Maggia

Our recent trip into Val Maggia this weekend reminded me how we never got around to visiting Spluga, a little community of old stone cottages in the Giumaglio valley where we once planned to stop overnight during a long hike.


The Swiss love to hike (or steadily plod, as "Hiking the Swiss Way" explains). The entire country is a network of well-marked trails, so it's quite easy to have a lovely excursion wherever you may travel. High in the mountains you can all kinds of small cabins at which you can stop, sleep, and eat. At least in Ticino, these capanne (huts) are beautiful old stone houses, with just enough accommodation so that you can sleep and have a meal indoors before continuing on your next leg. If you're lucky someone's nonna will be cooking you some polenta, but that's not very common.

When I retire for real, I'd like to return to Ticino and find my own stone house (though preferably the kind that has been finished inside with modern Swiss über-quality), perhaps in a village needing an eccentric expat to nonna some street urchins and tame the local cats. If you saw these sweet little villages nestled into these magical, foresty valleys, you'd be planning this, too. Only Swiss Mr. seems immune to the siren call of these towns: these are solo retirement plans. I find it best not to think of the details of how this will work. No need to be overly practical when making dreamy life plans, anyway.

The lowdown on FL

In case you missed it, we were in (The Principality of) Liechtenstein last week. This tiny country has among other things its own royal family, some wonderful wines, and a long history of pretty postage stamps. It also does brisk sales in souvenir visa stamps (3 CHF, value questionable).

Apparently FL's elder prince can often be found walking barefoot through the woods and through his vineyards. Who can't love that? Also apparently they make the princess complete roadwork in her nightdress, another something to love. All in all, a visit worth the long drive through 7,000 switchbacks.

Postcard for anyone who guesses which country we're visiting today! 

Rest stop

There can't be many things more conducive to sleep than sitting in a warm car on a softly rocking train for 20 minutes through a dark tunnel. I think they should covert all highways into trains. Someone get that in the transportation bill. 

Münster (CH)

On our way home from mountain-gaping in the Valais, we drove through the Goms. The Goms is neither a toothless old lady nor a paramilitary police force from the future, but a hilly region of the upper Rhone valley east of Brig – basically a string of tiny villages gathered along a ridge. (The Walsers, for which the canton Valais (Wallis in German) is named, settled in these high mountainous areas when the Romansch down below weren't looking and started to farm and raise cows.)


We paused in Münster in honor of our Munster (IN) buddies. We immediately loved this sweet little gathering of wooden houses and churches. Like the wood itself, it seemed settled in, undisturbed, contented with age.

We were perplexed by the purpose of the houses perched on stones – but it turns out these are actually "high Alpine barns."  This style of barn was developed by the Walsers, based on the structure of medieval granary storehouses.  The lower section, called a "gable forebay," was designed to increase hay storage and protect the door opening below from snow during long alpine winters. Raising the barn on stone pillars also helped prevent critters from accessing food stores. 

More on these clever Walsers here.

Embassy sweetness

After having spent so much time in the embassy district in Bern lately, I find Lugano to be somewhat lame by comparison. Where are the security cameras and the machine guns and my police escort? I kind of miss the suspicious stares and the pat downs. And that taco stand. I miss the taco stand. All we've got in Lugano is racial profiling and graffiti. And, if I must be fair, an overpriced Mexican cantina.

I'm not sure why no one has decided to gather up all these little consular offices into one big old building. I, for one, though the ambassador who has to answer his doorbell twenty times a day to tell confused tourists that the consular office is around the block would likely disagree, am glad the have not done this. Probably Vatican City is also happy - no need to admit they require a cubicle rather than a golden mansion to run their consular services branch. Anyway, it is nice that a few things in this world have remained quaint, if only for the sad, pragmatic reason that it makes bombing more difficult. (Not sure, but I don't think diplomatic missions actually have extraterritoriality.) Who doesn't love flag-identification, house-gawking, and potentially famous people? I am so glad I got to walk two hours to the Belarussian embassy. 

The black Mercedes seems to be the vehicle of choice for most diplomats. Except, of course, for the Italians. 

The quality of this photo may have been compromised by my realization that taking a photo of a guarded embassy might actually be a bad idea and subsequent desire to have my arm back outside the high iron gate with the rest of me immediately. I'm sorry that the true festive nature of this FIAT does not come through. In this setting it really did shout viva l'Italia!

More of lovely Bern

You must love a city with its own bear pit!

Monaco di Bavaria or Milano di Lombardia?

In a few years, even we won't be able to tell.

Unidentified Watery Object

Anyone have an idea what this is? We found it in a little spring on our hike last weekend. Or some of "we" found it. Mostly I stood to the side thinking about lunch while Darwin and friends enthusiastically coaxed this little guy out of his hole and onto a knife via a hiking pole for some light scientific analysis. I thought it was a bit mean of "us" to de-habitat him like that, but there's really no arguing with a pack of scientists. In any case, if you know what this is, we'd all be much obliged to know. 

Somehow during the visit of our friends S&P this week, we found ourselves in a strange, strange land. 

(photo: S&P)

The natives were not friendly and wore a lot of jewelry. 

damned dirty ape couldn't even afford a track suit (photo: S&P)

And there were gorillas out there in the mist with the cows.

(photo: S&P)

Thankfully, we were eventually able to escape from this planet of apes and return safely to Lugano. Who knew our Swiss German phrase ("Meine Name ist Taylor") would be so useful!

Sirmione

After departing Verona we took a long and intermittently scenic drive to the largest lake in Italy, Lake Garda. We were in search of a fortress castle located on a long peninsula, knowing only that it was marked "interesting" on our map. When we finally arrived, we found that every single vacationing Italian in the entire country was somehow packed onto this thin strip of land. I know my Michigan references have been a bit out of hand recently, but it really reminded me of Mackinac Island sans boyscouts.


Taking away from the castle's interestingness were the facts that it was small and closed. However, whereas most moats grow grass or house bears nowadays, this one actually had water in it, as it connected to the lake on the other side. Bonus points for being completely surrounded by water. If you could ignore the jillions of people filtering through this area, you could almost imagine Legolas in a huge floating leaf leading a stealth attack of the castle. (My Tolkien nostalgia is so easy to trigger on vacation.) Anyway, it would take someone really heroic to conquer this outpost. If anyone actually wanted to conquer this outpost.

Graffito antico

While in Verona we strenuously avoided Juliet's tourist traps, probably at the expense of some great balcony shots, opting instead for some long and slow strolling. The main feature of our walking tour (besides the real watermelon-kiwi popsicle) turned out to be San Zeno Maggiore, a neat old basilica built over the crypt of the outspoken old guy himself. Even though I was partly distracted, working to ignore the epic battle going on between my stomach and the huge chunk of buffalo mozzarella I had for lunch, I was affected by the distinctive atmosphere of this crypt turned church turned monastery improved to become basilica. The place had a nice feel, like I wouldn't have minded staying a while to say a few confessions or something if there hadn't been a growing fear of my having lactose intolerance dominating my consciousness. 

The frescoes painted on various layers of the wall were really beautiful and in impressive condition; I wish the light had allowed more photos. Some pilgrims just couldn't resist adding their mark to this one. How was it ever okay to carve something into the Holy Mother's shoulder?

Andermatt

Hey, this is what a glacier looks like!

Domenica pomeriggio a Como

I realized yesterday that there's nothing like an accordion-player on the sidewalk to make you really feel you are in old world Italy. It totally compensated for the nonnas shaking rugs over balconies, men in bars watching football, and children chasing chickens down the street that we didn't see as we were shuffling down the cobblestone streets with the highly fashionable comaschi (that is, people from Como) out to see and be seen on a pretty Sunday afternoon. 

Outfoxed

While the rain ruined all of our pretty snow this weekend, Swiss Mr., a sullen-looking guy in a suede fringe vest, and I road the train together toward Foxtown factory stores.  Swiss Mr. and I went to see about some sales.  Cowboy he did not seem to be traveling for pleasure; he gravely drank his beer and looked out the window until our stop.  Maybe he knew something we didn't?

Foxtown was crammed, primarily, it seemed, with Italians eager to make good use of their mighty euros.  After an hour or two of shuffling in and out of stores without seeing one thing to buy (at any price, really), I started looking into people's bags (will foreigners stop at nothing?) to see what they found worthy of purchasing at this rambling complex of disorderly designer stores. I spied a suit coat and some t-shirts.  I did not see anyone with the heavy gold Salvatore Ferragamo handbag (1,100 CHF) or the gilded cigarette case (845 CHF).   

We had been optimistic but realistic about the trip, so we were not disappointed that our only purchase turned out to be a mini rolling pin (3 CHF).   The fashion was just too high, the dollar too low, the crowds too great....  Cowboy, it turns out, didn't buy much either.  He rejoined us on the train with just one new purchase, and it was consumed before we reached Lugano.

Caffè italiano

The Italians love their coffee. I love their coffee too, although if I took espresso shots at the bar throughout the day like they do, I would need to seek medical attention (like I should have that one time college when I drank too much chai and had to go sit outside Trowbridge Hall to wait out the shakes). Though Swiss Mr. orders it strong like the Italians in his lab, I tend to prefer the less chemically intense macchiato or cappuccino. We both sip.

We were amused to find further evidence of Italy's coffee addiction this weekend in Milano: a mini espresso machine in the parking garage where we left our car. Why not brew yourself an espresso while you're waiting to use the public restroom? Have a cigarette while you're at it and make it a real coffee break. You never know when you might get access to caffeine again.

This would also be useful in emergency situations when it's necessary to hide underground. Takes the ick out of panic!

I must admit that we did not indulge ourselves here, instead holding out for a coffee near the piazza where we could people watch. So, we ended up at Gucci café instead. Not having tried the coffee in the parking structure, I can't confirm whether it was better or worse, but it certainly was less convenient.

Una vigna vicina

On a pleasantly dreary walk this morning, I discovered a vineyard near our house!

Monte Brè

This weekend we took a visit to our mountain neighbor, Monte Brè. Along with some varilingual European tourists, we took a series of funciular rides up to the top. (Unlike our European counterparts, however, we only paid half-price, being residents. ha ha!) We decided to save the longer hikes for another time and instead took a short walk over to the little town of Bre.

It was just what you might hope a little mountain town in southern Switzerland to be: rustic and italianate, quiet and charming. I did not see any catholic clergy there, but it seemed like the serene, serious sort of place they might like to hang out and be reflective.

Hunger brought us to a nearby grotto, where, feeling a bit like hobbits, we ate some risotto with mushrooms, local meats, and beer. We've learned grottos are very characteristic of southern Switzerland -- imagine Moody's pub crossed with your grandmother's basement and add some taxidermy. The atmosphere is very informal and the food looks and tastes like home cooking. We weren't quite as ebullient as the other families packed in at the other tables, but we had a very nice time.