A Swiss-Italian Holiday
Rural northern Italy is a ragged quilt, tossed on a lumpy, love-worn bed. Pastures are frayed around the edges, stitching has pulled loose ... . A 3-minute armchair visit.
From the breakfast room at Hotel Montaldi in Locarno, I look out upon the slate gray water of Lago Maggiore and a burst of heavy rain. As soon as it slows to a drizzle, I’ll go out for an explore. For now, though, I’m enjoying a second cup of foamy cappuccino, crusty unsalted bread and red currant jam while jotting down a few notes on the contrasts in the Swiss and the Italian landscape.
A little south of Göschenen, Switzerland, my train was suddenly sucked into the open mouth of the St Gottardo tunnel. I held my breath in the dark for nine miles or so, the pressure and speed blocked my ears. When we were finally shot out on the other side of the mountain, we were in the canton of Ticino. The six-hour journey from Geneva had carried me over, through and under the Alps, and though I was still in Switzerland, it felt and looked more like Italy to me.
The Swiss countryside always wears its Sunday best. Homes are like crisp white aprons embroidered with tidy colorful gardens. The alfalfa fields are polished daily, trees starched and pressed. Manicured hedges stand in orderly rows and well-behaved geraniums never drop their petals on the front steps. Swiss cows come in neatly brushed matched sets. All is properly bathed in Alpine sunshine, like pictures from children’s story books. The towns carry no-nonsense names like Brig and Chur and Thun.
As the train approaches Italy, the fields begin to look a little scruffy, the houses need a bit of paint, gardens are becoming undisciplined. Villages have musical names - Airolo, Verbania Cannobio, Bellinzona.
Rural northern Italy is like a ragged quilt, carelessly tossed on a lumpy love-worn bed. Pastures are frayed around the edges, stitching has pulled loose and the stuffing is coming out. Ancestral homes of flaking cream and ochre plaster blink their tired windows, sleepy curtains droop lazy. Roof tiles are patched and patched again, wood piles lie in jumbled criss-cross. Even the ducks have rumpled tail feathers.
On a train whooshing through Italy’s lake region, one can accidentally sit down on someone’s hat and crush it flat and it is a cause for great hilarity. Ben venuto in Italia – the land of savory breads, hearty wine, affordable lodging and laughter.
Out on the rainy street today, I ask, “Excuse me, please, is the bank close by?”
“No, signora,” the news vendor smiles, “it is open today.”
“Oh...okay then... well... thank you very much.”
I check in now at a small guesthouse in Treviso — a charming, easy-to-explore town about twenty-minutes north of Venice. Treviso is known for its porticoed streets, lovely small canals, frescoed homes, and the delicious red chicory called radicchio rosso. I choose to stay here mainly because a cozy little room with breakfast and dinner is only €75, a price nowhere to be found in Venice.
The first thing I notice upon entering my room, is that the shower is the bathroom. I mean that the bathroom has a shower head on one wall and a drain in the center of the floor. I guess what I am trying to say is that I believe I will have the distinct advantage of being able to take a shower here and sit on the toilet at the same time. How efficient is that?
It has been an exhausting, but exhilarating day and I will head out first thing in the morning for the quick hop to Venice. The early train is at 7:30. Who am I kidding? I’m on holiday, the 10:00 o’clock will do. For now, I’m settling in with a bottle of crisp, cold Valpolicella, a few anisette biscotti and Thomas Mann’s A Death in Venice, which I have probably already read five times.
Tomorrow anything could happen, and no doubt it will!
I love the prose you use to describe the differences between the neighboring countries. Delightfully done, my friend. It was your writing that inspired us to visit Lucca and it was one of the highlights of our trip in May!
I love northern Italy. It reminds me of southern Switzerland, except without the hyper lane discipline when driving.