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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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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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Prisoner of Hopes 