Swiss Retreat—a trip report of interest to few
 

Unless your travel memories are made of things like the sounds of birds, trains, small boats rocking near their buoys, and silence, or the colors of dusk after a rain, sunrise on distant villages, blue hydrangeas, and the shadows cast by a vine-covered pergola, you will be bored to tears. In addition, it won’t hurt if you like art. This report cannot serve folks who want to know what to do there or will we have fun. I wasn’t even going to write it, and then I remembered a couple of people for whom I have great respect mentioning that we really are obliged to pay back (or rather pay forward) in some way for the countless hours of information and vicarious delight we receive at this wonderful forum. (Special thanks to swandav, Ingo, and schuler, who have shared my love of Switzerland and boosted my morale more times than I can say with their writing.) So here goes.

I looked up the word retreat to see if I should use it here, and my favorite dictionary (Oxford American) used phrases like withdrawal into seclusion and away from worldly activities, and I thought yes. That’s what I did. More or less on the spur of the moment, I made a plane reservation to Zurich, e-mailed my beloved Albergo Panorama on lago Maggiore to see if my room was vacant for five nights, and tried to remember what I packed in my small carry-on the last time I gave myself a rest curelette (read tiny rest cure), four summers ago.

I was apprehensive when I found that my seatmate was a man who fancied himself a dazzling conversationalist. I don’t know how much coffee and candy he had consumed before boarding, but boy, were we a mismatch. My first mistake was trying to answer his questions with single-word answers and no eye contact. “What brings you to Switzerland?” Answer “escape.” Pandora’s box. Thinking back, I should have used a less evocative word, but I don’t believe there is a reply that would have short-circuited his enthusiasm. I suppose he is one of those “people persons” I hear about but cannot altogether relate to. He wanted to know absolutely everything about my life and to share with me everything about his. I said that one of the things I respect most about the Swiss is their disinclination to pry into the lives of others or conversely to spew willy nilly the intimate details of their own. He agreed, and I said “couldn’t you just pretend that I’m Swiss?” He didn’t get it.

Much to the relief of all in the neighborhood (including a Swiss lady who was close enough and whose facial expression said that she was sharing my penance), as soon as dinner concluded, I made it clear that I intended to sleep and left him to play with the gizmos provided for those who can’t. J.

We landed at my favorite airport, the Zurich flughafen. Delta was late. No matter. Lots of renovations in the four years since I was here last. You won’t be surprised that I liked it better before. Didn’t there used to be a little airplane hanging from the ceiling? Where’s the grocery store? Oh well. Nothing could dampen my happiness. A quick stop at the sbb travel office to purchase my Swiss Pass, a few steps down to the waiting train, the 9:47 direct to Lucerne, pushed the green button to open the doors, quiet, clean, ahhh, bliss.

By 10:49 we were pulling into Lucerne’s station. My plan was to make a stop to visit the Museum Sammlung Rosengart. Left my half-empty maroon carry-on (you remember, the old kind that you actually sling over your shoulder made slightly tacky by a strip of bright green poster board I’d stapled around the strap ten years ago in order to recognize it quickly – silly moi, mine was the only bag not black on the entire plane! Folks, if your checked bag is not black, you’ll save yourself some time) in the ‘left luggage’ room downstairs (room 23, if you need it). The lockers are undergoing renovation or something. With hands free again (well holding my straw hat some of the time with my left), I bought a bratwurst and roll from a stand, with mustard only please, and stood there like Burt Wolf (brat with the waxed paper in one hand, roll in the other. Dip, bite, bite, repeat). Confession number one of many: I couldn’t really bite a hunk off of the roll; Burt has stronger teeth than me, so I had to cheat a bit and tear the roll into a few pieces first. Obviously a faux pas, but couldn’t be helped. The bratwurst was wundebar.

The Rosengart is only a couple of blocks from the station, a fine old building in which is housed a really excellent collection of mostly 20th century art (a few late 19th). I commented to the lady in the bookshop that all of the pieces were hung with great respect and in such a way that each complimented the other rather than competing, if you know what I mean. She answered that Mrs. Rosengart herself prescribed exactly how and where each artwork should be hung. After researching both the Rosengart and the Lucerne Picasso museums, I had chosen the Rosengart for my wishlist because it offered a fine selection of Picasso paintings plus a huge group of drawings, watercolors, and prints by Paul Klee. There were only a few people in the museum. It’s a place where there is time to stand or sit in front of any piece that calls your name for as long as you wish.

My favorites were Picasso’s “Jacqueline dans l’Atelier” (a reminder that reproductions can never give you the evidence of the adventurous process that painting was for Picasso), a smaller beautiful and colorful portrait of Jacqueline from 1963, and a few paintings that I’d never seen reproduced anywhere, one called “Personnage Rembranesque et Amour” from 1969, 5’ x 6’, lush reds, yellows, mauves, blacks, painted with incredible energy and confidence (duh).

On the second floor (what we would call the second), there was a small group of pieces by Pissarro, Vuillard, Seurat, Monet, and Marini. One very tiny study for Seurat’s La Grand Jatte (titled “Etude Pour Le Grand Jatte Le Chien Blanc”) was my serendipitous moment of the day. What a drop dead gorgeous little painting (perhaps 7” by 12”)! The only other artwork from the second floor that stopped my heart for a time was a small sculpture by Marini called “Piccolo Cavallo”. A charmer. Plaster, I think, painted over. Vontobel-art, a source for reproductions, lists it as gypsum.

Down to the basement for the Paul Klee collection. More than 100 small pieces. Some beautiful examples of his inventiveness, his exploration of line, his luminous (absolutely luminous) watercolors, and one 3” x 4” (that’s right) painting called “Katzen Familie” from 1913 that took my breath away. The postcard I bought of it is just about as large as the painting, but of course, it is only a shell of the real thing.
J.

So. What a great way to spend my first couple of hours on the ground. (Yes, Ingo! The Rosengart was free with the Swiss Pass! What a kick!) This is not to say that I didn’t have my eyes glued to the train window from Zurich to Lucerne, thinking, for example “Zug and its lake, when will I find time to stop in rather than pass by?” My next move – onto one of the “4 cantons lake’s” paddlewheelers (yes, I got lucky) to see if the water is still so green. Did I say I was on my way to Lago Maggiore? My travel MO in Switzerland is not always the most direct. Truth be told, it was Wednesday. On Wednesdays, the Albergo Panorama is sort of closed (well, if you’re already there, you have your own key). The chef doesn’t cook on that day. He and his team do the week’s big shopping from morning until late afternoon. Axel asked me if I could dawdle a bit and arrive late. No problemo. Dawdle is what I do best.

Where was I? The lakeboat. Swisspass first (my big splurge) gets me up on the top deck in the shade, breeze blowing, schoolkids’ outings on the bottom deck (I’m a teacher, spare me). A tall cold bottle of Ramseier Sussmost. Say what you will, this stuff is one of my Swiss treats. It’s how I spell refresh. You’re probably thinking, she forgot to pick up her bag in room 23. Well almost. The second part of my lakeboat plan is to check out after many, many years (I think I was last on these particular green waters sometime in the late 70’s) the lake towns of Weggis (S!), Vitznau, and Gersau, before landing at Brunnen to re-train for the remainder of my journey south. All three seem to have condos bigger than I’m used to including in my vistas, but they are pretty, nevertheless. I was, by this time, getting kind of dozey, so I didn’t make any on the spot notes to contrast the three towns. Sorry. I can say that I would not select Brunnen, but it’s never been on my short list anyway.

The day was heating up, so my satchel felt like it was heavier than when I started out. (Some of you may know that I’m a 62-year-old flatlander.) I had a minimally detailed map of Brunnen from maporama, I think. Better than nothing. I knew where I was and where the station was, but the on-the-ground view of things and a crow’s view of place (and always remember that it is much flattened) are two distinctly different things. I’ve a poor sense of direction. For example, whenever I get on a train, it is most likely that I will seat myself facing the wrong way, so that I end up riding backwards. I’d rather not.)

Just about that moment, the troop of school kids marched off the boat two-across and chanting, heading out as if with great purpose. So I followed them on the premise that they probably had had their boat trip and were now returning to base via the train. Yes. Not only did they save me a number of wrong turns, but keeping up with them moved me along a bit faster than I would have. The only time I had to backtrack was as we approached the station proper. Those of you who travel in Switzerland (or probably all over Europe) in towns big and small, will have noticed that your approach to the station often involves pedestrian tunnels or at the very least, walking routes which do not obviously appear to be going where you intend. Thus, while I made much better time getting to the train station vicinity, the boy scouts (probably) were going in a different direction from me, so I had to backtrack down an incline and through a tunnel to find the particular labyrinthine route to my own track. This is probably a small town thing, yes? Where your route to your track begins to diverge from others way before you are actually at the station. Regular commuters know that two blocks before they even see the station, they’ll take this little side street, then go under this track, then up some steps and voila, there you are.

The above paragraph is an example of the minutia that I find interesting when I travel.

Back on the train. This is as good a time as any to correct something I wrote in a post a month or so ago. Contrary to my memory, the train cars no longer seem to carry destination cards on them. Perhaps this only occurs when a train is going to split en route. The track banners (or whatever you call the changing signs hanging near the tracks) do change to reflect the next train to arrive at a particular track. And I still love the blue charts which show you exactly at which position along the track you should be standing for a particular set of cars.

The scenery between Fluelen and Bellinzona changes with every mile. Blink and you’ll miss something so unlike where you come from that your brain practically tingles with new grooves. The mountains, tunnels, bridges (over which I thank my lucky stars I am not driving) pass by, and the flora changes, the houses change, the language. In Cadenazzo, just before Locarno, I changed from train to bus (the one headed for Dirinella). The last train connection to Gerra had already left Cadenazzo for Luino at 17:52. We wound through neighborhoods and towns, finally to the lake and along its via cantonale to Magadino, Vira, San Nazzaro, and Gerra Gambarogno, where I got off at the Post Office stop.

Hot. No one about. The one little grocery store was closed for the day. The Albergo al Portico (the Panorama’s competition decorated with murals on the street side, but eliminated from my consideration years ago as soon as I found out that I could have my very own 3’ x 4’ sea-side balcony instead), open for business, was attracting a couple of cars with fanciful little awnings shading the open back windows, or were they hatchbacks with little striped awnings? Something to think about when I’m more awake. I’d already decided that for me, night life would include a shower, cheese and crackers, the bottle of lemonade I purchased somewhere, an hour or so to watch the lights come on across the lake, and bed.

Not to break the exquisite spell that I’ve cast upon those of you who travel two-star and savor every second, but I’ve got to tuck in a practical thank you here to two people, whose logos I cannot recall, who advised me re my cell phone decisions. I hope you’ll know who you are. The quad band world phone worked a treat. There were loved ones with whom I needed to stay in touch, and T Mobile never let me down.

I’ll write more when I can. No doubt the remaining days will require fewer words. You know how the first day is. Everything is just so Switzerland, you are almost delirious with the joy of the beginning. J.

Hi jmw,
Your trip honestly sounds heavenly; a true break from the fast-paced life that so many of us live.
Thank you for writing and I look forward to reading more.

j,

"Everything is just so Switzerland."

That says it all, doesn't it?

I look forward to reading of the rest of your "escape."

Byrd

jw!

I can't tell you -- !!

I can't tell you how joyous it is to read your report!

I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying every single little sensual detail -- the descriptions, the sensations, the conversations!! It's a vicarious feast!

I can't tell you how much I share your bliss on the first train in Switzerland!! aaahhhh. Relax now.

I can't tell you how overjoyed I am to hear and see your wonderful retreat!

Really looking forward to (lots) more!

s

Hi J:

Toll! Prima! Bravo! Mega Geil! Looking forward to hearing more.

Interesting comment about Brunnen. I think Weggis, Vitznau and Gersau are prettier too. However, Brunnen has a train station and is a wonderful place to spend a few hours by the lake. Walk from the ferry dock past the Waldstätterhof until the end of the path and then come back.

Looking forward to hearing about Ticino.

>>>>> I suppose he is one of those “people persons” I hear about but cannot altogether relate to<<<<<<

Yeah, a nice person perhaps?

Most snobs don't I guess.

What a wonderful report! I'm daydreaming :)

Sunstar, you are absolutely right. I stand rebuked. (OMG, was that you?) With apologies, J.

No, I can usually tell snotty people at first glance and keep my distance.

The person was probally excited about the trip and all. I have seen people like that, but I I try and be a little more friendly to people as we take this *big* journey on planet earth.

Ahhhh, I think I'm in heaven reading your report. The green waters of the lake, pushing the button on the train, mesmerized by the scenery going by - absolutely delightful!

We had the joy of staying in a suite at the Park Hotel in Vitznau a few years ago. Oh my, what a hotel! It was a real splurge for us. It was over the Swiss national holiday, with dinner and dancing at the water's edge and fireworks on the lake.

Looking forward to the rest.

Great report! I like the details, when I travel alone I notice those kinds of things also. I would love to take a trip like this someday and hopefully I will...

You've transported me. Thanks.

I'm thoroughly enjoying your report. It's interesting to revisit one of my favorite countries through the eyes of another.

I wanna go!

J, I've enjoyed reading your report.

I like the story.

Thank you.

Wonderful! I will be leaving for Switzerland in four days....hopefully you will post your full report by then! I will look for The Rosengart when I am in Lucerne.

Marigross,

Will you be in Lucerne on the evening of July 4th? I've organised a city guide for my English students and still have space for more participants. Cost: SFr. 10-15 for a two hour tour.

We'd love to have some native English speakers with us.

wow, sunstar, truly uncalled for.

The op has been tending diligently to family matters and postponing this trip for four years; I imagine the first moments on the plane were drops of unmitigated joy that the op only wanted to relish. The boorish interloper was more than just dense; he was a joy-kill.

Speaking as an introvert, I find that talkative people literally drain the energy right out of me. It's not benign. I protect myself against their "excitement" by being a lot more rude than jmw was. I applaud jmw's restraint and attempt at tact!

Go, jw, go!

s

When faced with the possibility of jetlag vs conversation, it's not a choice. First thing I did transatlantic was take an Ambien and I sure wouldn't want anyone to disturb me. Nothing rude at all about that!

jmw44, this is delightful. I am enjoying your writing style and the detail. Please continue and don't worry about wanting peace and quiet on your flight. No need to apologize.

You are my definition of wry... I am enjoying this too. Haven't been to Switzerland for oh, nearly 40 years...
OK ... your visit has put it back on my list!
Please continue... you got me with reminding me of the colors of dusk after rain and hydrangeas...

jw, quite lovely! Thank you!

I, too, am one who prefers to be left mostly alone during my solo flights. I felt guilty about it for a while - thinking I needed to kindly listen to and nod along with the "people persons" or "nice people" or whatever you would like to call them, for as long as they want to talk. Then I realized - why should they get their way over I getting mine? I am not rude to them, but I don't believe it's wrong of me not to sacrifice my own pleasure of solitude, in order to give them their pleasure of company.

Thanks for the hellos, the kind words, and the constructive criticism. TA, byrd, S!, schuler, Faina, kopp, cls, pilgrim, melnq, gabe, marigross, llinda, sunstar, gomiki, suzieC, suspire, et al., I’m amazed you’ve taken the time to slog through this stuff. There are so many good writers at this forum, and so many truly experienced travelers, I can hardly believe I have the audacity to try a “trip report.” I type it in Word, because there are so many interruptions during my days that I lose my train of thought. It looks like I won’t even be able to complete day 2 today. Mea culpa.

Sunstar, the only defense I can come up with for my poor flight etiquette is that my seatmate was not a tourist bursting with excitement. He was an American lawyer returning to his company’s satellite in Bern. What I had hoped would be a time of settling my thoughts and emotions was for him a 9-hour cocktail party. Admittedly, some of the topics he covered have popped into my memory since then and are indeed interesting. At the time, he was just overwhelming. I did try to explain that I needed what my niece and nephew would call some quiet time. But mostly, you are right. I was snotty, he was a nice person.

What did I forget from yesterday. Did I mention the green water of Lucerne’s lake? It’s not just green. It’s the iridescent green of a Tiffany vase, sort of shimmery. Glancing at what I wrote yesterday, what I really should have been blasted for was that totally gruesome scene of cheese and crackers and bottled lemonade. In hindsight, it is awful. At the time, it wasn’t so bad considering how tired I was. I should have made something up from the point of view of aesthetics (after all, who knows if we’re telling the truth here or not). It was one of those times when, if there had been someone traveling with me, he or she would have nudged me to perk up and stroll back to the Al Portico for a proper meal and a glass of wine. But one of the things about traveling solo (for good or bad in this case) is that you don’t have to perk up. You can open the balcony doors, turn the crank that raises the louvered shutters (I love those things), and stretch out to lose yourself in the view of the water, the mountains, and the towns across the way.

Did I mention it was hot outside? The 15-room (don’t know where I picked up that number) Panorama was closed up, reflecting the sun’s heat back toward the lake. Lovely thick walls. When I (remembering lessons learned on previous trips—not to do this in the heat of the day, because seaside faces the west) rolled up the shutters, it was after 8 p.m. and still pretty toasty, but I couldn’t wait another minute. Good news, breeze was coming in off the water, and it was cool. The summer haze lingered to diffuse the edges of everything, so when the sun finally gave up somewhere beyond the Centovalli, the view from my room took on the appearance of one of Monet’s muted paintings, not the big ones in which the colored brushstrokes flicker, but the smaller ones where everything is blended and subdued, almost like you’re looking through tissue paper.

And then the lights began to appear far to my left in the perched village of Pino (well certainly not CT perched or Riviera perched, but to a flatlander), the two Roncos right across from me, and Brissago. When I woke up sometime around 2 a.m., I looked outside to remind myself where I was and reached for the comforter. Yes, Ingo, there are trains in the night. Think Polar Express, think childhood. I love trains. My mom and I used to take the Panama Limited, sometimes the City of New Orleans, north to south, south to north, grandparents at one end, grandparents at the other. Trains make me sleep better. J.

The next day was Corpus Christi. I was up by 5 a.m. to sit on the balcony and watch the early sun paint first one village and then another. At the risk of driving some of you crazy, the colors were creamy. The rest of us were still in shadow where the water remained lavender and blue-grey. Just as I hoped it would be on this return visit, the same (I’m certain) little boats were bobbing, same gentle lapping at the shore, same two or three neighborhood birds, same (thank you, thank you) clay tile roofs of houses tucked right at my feet.

We’re clustered between the highway (via sounds so much more) and the shore. Jumbled. Coming from a place where one’s property is surveyed and marked off with fences, this is an amazing thing. There are steps down from the road and then narrow cobbled paths for walking. I really have to watch my step because the surfaces are so uneven. Flowers growing out of crevices. Palm trees and willows. From my room I can look down on the top of Hanni's grapevine-covered pergola.

Gerra does extend across the via cantonale and up the hillside above the train station. And the train station is itself reached by a slope that weaves between more residences and parking niches and gardens. (You should see the station master’s garden! Pristine. He --if he is a ‘he’-- is never seen, at least not by me. There is a small box with a button into which you can ask for information. But there’s always a motorcycle parked carefully with its cover, and old roses dripping from the eaves at the back where you can see a glimpse of a little terrace.

If you ride one of the lakeboats, you can see some modest condo building going on higher up the hillside. Along the via, there are older buildings being renovated into apartments. Come quick. I’ve only explored the part of Gerra between the via cantonale and the water. When I see ladies older than me trudging up the zig-zag street that goes under the tracks and ever upward, I think “how can they do that?” Is that why they can eat all the sausage and cheese they can hold? (another duh.) J.

Breakfast on the terrace. Breeze. A view you can’t take your eyes off of. (For an old biddy, I can hardly resist doing my Meg Ryan imitation. You know the one where she’s walking through that marvelous town in Provence waving her arms around saying ‘beautiful, beautiful!’?) It’s wonderful to see Hanni again. Axel told me Hanni discovered this wonderful place in the summer of 1969 before they were married. Years later, when it came on the market, they succumbed and it’s been home ever since. I asked Hanni if they had gone anywhere special on vacation this past winter when the hotel was closed. She answered “why, when we can stay here?”

She introduced me to the newest member of the Panorama team (already Axel, Hanni, Claudia, and Patrizia), Speedy, an orange tabby underwhelmed by visitors. I’m probably misspelling his name, but it sounds like ‘speedy.’ Speedy comes and goes according to his own schedule. Claudia says that mostly he just comes home now and then to see if everyone in the family is where they’re supposed to be, and then he’s off again making the rounds.

Breakfast is set up buffet style, with the cheese, salami, ham, cereal, yogurt, soft-boiled eggs, rolls, bread, preserves, honey from Ticino bees (I think that’s what the little card says), orange juice, and coffee that all you Swiss (probably all the alpine countries) devotees have come to look forward to. The buffet table is arranged, I should say composed, with great care. Silver cover over the cold cuts and cheese (You’re right, I’m first down in the mornings). Serving spoons and forks placed just so. Egg cups, glass dishes for cereal, yogurt in a white crock with ladle, the glass pitcher of orange juice set within a cooler. White tablecloth. Do you frequent travelers take that sort of presentation for granted? I hesitate to disturb its symmetry. But I do. If I didn’t remind myself that I should be out and about in the cool morning hours, I could linger two hours, no question about it.

To those of you for whom this is sounding grand, I feel I must mention that, unlike four summers ago, this time napkins were paper. For a second I was actually disappointed, can you believe such nerve from someone who uses paper towels at home, serves from the stove, and maybe grabs an iced tea spoon to place next to the jar of Albertsons’ marmalade? Then I reminded myself that resources are not unlimited, everything is expensive. Laundry costs are prohibitive for two-star family-run hotels which may only have three or four rooms occupied during shoulder season. Each ensuite bathroom (very small with the sort of shower you buy and set into an already small existing space) contains a card asking guests to indicate which towels and when laundering is required. On the other hand, unlike my laminate-swathed bathroom at home, the Panorama’s have ceramic tile covering floors and ceilings. My building budget didn’t even allow me to look at a ceramic tile catalog. I guess my point is that people choose how to spend their limited resources. The Panorama is rock solid. My bedroom shudders when I run my clothes drier in the kitchen. I really do have to have that thing leveled. At the Panorama, it wouldn’t matter. I digress. At this time of the day, the windows and doors are all open, inviting in the cool air, the better to trap it for later.

You know how it is, you have this long wishlist of places to see “on your next trip”, and my friends here know how long my list has grown. I barely made a dent. OK, so I’ll have to come again. I had two targets on my agenda for Corpus Christi: the modern art museum in Ascona and the pilgrimage church of Madonna del Sasso above Locarno with boatrides in between. I love both towns, Ascona particularly, so strolling and sitting on shady benches fill in whatever unscheduled time there might be.

For you shoppers, the windows of Ascona are the most tempting in Ticino. I am not a shopper. But I tell you, the window displays are killers. And not just visual. One small leather boutique drew me in with its scent! I dared not touch a single exquisite thing. Anyway, the boat stops at Gerra’s dock on its way to Ascona at 10 a.m. Later, J.

>>><<<I did try to explain that I needed what my niece and nephew would call some quiet time. But mostly, you are right. I was snotty, he was a nice person.<<<>>>

Ok, while I was pointing out snotty behavior, I was being snotty also. LOL

I had this one lady who sat next to me who was petrified that she would not find her way around once we landed in Zurich. She talked a blue streak to me also.

As it just so happened she was headed to Lucerne as well as I. I showed her how to get down to the Zurich Bahnhof, which I had problems with also since that area was under construction at that time.

I then showed her where to get her tickets and even showed her what track to board her Lucerne bound train.

I even showed her how to read the arrival and departure train boards. With practice, people can do it easily soon enough.

But during the flight she talked quite a bit about possibly missing her connections.

But I do know that first time travelers can get chatty. I always figured this to be nerves along with excitement!

Anyway, I acted less than grand myself.

BTW, I enjoyed your report!!!

Now that I'm slipping off into dreamland by your latest segments, I think I'll copy your report, fill my tub to the brim with hot water and bubbles, and luxuriate while re-reading all about your journeys.

So true about the breakfast arrangements being so perfect! I love all the different pots, one for coffee, tea, hot chocolate, the way the fruit is segmented and placed lovingly on the tray, the meat slices folded so gently, and the vast array of jams, many homemade from the region. (Albertson's jam...ha! ;)

July can't come fast enough for me. We're spending 3 weeks in the area.

Day 2 continued: I grabbed my straw hat and walked to the boat dock. You can see a picture of it if you go to
http://www.hotel-panorama.ch/englisch/index.htm and then click on scenery. It’s at the bottom right. You might notice that the Panorama has a webcam. It’s one of those tiny little things you can set on a table. The picture quality really does not do the ambience or the views justice. Sometimes if you look in at about 8 or 9 p.m. their time, the light is better, but not always.

There were two couples waiting at the dock besides me. We were able to purchase our tickets on the boat. Unfortunately, the Italian navigation company does not accept the Swiss Pass. The boat comes from Brissago and will continue on to Locarno. It stops at San Nazzaro between Gerra and Ascona, and it takes about 30 minutes for my portion. On a previous visit, I purchased a three-day lake pass at the dock in Locarno. It was good for all routes on the entire lake. The perspective from the water is like no other. The weathered colors of the stucco, the church spires, the dense greenery.

The approach to Ascona tells you that this is a different ballgame altogether. We’re talking resort. Fortunately, whoever makes the decisions in Ascona has determined that this resort will not sacrifice aesthetics for commercialism. It is a beautiful waterfront, a graceful promenade, hotels in keeping with the proportions of the setting. I ducked immediately into one of the pedestrian streets leading toward the church of Saints Peter and Paul and the Casa Serodine with its lovely ornate façade.

Just as on my last visit to Ascona, I was in time to attend most of the special mass. Corpus Christi requires a packed church, choir, incense, and lots of red. Some of the music was in Italian for congregational participation. The Kyrie, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei were not only in Latin, but were the settings that I remember learning in elementary school. At the end of mass, everyone bustled about in preparation for the Corpus Christi procession which would escort the monstrance containing the consecrated bread of the Eucharist to a place of veneration in the Collegio Papio. Needless to say, I did not know all of this beforehand. However, as soon as I stepped out of the dark church and saw people standing along the sides of the street, a brass band tuning up, and little girls with baskets of rose petals being toodled into formation by serious nuns, I was back in the third grade, and it was Holy Thursday. In case you’re wondering, we never had a brass band. The procession, with clergy, brass band (plus drummer responsible for maintaining a serious, reverent cadence), rose-petal brigade, and religious societies leading the way, wound its way along a circuitous route through the old town, with the congregation following. Me, too. How could I not? There were people all along the way, some waiting and some stepping out of shops. One or two locations had set up small altar tables with a candle, flowers, icon, or statue. At the Collegio Papio, we entered the courtyard and stood under the arcades for a very short service around an outdoor altar. I had never been inside the courtyard; the two-story arcaded interior space is beautifully proportioned (16th century?). Then the band led us back to the church where we began. This time everyone said responses to a litany of some sort. Because now the clergy was at the rear of the procession, whether to turn right or left at intersections required some discussion and once even a U-turn.

I wouldn’t have missed the experience of this traditional holiday celebration for anything. When I located the Museum of Modern Art, I found out that opening hours are much abbreviated on holidays such as this one. So I decided that the Rosengart would certainly be the major fine art experience of this trip anyway, and moved on to Locarno. Back on the boat, but first some time to wander the back streets of Ascona, time to admire again the rich patina of textures and worn colors of the buildings, and the shop window displays, too; and then time for harbor gazing on a shady bench. This is where public transportation devotees prove their sincerity. Was this time wasted, when if I’d had a rental car parked God knows where, I could have dashed off to possibly chalk up an additional “sight”? Ahh, you make your choices. J.

We went to Switzerland over twenty years ago because my husband's ancestors are Swiss. I had not planned another trip. You may have changed my mind. What loving attention to details. What a voice you have.
Thank you.
If we are giving out "foddies" for best trip report, I want to nominate yours.
Vera

Vera, what a kind response. Please do return to Switzerland. I find that a few of the towns that enchanted me in the 1970's have begun to bustle, and I read in SwissInfo about the "malling of Switzerland" (shudder), but there are still so many indescribably beautiful places that I personally will be drawn back again and again for as long as I can wobble. Sorry to be so slow in posting my chapters. J.

Love the trip report and your style of travel. I was in Lugano in March and now have a desire to return to see Lake Maggiore (in addition to staying in Soglio which I didn't get enough of). I'm about to look for a website on the Albergo Panorama in Gerra...

What a lovely trip report! I know the area of Locarno (actually, Muralto), as I manage to get there at least once a year. I went to Ascona a few years ago, but it was very crowded, so I did not stay long. Lago Maggiore is a truly lovely destination.
Carol

and so:
I thought about schuler and ingo’s walk from Ascona toward Locarno as the boat skirted the shoreline headed to the ‘big city.’ Shady upper deck, another sussmost (I know you’re laughing at me), metropolis approaching. I think there were hundreds of people milling around the debarcadero eating icecream. I walked to Locarno’s excellent tourist information office for a map and some advice about the plug on my cell phone charger’s converter. No problemo. Who knew that it was ok to plug a two-prong converter into a three-hole outlet? Pas moi. I also got a quick refresher on the whereabouts of the funicular to Madonna del Sasso. Somehow I had omitted the sanctuary from previous trips. Time to correct that oversight.

It was only a couple of minutes walk from the information center (Piazza Grande, or is it Lorgo Zorzi?) to the funicular tucked into a corner on the via Ramogna, not far from the train station. On previous visits, I walked right by it without so much as a notice. Again and again, this naïve traveler is reminded of the contrast (to the truly map/direction/terrain-challenged traveler, it seems more like contradiction!) between the sense of place one gets from a map, from a lake boat, and from street level. There was only a minute or so to wait before the funicular was ready to ascend. (Discount with the swiss pass.)

As we rose above the city, I could see the steep walking path, a Way of the Cross that originally had the stations marked by altars. (?) I’m not clear on this because I could see what looked like devotional niches placed along the route through what is described as a “wooded ravine.” (That phrase really makes me wish I could have bucked up and given it a try.) But I’ve also read that there were life-sized terracotta sculptures along the way at one time. They are now on display inside the church complex, and they certainly would have required more space than a niche. Ingo, if you’re around, I’ll bet you’ve walked it and can educate me here. Guidebooks and websites say you can reach the sanctuary in 20 – 45 minutes (one says 20, one says 30 – 45). I could only imagine how much more impressive the experience of Madonna del Sasso (Madonna of the Rock) would be if one walked to it for one’s sins. J.

The funicular serves more than the sanctuary. I assumed that my stop was the one at the top. Small mistake shared by several others. We had to walk down a bit, and then back up some steps. Already we could feel as though earth, rock, trees, and masonry were circling to shelter us from the world. It was almost like walking into some sort of massive seashell. That’s a terrible analogy. I can visualize the similarity in my mind, but I don’t have adequate seashell vocabulary to put it into words (you may take a sigh of relief here). Our approach to the pilgrimage church is through a cluster of buildings, but when you reach the outer court of Madonna del Sasso, the renowned breathtaking views of city and lake spread out before you. My old Phaidon Cultural Guide tells me that the place of pilgrimage was founded in 1480, the church built in the 16th and 17th centuries, and “radically altered” in the 19th. Which altogether probably means that there’s been a lot of well-intentioned tinkering with the original concept. No matter. I like to balance my austere experiences with over-the-top ones. I’m getting ahead of myself.

Before you reach the church, you follow markers through the parts of the annex (or is it the monastery?) open to the public. And it is along this way that I saw those life-size terracotta sculpture scenes mentioned earlier, each set into its own space. If my old Phaidon is correct, and even it says “probably”, they were created in the 17th century by Francesco Silva. (This will be one of my self-assigned topics for research. You won’t be surprised that my list of those is even longer than my list of places to see in Switzerland. Ingo, feel free to direct my search.) Anyway, they are marvelous. Just marvelous. The Last Supper is compelling, but Pentecost just blew me away. I wish the light had been just a little better, but oh my. You’ve got to stop in your tracks and say to yourself, “I’m not taking another step until I absorb this piece.” As I write this, I’m already regretting that I did not sit on the floor and look longer. Of course the figures are weathered with worn and peeling colors that are so endearing (what can I say, I love old stuff), but there are doves perched upon the heads of the apostles! The Holy Spirit has never been so lovingly nor so comfortingly portrayed. Now this will no doubt be insulting to both Francesco Silvo and to proper art historians, but there is something of the innocence of what we label ‘folk art’. The visual expression of faith and prayer. Now if it turns out that Silva is considered to be the most sophisticated sculptor of his time, I’ll be embarrassed.

The church is always described as “ochre”. Too simple. (Laugh permit.) The ochre that comes out of a paint tube is too harsh for the look of this pretty church exterior. The tints and shades are nuanced and much more beautiful than that. Look at the pictures anywhere on the net. Are these colors from the 19th century? Ingo? My favorite photographs are like the ones on postcards, because the delicate architecture and colors of the church are complimented by the unadorned stone-arcaded walk that winds its way downward. Now guess what? I’m not going to catalog the images and the embellishments inside the church. It is just as you would expect, impressive. Glorious. As I entered, I knew full well my heart was back at the feet of the apostles waiting for one of those little doves to take flight and rekindle my own frail belief.

I’ll return to Madonna del Sasso. Not only because it is already pulling me, but because I know from experience that I never experience a place thoroughly on my first visit. For all my preaching about slowing oneself down, I’m a fairly superficial traveler. I’m saying to myself already, why didn’t you take those steps leading down to the left to see where they led? At the time the answer was “because, you twit, you’ll have to walk back up again.” Whimp. (spellcheck says wimp, but IMO “whimp” says wimpier than wimp.) Well-marked directions led me along a wooded way to the funicular stop (that we glided by earlier) labeled “Santuario”, where you sort of perch until your transportation arrives to bring you back down to the happening part of Locarno. Time to head home.

Oh, I almost forgot. I had read about the monastery museum with its collection of liturgical art including icons. I found it, but the best I could make out from the banner that hung near the heavy locked door was that, rather than the scheduled hours I had anticipated, one could arrange to enter by phoning ahead to make an appointment. I don’t read a single word of Italian. There was a phone number. I don’t know if this applied to holidays or if tightening the budget meant eliminating a museum person, I really don’t know. Ingo? I was more disappointed to miss this opportunity than my arte moderne snag earlier in the day. Next time I’ll know what to do. (Yes, friends, this is still day 2.) J.

To be honest, JMW, I'm starting to dislike your report. You've mentioned "people eating ice-cream" but had you done so yourself?

This was the highlight of my food experience in Switzerland. You are loosing a Fodorite Fan Faina here!

You still have time to correct your huge mistake! I'll be waiting... waiting... waiti... wa...

OMG, Faina, you are so right! What was the matter with me! I have no excuse that makes any sense, even to me. To make matters worse, I think it was that very afternoon that I bought a huge slab of pizza from a cart near the Locarno train station. Obviously, my priorities were faulty. Promise to do better next time. (There was, however, icecream at the bottom of my fresh fruit, merangue, whipped cream in a parfait dish with cookie garnish dessert each night. I know that won't get me off the hook, but. . . .) J.

thank you for the wonderful descriptive wry report!!

JMW, I love you, mmwaaahhhhh :*

I ordered "coupe jackues" don't remember the spelling now, sorry, but I do remember the taste, sorry also as not sure when the next trip will be.

Anyway, it had cut pear soaked in rum syrop topped with the best ice-cream in the world! :-x