtaking. Paper mache scenes from the life of Christ take up most every nook and cranny. The last supper, the nativity, and other scenes are lovingly displayed in off-puttingly distorted diorama.
In the chapel itself, I find a sense of calm. I need this respite from my morning of travel connections. I give thanks for the many blessings of my life so far and ask God to bless my 58th year. The colors from the stained glass cast a pleasant glow of peacefulness. I reflect on God’s faithfulness and the words “Be Still and Know That I Am God” take on a deeper meaning.
Outside, Lake Maggiore commands attention. The brilliant blue water reminds me that we have a ferry boat connection in just a few short hours and I have much to see in the meantime. I force march us up the stairs. Lots of stairs. We just miss the funicular leaving down the mountain and have to wait for the next. We decide not to eat at the lone restaurant nearby. One hundred dollars for a mediocre lunch is not my idea of a birthday present.
Once down into the central district, we move quickly to the next door McDonald’s. It is quick and easy. No matter, where we are in the world, McDonald’s fries smell good. Prices vary. Last year in Brisbane we got two burgers, fries, drink and icecream for five dollars. Here….Twenty five dollars for two basic cheeseburger meals….Fifty cents per small package of catsup. Switzerland is expensive. But we need to eat and the outdoor seating area is lovely.
All afternoon we wander the streets of Locarno, taking in the grand plaza and the Castello. I am charmed by the grand old buildings, the outdoor cafes, and the market stalls. I don’t know what I expected. I think of Switzerland as modern. I forget that this city sits on the same lake, beneath the same Alps as northern Italy. Of course it has a Castello Visconti, centuries old. Of course there are ruins of ancient buildings in the car park. Of course the central square is made of cobblestone.
On the way to the harbor we pass a casino. The pathway celebrates the Locarno music festival and the artists who have performed there. I take a few minutes to find the handprints of Sting on the walk of fame. Today is also his birthday. He doesn’t know that we shared a moment when I put my hand in his handprints in an act of birthday solidarity.
Eventually. we find our way to the ferry dock. We stroll the Lungo Lago and smile at families who also stroll the long promenade at the lakefront. Gelato is essential in these moments and so we indulge. The sun is shining. The air is cool. A perfect day. If only, we didn’t have to keep an eye on the clock.
At exactly four pm, we make our last connection, a ferry. We embark and take our places on the top deck. I find my perfect spot and am asked to move to accommodate two couples who want to sit together. I grudgingly comply. Don’t they know it is my birthday?
I finally relax as the sun warms my face and the gentle waves rock the boat. The couples turn out to be good company. The beautiful world rolls by. Small towns line the lake. Mountains and clouds create fantastic shows of color and shadow in every direction. Sailboats move silently through the water. Hearty souls paddle board the deep water. I am at rest. 58 feels good (even though in my mind I am still a child). How did my body become so mature?
We dock in Stresa at six thirty, almost 11 hours after our tour began. The sun is setting behind the Alps. We disembark and walk a short distance into town. It is my birthday and I feel accomplished. I made the circuit of connections onto four trains. I traveled across the Italian Alps to Switzerland. I came home by boat.
But just now, I settle in an outdoor piazza under a heat lamp. I order bruschetta and pasta with swordfish and eggplant. I sip Prosecco and laugh with my husband about our day. I meet new friends from Sweden and hear about their drive. Italy is a road trip for them, much like we might drive to Texas. New perspectives, new adventures, new food, new horizons. Fifty-eight is off to a great start.
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Lost in Time: Travel Goals
Isola Pescatori, the island of the fishermen, was meant to be a brief stop. We sought out a quiet restaurant on a remote alley, away from the tourist boat crowds. The waiter took us up flights of chairs and seated us in a window overlooking the rooftops.
The pasta was fresh and regional, accompanied by homemade bread and local wine. Afterwards, the creamiest tiramisu with hints of coffee and freshly made mascarpone ended the meal on a high note. We lingered. We admired. We left with new friends. The cook waved and the waiter smiled.
Down a side street, I happened upon the fishermen’s chapel. The frescoes, weathered and aging, were somehow more beautiful in their decay. Soft music played amidst the glow of candles. I paused to give thanks to God and felt humbled to be in this ancient sanctuary, offering my prayers as had been done for countless generations.
A short walk down a narrow street and we found ourselves on the shore. We sat on a bench and watched the school children play tag. The boats wandered by. People held hands and took photos, but mostly we all sat and silently listened to the lullaby of lapping water against the pier.
Eventually, we had to leave. A boat carried us back to the mainland. But in my memories, I will remember this place…Isola Pescatori….where time, just for a moment, stood still.
Late in the afternoon, we got a text from the travel office. The agent was able to get us reservations on the scenic train. An uphill day took a turn…I am going to Switzerland for my birthday. The islands have worked their magic and now we are looking toward the mountains.
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Isola Bella- The Beautiful Island: Travel Goals
The day started slowly. We changed plans again and again. Finally we decided to go to Stresa to see if we could find spots on the Centovalli rail and boat excursion to Switzerland. The people at the travel agency were great and so helpful. We laughed and chatted, only to find out that the tracks had been damaged and ticket sales had been halted. The agent promised to keep trying throughout the day. The Italians have a saying, “it’s an uphill day”. It certainly seemed uphill.
While we waited, we decided to take a ferry to Isola Bella…the beautiful island. It wasn’t on the plan for the day, but nothing was working out. The short ferry ride transported us to another world., a world of Borromean excess.
It is easy to forget everything in the midst of splendor. The ferry dropped us off on an island with the Borromeo palace and gardens. Despite the long line, we were able to enter immediately because we had purchased our ticket at Angera the day before. The first rooms felt like playing leap frog as we squeezed between massive tour groups crowded around their leader.
The Borromeo family owned everything surrounding Lake Maggiore. The castle was a way to show off their wealth. Their ostentatious displays of wealth even lured Napoleon to visit. He eventually come back and took everything in sight. Beware house guests!
As we gawked and talked our way through the rooms, we stumbled onto a portrait that is the medieval twin of my husband. He now thinks he would like to grow a van dyke beard. It is okay by me, but the ruffles are a step too far.
Each room was an explosion of colorful marble, Italian art, and priceless furniture. Tapestries of hunting lions competed with graceful unicorns. Plaster figures decorated ceilings. As the crowds thinned, it was easy to imagine a different time and style of life.
Every window had its own breathtaking view. Isola Pescatori (the fisherman island/isola superiore) beckoned on the horizon. The clouds hovered over the lake, framing the mountains in magical mists. What must it have been like to call this massive monument a home? I imagine how it must feel to know this castle is just one of many “homes” in your collection.
The salons had musical instruments, armor, saddles, books, vases, and paintings. One room’s red chests held the vestments of St. Charles Borromeo. Entry halls the size of small hotels greeted visitors. Underground grottoes made of shell held archeological relics. Every corner had its own fascination.
But for me, the real magic happened outside. Isola Bella…a beautiful garden oasis. Terraced like a ziggurat, each level had plantings and sculptural markers. The smells of oranges, limes, and lemons tickled our noses. Color bursts of begonia, waterlily, and verbena teased our eyes. Carefully manicured, the grounds were beyond impressive.
I lingered at the aviary of lovebirds. They chirped and cuddled in adorable poses. I climbed up and down terraces and plazas. I puzzled at the trees shaped in fantastic geometric designs.
Finally after all the fantastic sights , we just stood and held hands and listened to the lapping of the water. I let it wash away lingering thoughts. The colors brightened my mood, the trees whispered an ancient truth that all is well and exactly as it should be. Isola Bella…the beautiful island…. is beautiful indeed.
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Stress free Stresa: Travel Goals
It is a rare day that we both awaken at about the same time. In sync, we enjoy coffee. My husband decided to try Italian toasted bread. You buy it prepackaged and already toasted. It is hard as a rock. I took a hard pass. He is desperate because there is no toaster in the house. Tomorrow we will try toast via panini maker. I like to improvise.
We decide to visit Parco Pallovicino, which is about ten minutes from the house. We have no idea what to expect, but the commute seems simple enough.
The car park is free and the tickets collected in no time at all. The entry walkway takes us past manicured shrubbery that frame views of Lake Maggiore. We wind past waterfalls and old growth forest until we find ourselves on a farm. There are donkeys and chickens and llamas and goats and a number of other animals to enjoy up close.
Last Spring we wandered through Patagonia and didn’t see a single cavy. Apparently they were all vacationing in Italy, as evidenced by the video above. While we are watching the cavies and the Swiss goats a free for all breaks out in the farm yard. Animals are screaming, bleating, running and ramming to get to the breakfast line. Dozens line up for chow, making the worst racket imaginable. For some reason, the louder they get, the harder I laugh. It is a sight to see. Afterwords, the goats trot onto the bridge. With much reluctance, the billy goats gruff let us pass.
A peaceful stroll on woodland paths are good for my soul. Sometimes you encounter places that speak deeply to you, this is my place. Deer, gracefully walk along side us. Mules stand at the fence with lazy eyes. Wallaby babies happily hop in carefully manicured pens. Colorful birds in tall cages call for attention while prairie dogs dine on hay.
A stress free morning walk in the cool air is just what I need. Except, the park bench at the top of the hill with the perfect view may be just what I need. Or maybe the tall trees with the trunks that are cool to the touch is just what I need. I am at peace in this place. I need it all.
As if we aren’t relaxed enough, we stop by a pleasant pond of ducks to sip cappuccinos and eat flaky croissants dusted with powdered sugar. Life is slow and joyful….the way it is meant to be lived.
We lunch in nearby Stresa. Meats and cheese and pasta in an outdoor piazza. Lingering, we watch the people converge at the lakeside village after departing one of the many ferries landing in Stresa. We laugh with the ladies in the tourism office who tell us everything we wanted to buy was not available and I lament that I want to spend money on trips they can not sell. But we have a car and can navigate the way ourselves….or we can just walk the shores of this beautiful lake. Either way, we are definitely in the right place.
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Angera Unplanned: Travel Goals
I am up with the dawn no matter where in the world I find myself. My husband is up with the owls and does not like mornings. This makes for some interesting travel logistics. Multi-room lodging is usually best, so I can get up and move about without waking him. But after three hours, if he isn’t up, I am pacing. It will take at least an hour after that before we are out the door. On good days we go with the flow, on others one or both of us are out of sorts because I wanted an early start/he wanted a late one.
Today was no problem as we just headed to the small village of Angeri. Our destination was Rocca di Angeri, an ancient fortress of the Boromeo family. The castle sits prominently on a rock cliff face and looms over the town. It can be easily seen from across the lake.
Despite the prominent location on the lake, it is harder to find by land. We drove up the small one lane road with two way traffic entryway and parked. The ticket taker was super friendly and welcomed us inside. She came out of the booth to talk with us and make sure we understood how the multi site tickets worked.
The views as we walked up the entry road and onto the lower court were stunning. After oohing and ahhing over the view, we tried to find the entrance. The signage was misleading and we found ourselves in an empty stairwell that was blocked. The false start required us to turn around and find the actual entrance.
The castle also houses a doll museum which was the designated starting place. The strange and creepy dolls were hundreds of years old. Made of wax, wood, and every other conceivable material, they spanned the centuries.
Japanese dolls from the 1700’s. Nuns. Animals with children’s faces. And craziest of all, animatronic dolls. There were tightrope walkers, acrobats, musicians, and various other indescribable dolls in motion. But the most unexpected was simply labeled, old lady weeing. And yes, in fact she shifted on her stool, smiling, and peeing. Yikes! What manner of Italian weirdness have we gotten ourselves into? That was definitely unexpected. Not what I thought we were visiting when we set out to see a castle.
Things normalized as we traveled into the main areas of the castle. Frescos from the 1000’s lined the walls. Beautiful and fragile, the paintings evoked the splendor of an earlier time. Especially since this was just one of many castles owned by the Borromeo family. Their fortresses circled the lake at one time and also filled the islands.
The echoing tiles and muted colors mesmerized me as we wandered the rooms. And the views from the windows! Looking over clay rooftops, boats on Lake Maggiore, …. I could never tire of the view! I tried to imagine living in such luxury in the 1400’s.
We climbed step after step, each worn by a 1,000 years of climbers. Upward to the lookout tower and parapets. Up and up until we seemed to touch the sky. The Alps in the background and the beautiful lake in the foreground. No invaders for us to worry about, just sailboats and water taxis. The defensive tower is now a sightseeing viewpoint.
It was hard to remember I was in the 21st century while exploring empty rooms with murder holes and garderobe. Sometimes when confronted with history, I am overwhelmed. I wish I had all these experiences during the many years I taught. My descriptions and explanations to world history students would be so much more informed and colorful.
The castle tour completed, we wandered the medieval garden. Herbs to cure fever, upset tummy, rheumatism….your pharmacy was what you could grow. Artfully arranged to encourage contemplation and prayer, the gardens were peaceful and colorful. You almost feel like you could live there…if of course, you had someone to draw you water and cut your wood and carry it up all those stairs.
We tried to visit the market along the waterfront, but there were no parking spaces. The police had blocked off most of the spaces downtown. It seemed strange that you would have a lovely park full of shops and you wouldn’t allow anyone to park. We drove out of town looking for anywhere to wedge our small car. Nothing! So I routed the gps back to the main road. Note to self, goat paths count as viable options in Italy. One way, two way traffic…..meaning open for two cars but only big enough for one…. Makes for unplanned adventure. Major relief when we hit the main road.
By now we are hungry and our plans for a small lakeside cafe are dashed. Instead we find Roadhouse, an Italian Western Sizzler knock off. Meat, meat, and more meat. My husband is in heaven. I am not thrilled about the food, but loved the local atmosphere. This unplanned stop gives me an understanding of what an Italian must feel like in an Olive Garden. It was a caricature of American steakhouses.
They had burgers with a layer of mashed potatoes, double patty, and topped with onion rings. Fries were covered in nacho cheese and ham. My burrito had nicely flavored steak, beans, rice….but also Cole slaw, Italian cheese, and corn. Strange combinations, not quite right, not quite wrong. What was wrong….incredibly wrong….my place mat had an advertisement for an upcoming movie featuring a man holding a pigeon. The man was also covered in pigeon poop. Not what you want to look at when you are eating a burrito with unknown ingredients.
Since our afternoon plans were scrapped, we stayed at the strip mall and joined hundreds of other Italians in the shopping experience. We needed to purchase an electric adapter as the two we brought were not sufficient for our electronic needs (we had no English stations and had to use the computer or iPad for programming). Add in phones that needed charging and the two plugs we brought required a dance of coordination that fast became a headache.
The electronics store was set up like Best Buy, but we could not read the signs and had to walk aisle by aisle to look for plugs. We found phone cords and extension cords and three way adapters, but none with an American plug. Finally after showing a photo to an employee, we walked to the check out line where we found exactly what we were looking for.
After a chaotic drive in which hundreds of bicycles took up the right side of our lane and hundreds of motorcycles passed us on the left despite oncoming traffic (and sometimes motorcycles approaching from the other direction as well). Think Bicycle➡️ car➡️ motorcycle➡️ motorcycle ➡️ car➡️ bicycle. That is a lot of traffic for a narrow road with rock walls and sharp curves. Add to the chaos, the Italian need for speed and……whew!
Once home, I needed to chill out. Grabbing my trusty lawn chair, I headed for Herno beach. I had the entire beach to myself, unless you count the ducks, who wandered right up to my chair. I got an earful about not bringing a handout, but they eventually calmed down. Just listening to the lapping of the lake was relaxing…. Until across the river a motley crew began ringing bells, waving sage, chanting, and banging drums. Unplanned drum circle…. But I decided that was one adventure I would ignore. Instead I settled in with a good book. Besides, the ducks seemed to be enjoying story time.
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First impressions of Northern Italy in Arona and Lesa: Travel Goals
Waking up in a new space can be disorienting. Waking up in a traditional Italian house? A whole other level of level of confusion. Stumbling into the bathroom, I forgot the light switch was actually in the hall. In my sleep addled haze, I tried to recognize the toilet from the bidet in the dark. So far so good. No major calamities.
Next up, how to make coffee? N’espresso machine? Espresso stovetop pots? Electric kettle with percolator? Even though my Italian hosts would be appalled…. I stuck with the percolator method that I am familiar with. No need for learning new tricks before I have had my coffee.
A very short drive from the house lands us in Arona. After circling narrow streets and endless round abouts, we finally find a parking spot just outside the restricted traffic zone. Parts of town are very narrow pedestrian only streets. Almost immediately, I was taken in by the charm of the city. A peaceful promenade lined the lake. Swans greeted us along the shore.
Endless restaurants offered culinary delights. Cobblestones under foot and villas lining the streets reminded us that we were newcomers to these ancient alleys. A cluster of churches reminded us of the circle of life. The Church of the Nativity sitting next to the Chapel for Souls in Purgatory reminded us that life and death are connected. What has been and what will be pulsating together in the autumn air.
Finally, we rest and lunch along the banks of Lake Maggiore. Italian style, there is no rush. A blanket on the chair is provided to ward off a chill. Although many Italians are wearing coats, it seems to me like a warm autumn day.
Our two personal pizzas provide more food than we can possibly eat. Entertainment consists of watching two teenagers strip to their underwear and plunge into the frigid lake.
The next stop is the Parco Della Rocha. This large public park is situated amidst the ruins of a vast castle and the birthplace of St. Charles. The park towers over the city. The view of the lake against peaceful ruins made it the perfect place for an Italian wedding. Even though I had on a nice casual dress, I felt under dressed next to dazzling floor length formal wear if the wedding attendees milling about the park. Americans could use some fashion advice. We saw at least three weddings throughout the day and each was a runway worthy spectacle.
Leaving Arona, we stopped at colosso di San Carlo or the giant St. Charles statue. While the statue wasn’t particularly interesting, the nearby Chiesa di San Carlo contained chapels filled with art and artifacts of St. Charles. I felt warmth in the sanctuary and shared a smile with a woman who had come to pray.
At end of day, we explored Lesa, the little town we call home for the next several weeks. The town is small, only a few streets wide. The structures are ancient and I could easily be strolling 1000’s era Italy. If it weren’t for an occasional electric line, I would never know I was in the 20th century. Main Street along the lake is more modern and is a restaurant row. Having just had lunch, we opt for gelato. Peach for me, made from fresh puréed peach. My husband gets some unholy combinations of chocolate, stracciatella, and strawberry. And we sit with our gelato treasure and watch the boats in the little harbor.
Driving back to the house, we conduct a futile search for ice. My husband is in withdrawal mode and may not survive the evening if we can’t produce ice for his soda. No bueno. Ice is not Italian. Dejected we head home, dodging bicycles and motorcycles and cars passing in no passing lanes.
At end of day we follow the Erno River just past our villa to where it meets the sea. The water gently laps to shore and peace descends on a most satisfying first day in Italy. Ciao Bella.
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Prisoner of Hopes 