Swiss Ticino Untour, Summer 1999
by Fay Reisfelt, Walnut Creek, CA
Wednesday, June 16, 1999
We met the Idyll group at 10:00 a.m. at the bahnhof in Zurich and, escorted by Margrit, boarded the train with the others going to Ticino. At Bellinzona we transferred and were met by Sylvia and Sonia from Idyll who escorted us the rest of the way to Locarno. We arrived at 3:15 and immediately got on the bus for the 19 minute ride to Ascona and our apartment, #56 Can Rosa. It was large and spotlessly clean and looked wonderful to us.After unpacking, we set out to explore our surroundings. The apartment was on the main shopping street of Ascona, a street restricted to walkers except for delivery trucks and the cars of residents.
I wore a dress, something I hadn’t done in our past Idyll locations. Here, in this upscale sophisticated town, I thought I would feel out of place in a pair of jeans. The town was foil of restaurants and shops, and we window-shopped for a long time admiring the beautiful tailoring and the exquisite fabrics on the clothing in the display windows. After walking through the streets and along the lake shore for a couple of hours we were hungry and decided to eat at Da Antonio Ristorante al Torchio in their leafy grape arbor. We each had a mixed salad and vitello tonnato, and we managed to split a bottle of excellent Roncala merlot - vintage 1997. It was a good meal in lovely surroundings, and it cost us 99 Swiss francs (about $70.00).
We strolled to the lake to use a phone booth and call Judy. It was 9:00 and still light. All activity bad ceased on the lake, and the quiet waters held reflections of the little villages scattered along its shores and of the forested mountains that towered above. While we awaited our turn for the phone, a street mime, dressed like Charlie Chaplin, kept us royally entertained. He would stop passers-by, arrange their bodies into back-stands and other weird stances and then would do a hand-stand on top of them. Once he borrowed a dog from a lady and tried to give it commands. When the dog wouldn’t obey him he returned it to its owner, whereupon the dog strained at his leash barking angrily as he tried to attack the entertainer.
Fortunately, the lady held tightly to the leash, and the whole incident turned out to be very funny. After phoning Judy, we walked some more. Len found a gelato stand and had a chocolate gelato, and we walked back to the apartment. We were in bed by 11:00.
Thursday, June 17, 1999
Len slept well last night, but, for some reason, I was up at 4:00 and couldn’t go back to sleep. I finally got up at 5:00, made a shopping list, and studied the literature I brought for the trip. After breakfast Len and I walked to the Co-op to buy food and cleaning equipment for the apartment. We bought the soap and the tub cleaner and a risotto mix, shrimp tomatoes, and lettuce for tonight’s dinner.We returned home and then boarded the bus for Locarno and orientation. We watched in amusement and some dismay as the extroverted bus driver loudly exchanged views in rapid Italian with a passenger. Talking, driving, and waving his hands excitedly he put on a show that made us wish we had airbags, seat belts, and a camcorder. It was really a funny, though quite disconcerting sight.
We got off the bus at the Locarno train station. It was a gorgeous day. We walked across the street to the La Ports restaurant for a delicious sandwich of lettuce, tomato, basil and mozzarella heated to perfection. After walking down to the lake and back~, we met with the group at 2:10 for a walking orientation of Locarno.
Sonia pointed out her recommendations for the place to order barbecued chicken in the morning for afternoon pick-up, a good self-service restaurant with a salad bar, the best place to buy fresh pasta and sauces, and many other establishments that she thought we might like. Orientation was held in a room near ‘The Monk’s Grotto” where Sonia and Sylvia answered lots of questions and spent several hours talking about things to do.
We had one break where we visited the church next door. Built in 1628, its ceiling was incredible, endowed with cherubic carved figures and exquisite paintings. Not a space was left undecorated. We returned to orientation and an explanation of the Kursbuch. We despair of ever getting it right.
We took the bus home, and I made risotto, prawns and a salad for dinner.
Friday, June 18, 1999
We took a lovely ferry trip across Lake Maggiore today to Luino, Italy where Cathy Lane met us at the dock. A 15 minute drive in her car brought us to Patrizia’s summer home in Crocivaglio, Switzerland. A 400 to7~y~ old barn had been converted by Patrizia to a house. She had added two stories with only an outside entrance in order to preserve the architectural style. The inside was charming.The ground floor kitchen had modern wooden cabinets and granite drainboards. A large paper machet pig sat on a table against one wall. Modern fluted shiny aluminum lampshade fixtures hung from the heavy timbered ceiling adding a sparkle to th, room. The kitchen opened to a living, dining area with a well-used stone fireplace. Metal candlesticks in a rust finish sat on a long natural wood table with brown painted spoo1 legs. Many other rust metal artifacts sat side by side with homespun antiques imparting a sense of the character of the house and a feeling of warmth.
We climbed the outside stairs to see the two bedrooms on the 2’~ floor and walked up an inside flight to the master bedroom. Heavy tree limbs, still in their natural state, braced the ceiling. One wall of this room was windows framing a pastoral view of the entire valley below. The feeling was one of beauty and serenity.
We left the house and walked along a beautiful trail through masses of trees to the village of Bonzaglio, site of Patrizzia’s fami1y’s compound. Amidst groves of trees and lush gardens sat the summer homes of Patrizzia’s sisters and brothers. These were all very old homes either being lovingly restored or already restored by the family members. One house was in the process of conversion from a horse barn by the son of one of the sisters who happened to be a Berkeley architect. We peeked in the windows, delighting in witnessing the dramatic and tasteful interior.
We walked steeply uphill to Sessa where we had lunch at the Ristorante della Pace. Len and I enjoyed penne in butter and meat sauce and salads. Then, to our astonishment, plates of rolled broiled meat and mashed potatoes were set down in front of us. It was beyond anything I could possibly eat, but fortunately Kathy had ordered only a salad, so she was able to finish my portion.
Leaving the restaurant we walked, beneath overhanging trees on a gorgeous trail past fields and meadows, little rushing streams, and waterfalls to Suino before heading back by way of the road. The tempcraturewas9odegrees, and it was good to get back to the cool of the old stone house. The rest of the time there was spent looking at Kathy’s photos of the area in the south of Italy where she lives and works. Then it was back to Luino to board the boat to Ascona. We changed shoes and went out for a beer. Then, because neither of us was hungry, we decided on a light dinner. We had banana and chocolate crepes on the terrace of the Ristaurante Othello around the corner from our apartment.
Back at the apartment, we sat down and planned our activities for the next few days. Afterwards, we fell into bed, exhausted. It had been a very full and busy day.
Saturday, June 19, 1999
This morning was a bad morning. We spent it in the laundry room, much of the time trying to get our washed laundry out of the machine. Though the directions were in English, and we read them over and over, we couldn’t get the machine open. Finally, Len pried the emergency door off the front of the washer and reached in and released the latch from the back. We put our clothes in the electric dryer. The programs listed on the dial were all printed in German, and we had to choose the one we wanted by guess. Of course, we chose wrong, and after 45 minutes, the clothes were still wet. We reset the dryer and finally dried the clothes, but it was 1:30 before we finally got out of the basement.We had planned a trip to Bellinzona, but it was now too late in the day so we decided to take the walk in Ascona that was recommended by Idyll. It led steeply uphill on a winding city street. Large luxurious hotels and expensive, spacious homes overlooking the lake were built on solid granite. Gorgeous flower gardens graced the yards, providing color to the gray day. Far below us formations of billowing white canvas marked the course of the sailboat races taking place on the lake.
We continued our climb when suddenly, among the very modern houses that lined the street~ there appeared a large house enclosed by a black wrought iron fence, the black bars about 6 inches apart topped by pointed pear shaped gold plated finials. The entire charcoal gray structure was faced with white metal bars that cuss-crossed in squares to give a trellis effect. Somehow, around the windows, they had been arranged to give the optical illusion of three dimensions. The rectangular entry was braced on each side by what looked like ancient Roman carved white columns. The home was hideous and looked totally out of place among the lovely homes on the street.
Next door a front entry patio to an old home provided a clearing that revealed a gorgeous view of the lake below. As we stopped to take a picture an elderly woman about to enter the house saw us and invited us to come down the steps to her porch for a better camera view. Speaking Italian, she informed us that her family lived in San Francisco. We carried on a short conversation in Italian, and I was really delighted to be able to speak and to understand. It began to rain, and we zipped up our rain jackets and continued walking up bill for several more blocks. Below us, through the mist, we could see the tiled roofs of houses in lush forest settings, each one placed for the optimum view of the lake. We came to Mt. Veritas and found the path through the woods that led to Ronco, but it was 3:30 and we were more than ready for lunch. We decided to stay on the road, and we continued on about another mile to the Hotel Berno, recommended by Idyll for its terrace view of the lake. The terrace restaurant was covered by a gaily striped awning, and, because it wasn’t too cool, despite the rain, we opted for lunch outside. Len had a tomato and onion salad, and I bad a green salad with chunks of breast of chicken. As we ate, we admired the blooms in the flower boxes that lined the railings and we looked at the empty large blue swimming pool set in the lower terrace behind us. Mostly, however, our eyes were on the lake far below where the sail boats silently filed around the buoys and the ferries passed each other leaving wide white wakes as trails behind them. Len asked the waiter about the prices of the houses we had passed, and the answer in francs was about the equivalent of 2½ million dollars.
After lunch, feeling refreshed, we retraced our steps to the path to Ronco. Signs referred to it as the Sentiero Romano (the Roman Path). The sun came out. The rain stopped. We climbed up a beautiful path that paralleled the lake shore and led through a green forest filled with oak, maple, wild cherry, pine, firs, and many varieties of trees that we couldn’t identify. Ferns and wildflowers filled the spaces between, and the red benches so thoughtfully provided as resting places were strategically placed to provide the best of views. We continued on the path, enjoying the greenery and the peaceful surroundings, and at 5:30 we met a woman coming toward us. She said we had a long way to go — but she didn’t know how far. It was her first time on this trail. We pushed on for a while more until we met a couple who informed us that we had an hour to go before Ronco. Uncertain if there would be transportation from Ronco to Ascona, we agreed that it was time to turn around, and we walked back to our apartment.
Our next door neighbor, Ann McBride, who has been on 18 Idyll trips, knocked on our door. She wanted to show us blouses that she bought in Stress, Italy. We went to her apartment at 7:30, and she entertained us with tales of her and her husband, Ken’s adventures until 9:00 when we had to leave to keep our phone date with Judy. Following the telephone call, we had dinner at an open-air restaurant where many people had gathered for a concert by a male chorus singing Swiss and Italian songs. Both the food and the singing were very enjoyable. A young man who played a synthesizer and sang American popular classics followed the chorus. He took no breaks, but continued to sing with his very pleasant voice, and we lingered to hear him. When we finally lefi~ we strolled through the alleys admiring the merchandise in the shop windows, and we arrived at the apartment at around 10:30.
Sunday, June 20, 1999
Today we took the ferry to Canobio, Italy for the market. What a wild and colorful mob scene! Here were row upon row of booths selling everything from food and flowers to clothing. Struck by the gorgeous leather purses, belts, and jackets, we stopped to look at a leather purse (backpack style) and were immediately cornered by a voluble saleslady who, in very rapid Italian, pointed out all the features of this handiwork direct from Florence. The leather medallion on the clasp read “Artinova,” she proudly pointed out~ and I smiled wisely hoping to appear sophisticated and knowledgeable about the trademark. She chattered on and on, her boss joined the discussion, and Len decided that at 17,000 lira (S6S.00 by calculator) it was a great buy and insisted we take it. Shell shocked, I walked away with a lovely, new loather purse.We walked from booth to booth enjoying the variety of displays. There were gorgeous band embroidered table cloths, long silk dresses, blouses, skirts, neckties, jackets and other men’s wear, shoes, lingerie, and men’s underwear. The food booths were heaped high with succulent fruits and vegetables, cheeses, salamis, prociutto, breads, and condiments. We watched a couple having a hearty laugh as they stood before an ugly, hanging dried fish with bumps running down the edges. Evidently noticing our puzzlement and wanting to share the joke, the woman turned to us and laughingly volunteered that the identifying sign that hung above it called it “Mother-jn-law’s Tongue.”
We ran into Brian and Miranda Coyne, Idyll’s honeymoon couple, and we shared a table on the ship with them on the return trip. They bad had a hair-raising experience when they traveled to Milan the day before. It seems they bad needed reservations for the train trip to Milan but were told reservations wore unnecessary for the return. Brian went to check in the Milan station as they bad an hour before their train was due. Miranda waited on the bench. When 45 minutes passed and he hadn’t come back, Miranda was in tears and total panic. She was sure he had been mugged. She spoke no Italian but found a railroad employee who had a smattering of English, and she managed to inform him that she bad lost her husband After much confusion, he finally understood and had Brian paged on the public address system. Brian answered the call with only 5 minutes to spare before departure time. He had been shunted from line to line and told something different each time he reached a window. He finally was able to make reservations, but when he got back to the bench, Miranda had left to look for him. He was darting about looking for her when the call came.
After landing at Ascona we stopped for pizza at a waterfront restaurant. The same funny mime was entertaining, and we watched him as we ate. Then, we strolled along the lake shore for about an hour and a half. Huge granite formations jutted up above the lakeside and were carved into wide enough terraces to accommodate the luxurious homes that sat upon them, commanding views of the water below.
Large metal rods protruded from the cliffs, drilled in to keep the rock intact. We marveled at the feat of building successfully in those seemingly impossible places, and we were amazed to see how the bare rock had been transformed. The homes were all landscaped, and we saw lovely lawns, masses of hydrangeas, and many chestnut, palm, fig, maple, and banana trees. The palms were often planted in clumps of 6 to 8 in close proximity, and this was the first time either of us had over liked them.
We walked back to town to call Sue and Ron and Bob and Susie. Then it was back to the apartment - Len to nap, and me, to write. I scrambled eggs for dinner, and we had lettuce and tomato salad, toast, and kiwi and apple for dessert. Bedtime was early in anticipation of tomorrow’s 5:30 wake-up time.
Monday, June 21, 1999
We wore up at 5:30 this morning, and we dressed and caught an early bus to Locarno. We had breakfast at the El Portal restaurant behind the railroad station. The bakery goods here are delectable, and the orange juice is squeezed by hand before your eyes. It was a great place to start the day.We caught the train to Bellinzona where we transferred to the Lugano train, hoping to arrive in Lugano in time for the 9:30 city walking tour. We didn’t know the starting point, so we inquired at the train station. Following the ticket seller’s advice, we took the funicular from the train station down to the old city, and, there we asked directions to the tourist office at a bank (didn’t know) and at a store. The clerk there said it was at the lake, and we had to stop again and ask “Where is the lake.” With only 5 minutes to spare, we finally found the tourist office, and the woman who worked there was helping someone else. We stood there, waiting, our insides churning. After what seemed like forever, she finally got to us and said that the tour was starting at the cathedral and that we would have to run to catch it. We did run, but on arriving at the cathedral saw no sign of a tour. Breathlessly, we asked a man who was standing on the sidewalk, and he said he thought they were inside. Fortunately, he proved right, and we joined the, group listening to the guide recount the history of the building. We were much impressed by the cathedral with its lovely stained glass windows, the pulverized marble inlaid altar, and the frescos by Luini that covered entire walls.
The guide was excellent, giving explanations in fluent English, German, and Italian, and we marveled at the ease with she switched languages. Starting by a walk through the main shopping street of Lugano, she stopped at points of interest to impart the history of the buildings and the history of the area. Ticino was originally Italian but was invaded and conquered by the Swiss in the late 15’ and early 16’ centuries. Since there was much opposition to Swiss rule, Napoleon invaded in 1798, but, because his troops, too, encountered opposition, he imposed a constitution that granted the people limited autonomy.
In 1803, his troops withdrew, and Napoleon granted a new constitution, this time with the approval of the Swiss. In 1815, the Swiss confederation was formed, and Ticino became a member.
Many of the old buildings have been preserved and are still in use. We entered one that is now being used as a consulate. Inside the courtyard lobby, many shuttered windows overlooked the ground floor, and some tromp. l’oeil shutters were painted on the wall as well. They certainly did fool the eye. We would have sworn they were the real thing.
The tour ended at noon, and we walked to the EPA department store for their cafeteria lunch. I was pleased by their good salad bar, and Len had a delicious dish of spaghetti.
With the afternoon before us, we decided to take the boat to Gandria. We sat on the sunny deck relaxing and drinking in the beauty of the passing scenery. The lakeside walking path was lined with tall Italian cypress trees, and behind them the terraces on Mt. Bre abounded with large homes and apartments set amidst the leafy green groves that covered the rest of the mountain. Rounding a part of the mountain that jutted out into the lake, we had our first glimpse of Gandria, its old houses clinging to the stone mountainside and climbing part way up until it seemed the woods would allow no higher penetration..
After debarking, we, too, began to climb the steps through the narrow alleyways, under arches, and past windowless entries to dwellings and restaurants whose wonderful garlicky odors beckoned - no, commanded - passers by to enter and feast. Regretfully full from lunch, we resisted. Pots of flowers sat in every nook, cranny, and doorway, beckoning us to climb further to explore, and, here and there, little shops with open doors displayed their tourist wares. We climbed to the top of the village, stopping frequently to take pictures of its quaint charm.
We made our way back to the boat dock and caught the return ferry to Lugano. Four people from a Taiwanese tour group and their tour leader sat across a table from us. They all spoke English and were eager to converse, and we had a great time comparing our impressions. They loved the beauty of Switzerland but were shocked by how expensive everything was.
Back in Lugano, we stopped on our way to the funicular to watch a sidewalk chess game being played with giant chessmen. We journeyed toward home on the train, fighting to stay awake. In Locarno, we bought pasta for tomorrow at a stand in the arcade before going to the Innova restaurant for dinner. It was a self -service establishment with an amazing array of choices. We wanted spaghetti and were asked to pick out the ingredients for our sauce from the myriad of selections offered. The cook then fried our selection and as we stood and watched she put the mixture into the tomato sauce and mixed it all into the pasta that we had chosen. The portions were huge, and neither of us could finish.
Then, it was back to our apartment on the bus. A Fathers’ Day card from Sue was waiting in our mailbox; and it was great to hear from her. We spoke for a few minutes to Tom and Mary Shevlin, our next door neighbors, and compared experiences. Then, we walked down the street to have a gelato before retiring.
Tuesday, June 22, 1999
This morning we did our laundry. In the interest of saving time I threw everything in at once. Everything turned blue except for one sock which remained white.After returning from a fruit and vegetable expedition to the Co-op. we took the bus to Locarno, and the 12:30 train to Bellinzona. From there we transferred to the Lugano train where Sylvia from Idyll boarded, and we were off with part of the Idyll group to Riva San Vitale. After exiting the train at the Capo Lingo Station, we walked two or three blocks to the old village of Riva San Vitale, a village that was first registered in 774 s.d. There we visited the Baptistry of Sant Giovanni, supposedly the oldest preserved religious building in Switzerland. From there we walked to the church of Santa Croce and were amazed by the trompe l’oeil decoration on the altar. It was so realistic that I would have bet my shirt that it was made of pieces of marble.
Walking beck to the station we stopped at 2 more churches. As we walked further, we pecked into courtyards shared by several houses and were amused by one unique house with a lower balcony lined with tiny dwarf figurines and an upper balcony with cowbells and other artifacts decorating its railings.
Then it was back on the trains and home to enjoy the best dinner so far of the trip. We cooked the raviolis we had purchased yesterday, had a green salad and delicious cold eggplant, and marinated onions from the pasta stand. We went for a two-hour walk and returned home at dark fir the custard pastries we had purchased at Al Porto in Locarno.
Wednesday, June 23, 1999
This morning we left the apartment at 9:00 for Locarno and the post bus to Sognono in the Verazca Valley. What a hair raising ride! It was a narrow winding road with hairpin turns and no shoulder. Steep cliffs fall away on one side, and often there was no room for cars coming down and cars going up to pass each other. We marveled at the bus driver’s skill and were exceedingly thankful for it.We arrived at Sonogno, at an elevation of 3,015 ft., in about 1 ½ hours. It was a fascinating tiny village. Most of the houses were very old and made entirely of granite. Even the roofs were of granite supported by interlocking networks of hewn tree trunks. We walked along the streets admiring the masses of flowers in pots, in the ground, and espaliered against the structures. Geraniums of all colors and roses seemed the local favorites, and they heightened the gray of the granite and offered a cheery vista to the passer by. Rocks were everywhere. A woman crouched in her tiny front yard shaking the dirt she had collected with a trowel and put in a sifter. We watched as she shook the sifter back and forth to separate the dirt from the rocks. She sifted the dirt onto her garden, replacing the pebbles with soil, and she dropped the rock, into a bucket where they made a loud clanking sound. She obviously had many more stones than dirt. How badly she must have wanted a lovely garden, and how hard she had to work for it.
We went into the artifact store where goods from the area were on display. Sonogno is known for its wool, and skeins of brightly colored hand-dyed yarns lined one wall. Beautiful sweaters, jackets, scarves, and bats made by the local women hung on racks or were displayed on tables. There was pottery, and there were decorative metal plates and wall decor to tempt the shopper. Unfortunately we could use none of it so we contented ourselves with admiring it and then asked the proprietress for directions for the Sentiero (path) to Fasca. We decided not to have lunch in Sonogno but to have it in one of the villages along the path. The only thing wrong with that idea, we found to our dismay as we walked along~ was that there were no restaurants on the way.
We started our hike at about ll:30 at a grassy playground in Sonogno where we had been watching a little boy riding a seat that hung from a wire and traveled from a tree at one end of the park to a tree at the other end. Crossing a bridge, we started on a stony path that followed a stream and led through a thick forest. The stream was full of boulders. The trees in the forest grew between giant boulders, and the path was full of broken rocks that made our walking very difficult. The valley was gorgeous, cut between enormous mountains, and there were an infinite variety of trees and shrubs that filled its floor and clung to the mountains that encompassed it. An occasional gassy wire-fenced clearing appeared, and we assumed that these were winter pastures for we saw no sheep or cows.
The village of Fasco had no restaurants, but it abounded with stone houses, and we took picture after picture. We kept on walking and clambering over rocks, and it was hard to take in the scenery as our eyes had to be constantly on the path. We stopped often to ooh and ahh, especially at one waterfall which cascaded down the granite. Sycamore, beech, oak, maple, birch, chestnut, and larch trees filled the mountainsides and overhung the trail, making a green leafy umbrella overhead and providing the comfort of shade as we walked along. After crossing (very carefully) 2 swinging suspension bridges, we came to several clusters of seemingly abandoned stone buildings, and we marveled at their construction as no mortar was used.
We followed the stream for 4 hours, accidentally detouring and having to retrace our steps only once. We met Swiss, Germans, Italians, and even one American family on the trail. Tired and starving we finally arrived at Brione at about 3:45 and found a small store with a deli counter where we bought two delicious Emmenthal cheese sandwiches on crisp, fresh baked rolls. We brought them to the bus shelter and wolfed them down as we sat by a hollow log planter filled with beautiful flowers and waited for the bus. As we sat there and looked up the bill, to our amazement, we saw Brian and Miranda on bicycles getting ready to ride down the hill. We walked up to talk to them. They had ridden all the way up from a 1500ft. elevation on this narrow, dangerous road, through tunnels and next to speeding cars to Sonogno at 3,000 ft. and were about to return. One bike bad a dragging brake. It had been a very tough ride, and Miranda had been scared to death. I thought they were the bravest people on the trip, and Len said, “No. They were the most foolhardy.” There wouldn’t be enough money to pay us to try that bike trip.
We arrived at Locarno very tired and decided to go to the Inona Buffet again for dinner. This time we each had 2 bowls of mixed fresh fruit and a big glass of orange juice. Then, we walked to the pasta stand and picked up tomorrow’s dinner. We came home to a wonderful Fathers’ Day letter from Judy. Len spent the evening collapsed on the sofa, and I wrote in my journal. We planned an easy day for tomorrow.
Thursday, June 24, 1999
Tired from yesterday’s hike, we slept late today. We caught the 11:09 Centovalli train to Caniedo where we had lunch at a little restaurant at the station. Then at 1:30 we boarded the Centovalli train that was to take us to Domodossola in Italy. It was a spectacular ride. Dense forests grew close to the tracks. As we looked out the window, we could see granite cliff walls dropping straight down hundreds of feet to boulder-strewn river beds fir below. In scattered clearings made in the woodlands, meadows grew, and stone houses clustered — always near a church. Mountains ringed the valley, and lovely clouds hung over the peaks, seemingly kept from advancing by the barrier of bright blue skies.We dropped down to Domodossola and exited the train. Finding ourselves in a bustling Italian city, we set out to spend the two hours before our scheduled return exploring the downtown. Once away from the station area, the commercial area appeared quite prosperous, filled as it was with shoppers. The windows displayed a wide variety of goods, and we often stopped to admire the clothing on exhibit. The fabrics used for women’s dresses were particularly lovely - the silk prints were large and soft, and the designs on them were quite beautiful. We walked on, and our curiosity drew us to some beautiful buildings in the old section of town. The exteriors were architecturally preserved. Boutiques lined the lower floors, and, above, decorative wrought iron railings ringed the balconies outside the apartments and offices that occupied the upper floors. The cobblestone streets took off at many angles, but we managed not to get lost. We went into a hardware store and talked a bit to the owner, a young man who could speak English. It was fun looking over his stock and finding Makita tools made in the U.S., not Japan. He also carried a line of Skill tools. We window shopped leather goods stores and shoe stores and walked past restaurants (including a Chinese one). Stationery stores, a computer store, and several children’s stores. We stopped In a bicycle shop hoping to bring back Italian cycling shirts for the boys, but they were well out of the souvenir price range. Then it was back to the station and a repeat of the train trip, only, this time, back to Ascona. After dinner at the apartment, we planned the Zermatt trip and phoned for reservations at the Hotel Antika.
Friday, June 25, 1999
We were up at 5:45 to catch the 7:18 bus to Locarno. After shipping our luggage ahead to Zermatt from the Locarno station, we boarded the Centovaili train to Domodossola and dozed all the way there. At Domodossola we transferred to the train to Brig, a ½ hour ride, mostly through long tunnels. Before catching the train from Brig to Zermatt, we were able to rim across the street in front of the station and buy urns sandwiches and dessert pastries from a street stand. We took them with us to eat on the train.Eager anticipation pervaded our train car. Across the aisle from us sat a young woman from South Africa. She told ua she had been to Zermatt 3 times, but each time the Matterhorn was totally hidden by clouds. If she didn’t see it this time, she said, she wouldn’t try again. Sitting facing us, a husband and wife from Michigan were enjoying her first and his second trip to Europe. They were traveling with their son who had a job in Holland, and they, too, were looking forward excitedly to seeing the Matterhorn We had a very enjoyable visit with them as the train hummed on toward our goal, and before we knew it, it was time for Len and me to get off at Tasch and start our hike to Zermatt. We invited anyone to join us, but no one took us up on our invitation to bike there so we started out alone.
What a pretty walk. The trail, level at first, following a stream, led through meadows bursting with yellow, purple, and white wildflowers and surrounded by conifer bearing woods on either side. Soon, the path paralleled the train tracks, but where the train traveled on tunnels through the mountains, we went over. It was really not a difficult walk at all despite about 5 minutes of steep ascent and switchbacks. We were very near Zermatt when we rounded a corner and got our first awesome glimpse of the Matterhorn, its craggy snow covered image looking like a giant eye tooth, looming above the village of Zermatt. Clouds clung to its sides and flirted with its peak but didn’t obscure the view. Directly ahead of us, small wooden houses and storage sheds appeared at widely scattered sites, seeming to be as much a part of the earth as the grasses that grew in the meadows. We stopped many times to rest, eat, and take pictures, and after about three and one half hours we finally reached Zermatt and walked to the train station to pick up our luggage. It hadn’t arrived! We were told to check back later so we walked to the Tourist Office and got directions to the Hotel Antika.
The hotel was charming and our room was tastefully furnished in the Swiss country fashion. Best of all, its windows looked directly out at the Matterhorn. Len sat in a chair watching the differing plays of light and clouds upon its surface, and he took picture after picture. I finally pried him out of his chair, and we took a walk along the streets of Zermatt. No gas powered vehicles were allowed here - only electric transportation. The streets, lined with souvenir shops, restaurants, fresh fruit and vegetable merchants, clothing shops, and sport stores were mobbed with tourists from everywhere. The Japanese were predominant. We window shopped for a while and then walked back to our room to try to get a picture of sunset on the Matterhorn. Then, it was out again to have dinner in a small restaurant near the hotel. We walked to a phone to phone Judy and then returned to the hotel and a pleasant surprise. Our luggage had arrived at the train station, been picked up by the porter, and deposited outside our room.
Saturday, June 26, 1999
We opened the curtains this morning and there was the Matterhorn, morning sunlight lighting its crags and dark clouds hovering around it and threatening to hide its face. Dark puffy clouds floating above a dark spot on its face made it look like a smoking volcano, and Len sat at the window for a long time fascinated by the cloud play.We went down to the dining room for the breakfast buffet. There was an excellent and abundant selection of foods, and we bad a hearty breakfast. This plus our double room facing the mountain cost 150 franca per night (approximately $115.00). It was a very good value.
We wanted to hike, and the proprietress recommended that we follow the wanderweg to Gomer Gorge and proceed from there to Blatten. It was a great walk that followed the river, climbing high above it and winding through graceful, feathery larch trees with tiny purple cones sitting atop their upward curving branches. The skies were clouding as we arrived at the gorge. The river, rushing very far below, had carved this canyon out of granite.
A man sitting outside at a granite slab table charged us 2 francs apiece to continue, and we climbed down 10 or 15 ladder-like steps to a narrow wooden platform with flimsy supports that stretched along the jagged, rocky walls of the gorge. Green plants grew out of the gray crevices. A pipe railing was all we bad to cling to as the river rushed and roiled 190 Ft. beneath us. The water was a chalky white, carrying the powder washed away from the granite. I was probably chalky white too, clinging to the rail for dear life. Even Len was nervous as the bridge crossed the gorge. On the other side we were confronted by a climb up many steps, but they led to solid land. We were happy to climb and delighted to be oft but we were glad we had done it and witnessed its beauty.
The trail climbed uphill, and we came to some wooden huts. They were held up above the ground by a tree trunk at each corner, and between the top of each trunk and the floor of each hut was a thick circular stone. Len guessed that they were vermin barriers, and, later in the day, a fellow train passenger confirmed this. As we neared Blatten we walked through meadows blooming profusely with purple, yellow and white wildflowers, a sight to thrill the senses.
By the time we got back it was 1:00 and raining. We felt so lucky to have come the day before, as clouds now obscured the mountain. We finished our visit with a walk through the village cemetery where inscriptions on the stones told of hikers from all over the world whose lives had ended in climbing accidents.
We decided to take an early train. The hotel porter took us and our bags in his little electric truck down to the train station, and we caught the 2:10 to Brig. From the train window we could see the horrifying remains of a 3 year old landslide. The whole side of a granite mountain had broken away leaving a gigantic cavity and landing its granite rubble in a huge pile at its base. It had closed down the whole valley for several years. and the immense deposit we saw must have been what was left after the worst had been cleaned up.
In Brig, Len longed for another of the delicious tuna sandwiches we’d bought there on the way up, so we crossed the street from the station to the stand in front of the department store~ bought our lunch, and ate it on a station bench. The ride from Brig to Domodosola was fast, but Domodosola to Locarno was fraught with unscheduled stops and seemed to take forever. Along the way we passed rows and rows of grapes, some growing on arbor-like structures and some espaliered as we do in U.S. vineyards.
Exhausted, we arrived in Locarno. After stopping for a dinner of soup and fruit at the Inova, we caught the bus for Ascona. The jazz festival had started, and the street was crowded with attendees walking to the festivities in the rain. A wonderful jazz group was playing in the arcade behind our apartment~ and they filled the air with their music. We fell into bed and were soon sound asleep, rocked there by a lullaby of jazz.
Sunday, June 27, 1999
It was raining. We spent the morning doing our laundry and then walked across the street to the bakery for lunch. In the afternoon we decided to walk down to the Jazz Festival. What a great scene! Despite the pouring rain, crowds filled the street walking to see the open air performances. It was a virtual parade of passing umbrellas.We stopped in the street to hear a group performing in a piazza near our apartment. It was good music, and the listening crowd spilled off the sidewalk and filled the street. A sight seeing electric tram came down the street, and the crowd paited to let it through. A little black car coming the wrong way on a one way street approached, its way blocked by the tram. The car stopped. The tram stopped. They were bumper to bumper. The black car stubbornly stayed in place, stubbornly refusing to back up. The tram couldn’t move. The woman driving the black car got out. She was furious and verbally accosted the tram driver. The driver answered, and the hands of both of them were gesticulating as fast as their tongues. The woman finally got in her car and backed up. The tram drove through. The woman turned around and drove away.
The sounds of great jazz emanating from a waterfront restaurant beckoned us, and we sat at an outdoor table under an awning and drank coffee while enjoying the music. It was such fun watching the people walking by. People of all ages, undeterred by the rain, strolled by, and the clothing under the umbrellas varied from long silk dresses to short shorts. Dogs of all sizes and varieties accompanied their owners on the promenade.
We walked back up the street behind our apartment. For several days we had smelled meat being barbecued behind the bar behind our building, and the smell was so wonderful that our mouths were watering. We walked to the barbecue and asked the chef what he was cooking. Pork spareribs was the answer, and they would be ready at 8:00. We promised to be back.
We returned to the apartment. Ann McBride, our next-door neighbor had taken a terrible fall while we were in Zermatt, and we went to visit her and husband, Ken. We talked for a while and then left to change our clothes, put on our rainsuits, and go to the restaurant for those much anticipated spareribs. Our vaunted dinner consisted of a salad served with no dressing and the ribs which were not nearly as good as they smelled. What a disappointment.
We walked to the waterfront. A German band was belting out some excellent jazz, and we sat and listened fur about 45 minutes. It was wonderful to observe people from all over the world gathering to pay homage to American music. Reluctantly, we returned to the apartment. It was still raining, and we fell asleep to the lullaby of jazz punctuated by lightning, rain, and loud claps of thunder.
Monday, June 28, 1999
This morning it was off to the Co-op. Idyll had warned us that tomorrow’s a holiday, and everything will be closed. Shopping taken care of; we boarded the train to Bellinzona, a delightful city that is the capital of Ticino. A large church dating from 1588 dominated the main street, and we entered through its massive doors to listen to the solemn reverberations of a giant organ. Then, after an excellent and satisfying lunch al fresco at a sandwich establishment frequented by locals, we walked to the information center where we were delighted to learn that the largest of the city’s three castles, the Castelgrande, was open though most castles and museums are closed on Mondays.High on a rock , overlooking the city, the castle proved to be an awesome sight. It was originally bulk during the Roman Conquest at the beginning of the Christian era. Over the years it was conquered by various invaders, and each victorious ruler changed and added to it. Today its architecture reflects the changes made by its many conquerors. Inside, present day Italian architect Aurelio Galfetti has redesigned parts of the interior, converting the original steps to the top of the tower to a winding stone stairway with a black hand rail on one side and the stone wall of the fortress on the other. Climbing up floor after floor was a dizzying experience for me, and when we got near the top, the stairway circumference narrowed on the circular stairs that led to the turret. There, a 360 degree view gave an overview of the entire area. By then my fear of heights had complete control of me, so I sat on the landing while Len went up to admire the view.
We made our way back down and went into the museum. This consisted of a veiy modern treatment of the interior passageways and displays of art work rescued from the ceiling of the old home of an important family. These were discovered when the house was being destroyed, and they were renewed for study and display. Artifacts found in the area were also on display and ranged from stone age pottery to ancient coins. We then proceeded on to an interesting but not very informative movie, in English, about the history of the fortress.
Hurrying from the museum we caught the train to Locarno. There we transferred to the bus to Losone where we were soon joined by the Idyll group for the Spaghetti Dinner at the Hotel Belvedere Grotto... Before eating we sat outside under an arbor and watched as groups of local men played cards. There were bocce ball courts at the grotto, and we formed 2 teams and learned to play the game. Each team member has two stone balls. A tiny stone ball is thrown out and is the target. A member of the first team bowls a ball and tries to be as close to the target as possible. The other team then tries to get closer. The away team keeps bowling until it gets one ball closer. Then it’s the other team’s turn. When all of the away team’s balls are gone, the close team gets to finish roiling its balls. Points are then awarded for all balls closer than those of the opponents. It’s a lot of fun. After the game we had a delicious salad and spaghetti al pesto, accompanied by good conversation. It was really fun to hear other people’s experiences.
We took the bus home and posed in the apartment hall for pictures with our neighbors. I wrote my journal to the rhythm of a jazz accompaniment that was taking place outside our window.
Tuesday, June 29, 1999
The much heralded Strada degli Alpi (Road of the Alps) was our goal today, so we took the post bus from Bellinzona to Airolo and watched the valley recede as we rode the lift from there to Pescium where the walk begins. The view from the top was gorgeous - the village in the valley below looked Lilliputian from where we stood. In the snow capped mountains on the other side, a stream, fed by a foaming waterfall, created a cleavage between the steep green clad slopes. Our path, at 1745 meters high, was wide and fairly level. The silence all around us was broken only by bird songs and the occasional buzzing of an industrious bee among the masses of blue and yellow wildflowers in the fields that surrounded us. Birches and larch trees grew beside the trail, thrusting their branches into the clouds that hung above.It was easy walking for about an hour, and then the trail became very narrow. Great patches of melting snow appeared at intervals beside the path, and the sprays from waterfalls, fed by the melt, had a welcome cooling effect on this very warm day. In the distance we could hear the melodious clanging of cowbells, and the trail through the meadow was soon blocked by a herd of grazing cows who glanced at us unconcernedly before resuming their meal. We threaded our way through and were confronted by an electrified wire fence which formed the pasture boundary and cut off access to the trail.
Spotting a trail sign on the other side, we gingerly crawled under the wires and continued on our way. The path began to climb, and the signs kept pointing uphill for Alpe di Crystillini where the Dream Book had promised that we could catch the post bus for our return trip. We walked past more herds of cows who briefly lifted their heads to look at us before returning to grazing voraciously. We kept on climbing and crawling under wires. The trail got steeper, and the temperature was about 90 degrees. Perspiration was running off of us. We had been walking about 2½ hours, and it was after 4:00.
I was in the lead, and Len kept shouting, “We’re going the wrong way. We should be going down, not up.” But all the signs to Alpi di Crystallini pointed up. I kept saying, “That’s where the book said to catch the post bus.” Len was furious with me.
We were about 5 minutes from where the signs indicated Crystillini should be, and as we were stumbling along, a miracle occurred. A car, slightly smaller than a Toyota RAY was driving toward us down the trail! In it were the farmer who owned one of the herds of cattle, his wife, and in the back scat, their 3 little children. We hailed them, hoping they weren’t a mirage, to inquire about our destination and the post bus stop. They spoke only Italian, and communication was difficult, but the looks of astonishment in their faces told us volumes. In Italian they told us that there was no post bus stop at Cristallini. Our faces must have dropped 5 feet. We were hot and exhausted, and the thought of retracing our steps was rosily discouraging. The hour was so late that we were afraid the post busses would have stopped running by the time we got to the bus stop. We didn’t know what we’d do then. Seeing our crestfallen faces~ those kind people made room for us in their car. When we reached their house, the wife and children got out4 and the farmer indicated that he would drive us to the bus stop. We couldn’t have been more grateful.
The car bounced down the dirt track, taking up the whole road. We rode for ½ hour before reaching the bus stop. Our driver got out, looked at the posted schedule, and said we would have to stand on the highway fur an hour before the bus would come. He said he would take us all the way to Airolo and the train station. The total trip was about 40 minutes. It would have been an impossible walk.
After thanking him effusively and forcing payment on him, hoping to take care of the gasoline and the wear and tear on the car, we waited on the platform for about 10 minutes and caught the 5:00 train. We were on our way to Locarno when Len suddenly discovered that he’d lost his beloved Tilley hat, and that he had probably left it on the bench at the station in Airolo. He was sure he would never see it again, but when we arrived in Locarno I went into the control room for the trains and told the personnel there where we thought we had lost the hat. One of the engineers called Airolo. They called back 5 minutes later to say that the hat was found, but that Len might not like it as well as before. It had blown onto the track, and a train had run over it! They said they would send it to Locarno fur pick-up the next morning.
We arrived in Ascona and had dinner at the creperie. Returning to the apartment we spent time visiting with the McBrides and the Shevlins, our neighbors who were leaving for the U.S. in the morning.
Ann McBride, a collector of angels, surprised us with a ceramic angel she had found in Strcsa, Italy. We packed up as we were to move to the Shevlin’s apartment tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 30, 1999
It’s 10:30, and I’m sitting at the window of our new apartment and writing after a crazy day. We were up before 7:00 this morning because we not only bad to move, but we had to help Ann and Ken get their luggage to the train as Ann’s fall had resulted in a broken arm. The cleaning people were due at 8:00, and our new apartment wasn’t vacated until 8:30. Since we just bad to move one door down the ball, I had thrown everything into bags. I stuffed the bags into cupboards so the cleaning people could work We were transferring food from one refrigerator to the other and clothes from one closet to another when the cleaning people arrived, and I’m sure they weren’t very happy. We asked for the key to our new apartment, but the cleaning girls didn’t know where it was. Mrs. Frey, the owner, came to inspect just as Len and l were leaving with Ann and Ken. She was too busy to talk to us and left right away. We carried Ann’s bags to the bus and from the bus to the train depot. All the while, we didn’t know how we’d get back into the apartment. We found a pay phone and phoned Sonia, one of Idyll’s Ticino representatives. Her husband informed us that Sonia wasn’t home but would be at the Locarno train station at noon. We called Sylvia, the other Idyll representative. We bad to leave a message on her answering machine. We called Mrs. Frey at the hotel she managed and were told by a secretary that she was gone for the day. Now we had a real problem. Everything was in the apartment but us. Just as we were about to panic, Ann saw Sylvia at the train station! She grabbed her for us. Sylvia called the hotel, and, lo and behold — Mrs. Frey would meet us at the apartment in 15 minutes. We said goodbye to Ann and Ken and took the next bus back to the apartment. Mrs. Frey and the cleaning girls were there. A very excitable Mrs. Frey was frantic because she couldn’t find the key either. Suddenly she had a flash of insight and said she’d be back in 5 minutes. As promised, she returned, holding the key to the mailbox in her hand. She opened the box and, sure enough, our apartment key had been placed there, as per instructions.We settled in and decided to return to Locarno and take the boat trip to Morcote, but when we arrived at the ticket booth, we found out that Morcote is on the ltalian line and our railpass would do us no good. We decided to go to Lugano instead, and, after making wonderful connections, arrived there at about 3:30. We took the tram from the train station instead of the funicular but got off at the first stop when we realized we were headed away from the lake. While waiting for the return tram, we spent some time with a delightful young Swiss college boy who was going to Texas in the fall and then to California to study. His goal is to play ice hockey or to be a coach.
Back at the funicalr again, we rode down the hill and then walked to the lake to buy tickets for a boat ride. All rides were over for the day. We window shopped for a while and entered one shop where we bought a wonderful apron to bring home as a gift.
It was time to return to Ascona. We had dinner in our new apartment and then went out to phone Judy. This 3rd floor apartment fronts on the main shopping street of Ascona and has wonderful big windows that overlook the street. Jazz from the festival fills the air, and, as I write, I watch the people below walking to the festival. I see all kinds of attire — some exquisite, some very casual, and some teen-age extreme. About every 3rd woman has dyed red hair. Boys and girls walk hand-in-hand; some of the young men are very boisterous, but most are well behaved. The crowd is totally mixed in age and ranges from babes in arms to those who are in their 70’s and 80’s. Many of them are trailed by dogs on leashes, and dogs sit quietly at the outdoor tables at the restaurants while their masters eat. Musicians walk by carrying their instruments on their way to their next gig. I am going to write postcards before going to bed.
Thursday, July 1, 1999
We took the hydrofoil to Stresa, Italy this morning. It was a pretty day, and we sat on the deck and enjoyed the color. The red tile roofs of the houses contrasted with the lush green of the mountainsides that seemed to drop straight down into the water. White sails and the foaming wakes of motorboats accented the blue-green of the sparkling water. It was a lovely hour and a half.Stresa was full of tourists, and we saw many more Americans than in Ascona. Shops and restaurants lined the narrow streets, and our attention was arrested by a purse shop that displayed many beautiful leather purses. We wanted to bring back purses for the girls but decided to look further before making a purchase.
As we explored the streets, we came upon a large wooden Pinochio standing in front of a shop full of toys and animals band made of a combination of interesting woods. We fell in love with them -especially the dogs, cats, and horses with their expressive faces. The saleslady had to close for lunch and told us they would re-open in 2 1/2 hours, so we planned to return to make our selection.
We left and found an open-air café in the town square and had a great lunch. We kept thinking about the merchandise in the woodworker’s shop, and we knew we bad to have something from there. The problem was that we couldn’t find it again. Tramping up and down the winding street, we finally had to admit to ourselves that our search was doomed to be fruitless. We stopped at a leather shop where the proprietor spoke English, and we bought purses for the girls and asked for directions to the Pinochio sign.
This time we found the shop, but it was still closed, and, very disappointed, we acknowledged to ourselves that we had to get back to the dock in time to catch the return boat to Ascona. We got the slow boat this time and enjoyed a leisurely look at the lakeside villages. As we were about to pull away from Brisago, a little boy, about 2 years old, accidentally dropped a beloved toy into the water by the dock. He was crying broken-heartedly, and the boatmen delayed our start as they unsuccessfully tried to fish it out with a long pole.
After dinner at home, we walked down to the Jazz Festival and joined the happy crowds enjoying the festivities. The outdoor seating at the restaurants was full. Crowds gathered around the portable stages listening to jazz musicians from the U.S., Germany. France, Italy, and the Netherlands. It was great music richly appreciated by these visitors no matter what their country of origin.
We stopped a while at each bandstand until we found seats at the Bandstand Piazza Torre where we listened to the Johnny Varro Swing Seven and stayed for a great piano performance featuring Butch Thompson and Johnny Varro playing jazz solos and duets. Many people brought their dogs, and there was one humorous moment when one of the dogs began to bark an accompaniment. We couldn’t imagine why this didn’t happen all the time.
At 12:00 when we returned to the apartment, the streets were still full of walkers, and the music was still going strong. It had been a delightful evening.
Friday, July 2, 1999
We decided to just kick back today. This morning we took a long, leisurely walk to see the swimming beach. On the way we saw parts of Ascona that we had missed as we passed luxury hotels, homes, condos, and apartments. Colorful tropical plants graced every garden. The colors were spectacular, and the scents, intoxicating. Crossing a grassy playground filled with children, we arrived at a sand beach. The roped off swimming area contained a raft to swim to, and we felt the water and found it no colder than Pinecrest. We haven’t been able to swim because Len has an open skin graft on his nose that he’s afraid of infecting, so we walked back by way of town, stopping at Migros for a quart of milk.At noon, we caught the bus to Brisago and walked down a path to the water. We strolled along the path that skirted the lake, and it was a very quiet and peaceful time. A hotel on the lake offered outside seating at its restaurant, and we shared a salad and a lovely risotto there.
We decided to take the bus to Locarno, and, once there, walked through the shopping arcade. We found bike shirts for Ron and Bob at a store called Innovacione and then went to some record stores in a futile quest for recordings by the jazz pianists we heard last night. We stopped at the pasta stand and made a purchase and went to the deli to buy a rotisserie chicken to bring home for dinner. Returning home, we showered and did the laundry. Len napped, and I people- watched out the big windows in the living room that overlooked the street.
From our third floor apartment, we have a great view of the people walking by, and the street is hardly ever empty. We love the European clothes - the fabrics, the tailoring, and the styles. Len particularly likes the sheer styles worn by so many of the women. It would be hard for women to get away with that in the U.S. The passing parade is fascinating. Teen-agers with brightly colored dyed hair, rings in their noses and lips, and shoes with high, high soles; young adult women with gorgeous figures in long silk clingy summer dresses or silky printed slacks, many dressed in black or white, some proudly wheeling babies; men wearing jackets or in shirt sleeves; older women in slacks or colorful long skirts - no mournful black clothing as is worn in some other European countries.
It seems like every third person has a dog on a leash. We had a good dinner from the deli, feasting on cold spit roasted chicken, cooked cold marinated onions, and a cold zucchini dish that was also marinated. We finished the laundry, folded it, and put it away. It was 10:00 and the crowds were still pouring in.
Saturday, July 3, 1999
We caught the Locarno train to Bellinzona and then transferred to the train to Mendrisio and the Foxtown factory stores. We anticipated fantastic prices on European designer merchandise compared to what we would pay at home, and as far as we could tell, the prices were good. The trouble was, we didn’t know many prices to use for comparison. The stores occupied ½ of a building, and the other ½ was a gambling casino. For us, the biggest gamble was knowing if merchandise was a bargain or not. The stores in the building were modern, clean, and housed names ranging from Bally, Gucci, and Versace, to Adidas~ and Everlast in addition to beautiful houseware and linen stores. We visited all of them and found belt purses for Lennie and me and a money clip for Len at a shop named Apex. After lunch at a cafeteria in the building, we walked back to the station in order to catch the post bus to Meride (pronounced merry day). It was a wild ride over a narrow road that twisted and turned and left us gasping.The whole town was closed down for lunch when we arrived, and we could find no sign directing us to the sentiero that led through the national park. We asked the few people we saw, but no one seemed to know what we were talking about. It would have helped if the Dream Book bad mentioned the name of the park instead of just calling it “a national park.” Finally someone advised us to walk along the road to Serpiano, the exit point of the park, and we followed his direction,. After walking along a hot, dusty road for about 15 minutes, we came to a sign that pointed to a path and proclaimed a nature walk. We left the road and started on this path, a nice level gravel one which passed through fields of corn, vineyards, and farm houses with family vegetable gardens.
The gravel came to a sudden stop, and we found ourselves walking in a dry creek bed which, at one point, became so muddy that we bad to leave the trail and trespass in someone’s fields. We re-entered the creek bed, and its natural rock lining was so slippery and hazardous that if we didn’t keep our eyes strictly on the trail, we could easily slip and fell.
We biked for two hours and saw only two trail markers the entire way. We had to choose our direction at intersections by guess. Len, afraid of a repeat of the last disaster kept insisting, “This can’t be right. We’re going to miss the lift at Serpiano and have to walk all the way down.” I hid my worry, and finally the road became gravel again, and we saw a clearing and a large building which turned out to be a hotel. A woman sitting on a bench told us that the lift was one kilometer away, and we sighed in relief
It was hot and humid, and we were soaked with perspiration. We kept on hiking and finally came to a restaurant that also housed the lift. There was no ticket booth, and the chef told us that we were to pay at the conclusion of the ride. He walked us to the lift, opened the car door, and motioned us to be seated. A sign informed us that the lift would leave in 5 minutes. There were no other passengers. Len got out to take a picture of the long drop below, and when he returned, I got out to take one. I regained my seat just a second before a bell rang, and, to our astonishment, the car started down. There was no operator! Len and I looked at each other in shock. There was a panel of operating buttons in the car, but we wouldn’t know what to do in an emergency. We continued our descent high above the tree tops. It was a blessedly short trip, but we were very happy to see the station at the bottom in Brusino.
After waking for the ferry for about ½ hour, we had a long, beautiful, relaxed ride to Lugano where we arrived at about 4:00. We took the cable car to the train station, had an 8 minute wait for the train to Bellinzona, and there bad onlya3 minute wait for the train to Locarno. Once there, we dragged ourselves across the street to Innova. Len had 2 big plates of fruit, and I bad spaghetti and a bowl of fruit for dessert. After phoning Sue we made a beeline for the apartment and much needed showers.
Sunday, July 4, 1999
Independence Day at home and our day to walk with Sonia and Gabby (another Idyll employee) and the Idyll group. We took the #10 bus to Bignasco and then the post bus to San Carlo. There, Sonia led us through the grasses to an early stone home built under a boulder with the flat side of the boulder as its roof. One side of the home bad been used as a shelter fur the farm animals, and the other side bad been a dwelling for humans. There were no windows, and the thick stone walls insulated the interior so that it was dark and refreshingly cool.We ate our picnic lunches on huge granite rocks by the house in a meadow full of wildflowers. Purple campanula, white and pink clovers, tiny yellow and white violas, and rose scabiosa bloomed among the grasses. Tall granite mountains loomed behind us, and thick groves of trees shaded a meandering river. We ten humans were the only intruders on this peaceful scene. It was awesome and very beautiful — perhaps as beautiful as anything we’ve seen in Switzerland.
We walked back to the trail and hiked through this gorgeous countryside. Huge boulders, remnants of a time many years ago when the side of the granite mountain gave way, projected from the meadows. Clusters of stone houses, formerly summer houses of the farmers in Cavergno who stayed there and housed their cows there for a few weeks before taking them the remainder of the way to the alpine pastures are now used as summer houses by the people of Locarno. The houses have no electricity, but we did see a few solar panels.
We kept walking past scattered stone houses, and arrived at Foroglio where a foaming waterfall splashed straight down over the rocks, rushing into a pool of turquoise water before joining the river.
Two of the stone houses in Foroglio sold handicrafts by local artisans~ and one was a grotto restaurant. Sitting on the porch at a long, granite slab table with about 14 other people, we enjoyed a refreshing ice cold beer before walking to the waterfall and back over a stone bridge that crossed the river. Then, as we started our walk to the next village, large drops of rain began to fall. We got as far as Ritorto and waited for the post bus there. Torrents of rain and claps of thunder filled the air as we rode to Bignasco where we transferred to the bus to Locarno and, again, to the Ascona line. A mixed salad, boiled tuna raviolis, kiwi, and cookies comprised our dinner at home, and, after dishes and showers, it was early to bed.
Monday, July 5, 1999
We had thunder and lightning and rain all night last night. One clap of thunder was so loud it sounded like an explosion in the building. The rain came down in torrents.We took it easy today. We phoned Swiss Air to confirm our flight and phoned Rosemarie to say goodbye. After packing the suitcases that go tomorrow, we rode the bus to Locarno to find out what time we can deliver them to the station. We took the bus back to the apartment, and Len took a nap. I watched a bit of t.v. and took a couple of pictures of the apartment.
The day was hot and humid. Thunder could be heard off in the distance. People were strolling down the street seemingly unbothered by the approach of a storm. Many who were walking with their families and their dogs were dressed in shorts.
The Jazz Festival is over. Tonight we’ll be able to hear the birds cheeping again. Each morning we’ve been hearing a terrible screeching sound like a piece of metal being dragged or a rusty metal shutter being pulled up. We couldn’t imagine what it was, but yesterday one of the neighbors told us that it was the voice of a parrot owned by someone across the street.
Tuesday, July 6, 1999
On our last day today we decided to walk in the alleys through the hills of Ascona. We found an alley that led up many stone steps to a street overlooking the lake. The storm broke, and we were suddenly inundated by a downpour that was accompanied by lightning and thunder. Heavy clouds covered the mountains across the lake. The water was choppy with whitecaps on its surface. We took shelter beneath an apartment garage overhang and waited for the downpour to stop. When it didn’t let up, we made our way down the steps and arrived at the apartment with soaking wet shoes and socks.We spent the early afternoon in the apartment waiting for the rain to stop. Then, we walked for a while, through the residential area of Ascona. Most of the buildings are box-like, but grillwork and window boxes filled with flowers transform them into very attractive dwellings.
We picked up our luggage at the apartment to take to the train station for shipment straight tbrough to San Francisco. It was a real job to carry those heavy bags to the bus and to hoist them oboard. After he helped a woman with a baby in a buggy get on and one to get off, Len began to think he’d found himself a vocation in Switzerland. We were thrilled to see carts outside the depot, and we wrestled our luggage aboard one and wheeled it to the baggage desk. The clerk wrote it up for shipping to San Francisco and also issued our boarding passes. What a great system.
We walked around Locarno a while and then took the bus back. We had dinner al fresco at the lakefront Restaurant Schiff, seafood for me and vitello a tonnato for Len. Then, after an excellent meal, we walked back to the apartment. Three weeks was the perfect length of time for this vacation.