One of the best--and best written--trip reports ever. Many thanks.

About 15 years ago I took a university summer class in aesthetics for secondary school teachers. Several times during the short semester, we were required to write papers describing aesthetic experiences, purely sensory responses, any reference to the useful or practical was verboten. I never forgot those exercises, but the opportunities to wallow are pretty rare these days. I've got this brother who never completed his college freshman English classes because he thought it was pure nonsense to spend 500 words saying something he could say in one sentence. I'm not sure we had the same parents. Love you all, J.

J, I can't believe I just found this. I am so very happy for you that you had this sojourn. Having had the pleasure of staying at the Panorama and enjoying breakfasts and dinners on the terrace overlooking wonderful Lago Maggiore, I am there with you every moment! Grazie!

Continuing. I think my return to Gerra that day was via the Bellinzona/Lucerne train to Cadenazzo and the Luino-bound local train the rest of the way. Don’t hold me to it. High school kids, shoppers, grandmothers, professional cool as a cucumber ladies and gentlemen who don’t sweat, and a couple of dads who seem to be joining their families for the long weekend, hugs and excited talk, Papa’s here, vacation can begin. Total trip, including changes, under 30 minutes.

A bit of practical information here: At Cadenazzo, trains don’t always arrive and depart on the second as they might do in the rest of Switzerland. Commuters count on making connections, and the trains and buses are scheduled accordingly. From what I’ve observed, the little trains (urban lines S2, S3, etc.) wait for the big ones (inter-regionals, in this case Locarno to Lucerne) to arrive so those coming from the larger towns can connect with the smaller locals like the Luino. One day, I scurried from my Bellinzona-to-Locarno train at its stop in Cadenazzo to make my connection to the little Luino line, only to find that after I did, we remained at the track for 15 minutes past departure time to give folks coming from Locarno (going the other direction, if you can’t picture it) time to board. And mostly the reverse is true, though I remember at least once on my last trip, my S3 coming from Luino to Cadenazzo was so late, the big connecting one heading toward Bellinzona and beyond left without us. I later mentioned this astounding glitch to someone official at the station in Bulach near Zurich. She shook her head with a tsk, tsk, nodded knowingly to her colleague, and said to me “that train from Luino is notorious for not being on time.” A southerner myself, I perceived a bit of down-the-nose attitude toward the lackadaisical disregard for efficiency permitted at the Italian end of that rail line.

I love riding the S3 to Gerra. The towns are so close together that the announcing (four years ago it was a wonderfully gruff sing-song voice, but this time it may have been a tape, I hate change) and the sound of the train starting and stopping are music to my ears. That’s a gross exaggeration, but I suppose it’s the combination of the comfortably familiar sounds and the equally familiar stations, towns, and harbors which pass with regularity. The walk from the station to the Panorama is all downhill and it only takes three or four minutes.

There are two ways to reach the via Cantonale from the station. One to the right has a gentle slope for folks pushing baby strollers, carry-on bags, etc. The route I take leads more closely to the Panorama; it’s paved with smooth stones and includes steps and a bit of a foot bridge for variety. There may be two; I know I walk over the street that goes up into the hills and also over a rocky creek that comes from up there somewhere and rushes to the lake. I can check the progress of the gardens as I pass. (Well I could if I had the good fortune to remain here for a decent length of time.) To my right the terrain descends in an abbreviated terraced fashion with the garden plots tucked in here and there and held in place by low stone walls, to my left it just slopes with houses right against the path. I hope my mention of gardens does not give you an inaccurate impression. Between the tracks and the street and between the street and the lake, things are pretty much chock-a-block (and higgledy-piggledy, for that matter). I’m not a great fan of technology, but I would be interested in a software program that could show me how lower Gerra developed over time. How its crazy-quilt (another exaggeration) arrangement came to be. It’s a mystery to me, but it underscores the boring regimentation of my own neighborhood. J.

This is a good time to mention that the Albergo Panorama adheres to this aesthetic. It is on the street. Right on the via Cantonale. I’ve never witnessed any rush hour traffic, however. It’s my perception that sleek little cars appear out of nowhere. More often than not, the street is empty. Silent. I’ve learned to cross it quickly, though, because the very next second, zoom-zoom and then silence again. (Truly, I expect to see that precious little boy from those old car commercials whisper “zoom-zoom” as a warning not to get run over while gazing at the old crucifix painted high on the albergo’s front wall.) One more detail about the hotel. The entrance is at the side at street level. But if you walk down the steep steps on either side to explore the lower reaches, you realize that there is at least one, maybe two more stories below. Please remember that my own day-to-day experience doesn’t include terrain that slants.

Do you remember that 24 hours ago I arrived w/o fanfare? Now the side entrance was open, as I assume it was all day because the Panorama serves lunch. Each time I return on a warm afternoon and step inside, I marvel at how much cooler it is. It’s dark; those thick walls insulate with cross ventilation maintained because the restaurant has such an awning system that the heat from the west doesn’t seem to ever reach the interior. (Not true above stairs.) I introduced myself to Patrizia who was manning the reception foyer which serves as public entrance to both the hotel and the restaurant. Lovely mirror, a tidy display of brochures, an easel on which is placed both the complete carte and that day’s menu (you know, the one price, 4 course special that, even if you don’t have a clue, you’re thrilled to risk it), a lovely paneled bar which is not a bar at all if you know what I mean, a tiny round table with two chairs tucked into the corner, which I noticed seems to be reserved for friends of the family who stop by anywhere from 6 to 8 p.m to drink a beer and shoot the breeze, and a floor so shiny that I walk carefully for fear of slipping. With a smile Patrizia told me she doesn’t speak English, I told her I speak no Italian, we both decided that we’d get along like a house afire, and I opened the glass door leading to the hotel proper and walked up to my room. The hotel smells like the houses of my aunts and uncles with whom I used to visit in Grosse Pointe Park. What is it? The masonry? It’s a lovely scent. A built-to-last scent.

Guess what. Yes, the shutters are pulled down tight, the glass doors closed, curtains drawn (that is one powerful western sun). But, lo! On the little desk there’s a silver tray with a crocheted doily, a bottle of water and waterglass, and a bottle of Ticino merlot and a wine glass! Oh, and a rose in a little vase. Tears to my eyes. Now I should be cool and write that I opened the bottle of wine so it could breathe while I showered. But.
The corkscrew gizmo was too clever for me (mine at home is the kind with the two wings that rise with each turn and then you push downward?). I tiptoed back downstairs so Patrizia could show me how simple it was. More smiles. Molto grazie. Followed by a repeat of what I recognize as my late-afternoon ritual sopra lago (I made that up. Does it make any sense?) But this time soooo much nicer. Bottled water, long shower, shutters (I’m learning to open them only half-way up at first), doors, curtains, breeze stirring the grapevines below me on the terrace, breathe in out, in out, slowly, merlot, (the smoothest I’ve ever tasted), nap, merlot. Ahhh. What’s for supper. J.

What a wonderful trip--I can hardly wait to visit Switzerland! Thank you for writing this.

My table (half-board gets you a reserved spot, though in June the terrace is never filled) is tucked into a shady corner of the terrace near the open glass doors to the fireplace room (read guaranteed refreshing draft even in the warmest weather), and Hanni checks periodically to see that one of those big floppy umbrellas is tilted just so to keep the sun out of my eyes. Now here’s another one of those curious observations I’ve accrued over my stays in Ticino. Most of the visitors at the Panorama are from Germany or from the northern part of Switzerland. So what? So in 87 +F. sunny weather they head for the tables in the direct path of that relentless afternoon Italian sun. Me? I come from a hot and humid clime, never willingly venture too far from the AC, and can’t imagine placing myself at a table where perspiration or squinting might be a possibility. Everyone on the terrace at 7 p.m. is happy to be there. Only one single older gentleman (a regular whom I’ve noticed via the webcam) and I seem to be transfixed by the view. Folks with partners or children pay for the blessing of having loved ones to share this paradise by being required to look away in order to converse, but they do so sparingly and quietly, and their communal enjoyment of the setting is apparent. I’m not the only one who, upon realizing that this is one of the most perfect places on the planet to spend an evening, sets about stretching the dinner hour to at least two (for me, usually from 7 to 9 p.m. more or less). The majority of visitors to the restaurant (non residents) seem to arrive around 8 and linger later, but two or three trips back, I remember Axel asking us to come for our half-board supper at around 6:30 or 7:00 and we tried to accommodate. Perhaps it is because he’s a one-man kitchen and he knows that later in the evening drop-ins will order grander and more complicated things from the carte?

Because I’ve made a respectable dent in my private bottle of merlot on a virtually empty stomach, I wisely go with water naturelle. (I drink more water one week in Ticino than I do in six months at home. (No lectures, please.) Hanni always comes to the table to tell me what my menu is for the evening. She must think I have no powers of discrimination whatsoever, because no matter what she says, I just nod happily and say it sounds wonderful. I mean I practically wiggle in my chair with anticipation, is that sophisticated or what? Every
time I’ve come to the Albergo Panorama (this was stay number 4), I’ve accepted half-board. Not once has the menu been the same. On the first trip, the starters were often pasta (cannelloni, spaghetti with pesto, etc.). Another time, they ranged from bresaola, to avocado baked with provolone, to my all time favorite, cold vitello tonnato. This time all the starters were homemade soups (you know, like from scratch?). I used to spend my non-traveling years yearning for something I remembered, only to find out that when I returned several years later it was nowhere to be found. I’ll just have to get over that, but it’s hard. Evidently, Axel not only plans his weekly offerings based upon what he finds at market, but he’s also constantly trying new things. I think this year he must have purchased a new indoor grill, because there seemed to be a lot of “from the grill” offerings. Or could it be that healthy eating has reared its ugly head? Say it isn’t so. I did notice that there were fewer rich sauces. Perhaps it’s global warming. There were more rich dishes on the carte in the old days when the temps were distinctly cooler in June. Another grudge that I can hold fast to, as if I had no part in the cause of the problem.

The soup this night was a cream of legumes. I love soup starters. On warm nights like these, I just sort of kick back and let them cool just a bit, sniffing their aromas (not to worry, I was very quiet) with an expression on my face not unlike Speedy’s (remember him?) when things are going pretty much the way he would like. It was delicious. Fortunately I’ve learned not to slurp. Is it the Greek culinary philosophy that food should be served at room temperature, because flavors are enhanced? Whoever, I am in total agreement. Next, there was the vinaigrette salad with which you are all familiar, the kind that is artfully composed rather than ‘tossed’ (what we do to our salads down south; we are such philistines). This night the palette was baby lettuce, fava beans (not positive here, but big), carrots, beets, tomatoes, sprouts, and olives. (grosser gemuseteller mit saison gemuse) Remember, while the evening meal continues, the light and the colors of the tile roofs, the lake, the villages, the hills and sky are changing more often than the “Piatti”. Those of you for whom travel is first and foremost a sensory joy can well relate to the exquisite explosion of sensations when there is both a feast for the eyes and a feast for the tastebuds. It’s almost too much to absorb. An aside, I know many of you live in locales where your neighborhood restaurants offer both. Count your blessings!

The Piatte Principiale (I’m probably messing this up trying to impress) was Picata di maiale Milanese con spaghetti al Pomodoro. Obviously, I’m not remembering this. I wrote it down in my little notebook, and now I’m having trouble reading my handwriting. Excuse any e’s that should be o’s, etc. Pork, yes? Very tender. Maybe a bit of lemony flavor, though I could have been imagining that because everything I cook ‘piccata’ has lemon on it. This was melt in your mouth scrumptious. Can you believe I’m still eating? Not the most dexterous spaghetti handler on the planet but no worse than my heroes, the ladies in the film version of “Enchanted April.” I forgot to mention that I consumed a big piece of crusty bread along with the salad. Are you ready for this, Miss Manners, I broke it into a few small pieces and sopped up (I just cannot think of a better word) the last few drops of vinaigrette and veggie juices on the salad plate. You’re thinking, good thing she’s in a shady corner out of the spotlight, so to speak. I simply could not help myself. But I was dainty. It could have been worse. Dessert. I forgot the sweet. (“the sweet,” isn’t that great?) The basic plan this trip was icecream on the bottom of the parfait dish, then fruit with perhaps a bit of crunchy meringue, then real whipped cream with a few homemade (I swear) sprinkles to compliment the flavors below, and one of those cookie straws. That night the ice cream layer was vanilla with slivers of bitter chocolate (ditto on top of the whipped cream) and the fruit layer was peaches. What a lovely ending to a marvelous day. I’ve pretty much used up my stash of adjectives. Time to dig out the thesaurus. J.

J ~ You're painting such lovely pictures. I can still remember the 52 boats (I counted while I watched the sun set over the mountains) bobbing off the shore on the Gerra side of the lake. It's amazing how much time a man can spend fiddling around with this and that on his boat, never really seeming to accomplish much. And I remember sitting for a long time with a fellow Fodorite, watching a mama bird trying to make her baby try out his wings on the shore of the lake, just down from the library. The joys of doing nothing much but seeing everything.

Hello jmw!

I am so glad you finally jumped on a plane and went back to your lovely Gerra for a short vacation (yes, retreat!).I followed your trip report from the first posting on, but have not found enough time so far for posting a response which would do your effort justice. It is so amazing! I love your style of writing! I can almost see you sitting on the terrace of your hotel and enjoying the dinner.

Yes, you are right about that Via Crucis (Way of the Cross) from Locarno up to Madonna del Sasso. The life-sized terracotta sculptures which are now on display in the monastery are works by Francesco Silva from the early 17th century. They were originally located in small chapels at the Via Crucis. I have not seen such chapels when I walked up (yes, I did and it took about 30 minutes incl. some photo stops!) so I guess they do not exist anymore.

The church interior was redesigned 1903-25. Yes, the colours are from that restoration. But the stucco works are from the 17th century, the main altar is from 1792 (picture 1485-87). Did you notice the painting by Bramantino (1520) in the southern nave? All in all I found the church to be a bit overly decorated.

I'll try to find out about the museum. No idea if they abbreviated the opening hours.

Please go on posting ... I cannot wait to read more!

Ingo

Good day jmw44, I just saw your wonderful thread today and I am so glad, it is exactly what I needed after a few very stressful weeks.

I have only been in Switzerland once, we stayed along Lake Maggiore. I though at first the hotel we stayed at was "yours" but after looking at the website I don't think so. But the hotel we stayed at was very similar.
And my reaction was exactly like yours. I do not know why I have never gone back.

Being in a quiet reflective mood is certainly how I am. I have mentally dismissed any trip idea I have come up with for one reason or another. I now realize, thanks to you, what I need is a retreat type of trip like you took. Hopefully I can work this out.

I will not even try to describe to you how much your thread has meant to me as I mentally travel with you throughout your wanderings, your time in your hotel room, your meals.

I so look forward to your next installment. May you have many more trips that bring pleasure to your soul.

Thanks for the info, Ingo. "May you have many more trips that bring pleasure to your soul." From your lips to God's ear, loveitaly. And catbert, what library? Did I miss the library? Must run now; I'm roasting a bunch of heads of garlic, a la Julie Child. Makes the house smell so good. Borrowed the dvd set of her French Chef series from the library (speaking of). What a kick. Ah, and time to move the sprinkler around the yard. Busy, busy. Love you all, J.

Hi. I'm really sorry to be so slow to work on day 3, but here's part of the reason why: the "prospetti" at ticino-tourism.ch. Click on 'promotional materials'. I was trying to find some information about Domenico Pezzi, whose frescos in the parish church in Carona have me puzzled. When I googled his name, the pdf files from ticino-tourism came up. Oh my goodness, what a gold mine. S', I think you usually download these sorts of brochures, yes? Anyway, the one on "contemplation" (surprise, surprise) has me hooked. The second file of the three is the one in English. This may take awhile. I'm making my to see list for my next trip. :) J.

J, I think it was a small library. The street that runs down from the train station goes to a park, right? If you stay to the right heading down, there's a school and a small library. Then a grassy park area. There were people swimming off the small dock in a roped off swimming area.

Second test. Trouble with posting function.

Can too many adjectives or outrageous punctuation break the posting function? I hope not.

Day 3. Before I boarded my plane for Zurich, I had only a three day wish list. By now two were accomplished. Day three was, for me, ambitious. I wanted to see Carona. Ingo has written so often about it. I also intended to stop in Bellinzona on my way back to visit the church of Santa Maria delle Grazie. And both last and least, I had it in mind to stand on a street corner somewhere to watch stage 7 of the Tour de Suisse. Now why this strange brew? You might have noticed that I arrived on Wednesday, Thursday was a holiday (no buses), and Saturday and Sunday would have limited bus connections to supplement the trains. A visit to Carona requires either walking or busing or car rental. Stage 7 brought the Tour to Ticino on Friday, with the riders passing through Bellinzona late in the afternoon. (FYI the tds is a 9-day bike race, and I really wanted to catch a glimpse of Jan Ulrich.) I knew I could linger to see the riders pass by and still have several choices of trains or train/bus combos to get me back to Gerra for a late supper.

If this was going to work sensibly, I would have to catch the early trains (7:14) to Bellinzona and then Lugano-Paradiso, followed by a bus to Carona (arriving 8:53 a.m.). There were later options, of course, but I wanted a long morning in Carona, and I knew that early meant cool for walking hither and yon. I had no real picture in my mind of how big Carona might be nor of how far my Madonna d’Ongero might be into “the woods.” (That’s another one of my handicaps. Even with a legend stating the scale of the map, I’m invariably shocked at either how small or how large a place is or how far apart landmarks might be.) Thursday evening I shared my plans with Hanni and Patrizia so they’d know not to expect me at breakfast (service isn’t until 8 a.m.). Not for the first time, their kindness floored me. “Oh, we’ll put something out for you in the hallway outside your door before we close tonight.” After much no there’s no need and please don’t trouble yourself on one side and Hanni showing me a selection of coffee thermos bottles for this very purpose on the other and Claudia (who’d just happened by) asking how many sandwiches I’d like (how many?), it was decided. Feeling guilty and too late for early to bed early to rise anyway, I spent 90 minutes on my balcony meditating on the twinkling lights.

5:30 a.m. Sunrise is already underway, and I had not intended to miss a single one. Pino, Brissago, Ronco Sopra Ascona, birds, wavelettes, bobbing boats snug under their covers. How will I pull myself away and into action (It takes considerably longer to make myself presentable than it used to; am I alone here?). But first, tiptoed to the door and turned the key quietly quietly. Oh my goodness. Please, God, don’t let me drop this tiny table with its pretty plaid tablecloth and bountiful harvest. For once, I was smooth. I’ve mastered ‘quiet’ when I travel alone, but ‘smooth’ is about 50/50. Sure enough, coffee in thermos, two sandwiches wrapped in clear plastic and placed in a basket (one cheese, one salami), packets of butter, margarine, and jams, and a bowl of fruit (two apples and a banana). Eat here or ready to take along. Amazing. I’m absolutely certain that for you folks this little production is no big deal. For me it is a joy. Definitely an “eat here” assortment. Have you noticed that everyone but you assembles their breakfast coldcuts into sandwiches to eat with their coffee? My own MO is what my grandmother used to call “open-faced” style without bread on top. Since I really do try not to stare at others eating, I might have missed that the cheese and the salami should be on separate pieces of bread? Have I committed a faux pas by sometimes delicately placing a slice of each on my bread? Truth be told, I even have been known to add just a soupcon of preserves on top. The polyphony of flavors is incredible. (Are you thinking this last bit should have been contributed to the thread about the tacky things we do while traveling?) So I reconfigured the menu and hummed while I ate. Time to get a move on.

Room keys also work for the guests’ entrance to the Hotel Panorama, just at the bottom of my short flight of stairs. I’ve this minute realized that the stairs to my room are few because the ground floor private entrance is several feet higher in elevation than the official entrance foyer just a few steps away, yet both are pretty much flush with the sidewalk. M.C. Escher? Exhilarated by the morning air and the anticipation of a visit to a place I’ve never been, I was at the station by 7:10 along with one other lady. About that smooth-rock path surface (bordered neatly by small slabs of flat stone) that leads to the Gerra station – Do they lay these walkways smooth stone by smooth stone? I have this memory of a summer craft project in junior high, where the little square tiles arrived already regimented on some sort of net support, so you just plopped them down section by section. We surely wouldn’t want a novice craftsperson to have to think about the arrangement. If the answer is smooth stone by smooth stone, I would surely like to see the process.

The only part of the trip to Carona that needs mentioning (in case you try the same thing) is, you guessed it, the change from train to bus in Lugano-Paradiso. I’ve had difficulties with these transitions before. To me, it seems that the bus clientele are so used to the process that there’s no real need to post the kind of precise directions that we travelers find in the train stations. In addition, the train to bus orientations are not consistent from town to town. It’s pretty much a variation on the “in the know” advantage I described way back in Brunnen. I remember the harbor area of Paradiso as a place bustling with summer residents. Not the train station. It is only a smidge bigger than Gerra’s. Because there were a couple of likely routes leading away from the FFS, I repeated my Brunnen coin toss; I followed a couple of folks who looked like they did this every day. Down a bush-enshrouded walkway that paralleled the tracks, we reached the street, and goody, off to my left I could see a bus stop. The posted schedules of the various buses that use each stop indicate the bus number and its final destination along with all the stops on the way. Thank you, Ingo, for telling me quite awhile ago that “Paese” indicates the center of town.

The bus ride to Carona Paese took about 20 picturesque minutes, with ascending switchbacks giving us spectacular views of countryside punctuated by lovely communities. Ciona. I need to study about Ciona. Maybe a Carona/Ciona combo another time? We squeaked through an archway (part of the parish church complex, Ingo?) and the next minute came to a stop at the Carona post office. Voila. Posted schedules here promise almost hourly returns. (Notice that with a Swiss Pass, you never have to find a ticket window or ticket machine, nor hover near the bus driver while you go through your coins to piece together the correct fare.)

Those who do not commute to work or school from Carona are not yet up and around. I can stand at town center with my maporama printout and orient myself. I like this rose-ladened town of nestled buildings already. The yellow signs for walkers point the way and the minutes to various destinations. I’m off to find Santa Marta, said to be positioned above Carona. My way there led me by a number of beautiful buildings, and I could see that there were little piazzas tucked away for exploring later. In no time at all and at a manageable grade of incline, I reached Santa Marta’s hill and a cemetery across the street. I cannot resist cemeteries. I come from a place where cemeteries are included in books on architecture. Here, they could be included in books on architecture and in books on gardening. More than that, the loving family histories signified remind me of other places of my past where continuity with those who came before is treasured and revered. What do I remember about this cemetery behind an iron gate in Carona? It is manicured, of course. It is tended more often than annually on All Saints Day. The Solari family looms large. Ingo has referenced the Solari name in his underlining of Carona’s artistic significance. I’ve added sculptor Tullio di Pietro Solari (Lombardo) to my list of artists to learn more about (I don’t even know if he figured in Ingo’s mention). But in this cemetery, the tomb that enchanted me was watched over by a stoic angel who holds an hourglass in one hand and a trumpet in the other. Mesmerizing.

I followed the hillside path up to the church of Saint Martha(?). Unless I followed the wrong path or stumbled upon the wrong church, Santa Marta is lonesome. The doors are bolted shut and weeds speak of its isolation. But you know I’m a sucker for a place like this. I wanted to hug it. My Phaidon says “medieval in origin, enlarged during the baroque . . . . .(with) frescos dating from 1486. . .” I stumbled my way around the perimeter as far as I was able, but could not find a way in. I retraced my steps back down to the road and continued on in search of my next touchstone, the pilgrimage church of Santa Maria d’Ongero. Along the way I noticed that there were multiple walkers’ signs for Morcote, sometimes on the same post but pointing to toward two contradictory prongs of the proverbial fork in the road. I seem to remember one of our Fodors walkers saying that he had taken the wrong one, so I thought about him at that moment and was really glad that only one yellow sign said “Santa Maria d’Ongero.” By the way, the minutes noted on my yellow signs coincided exactly with the length of time it took me to reach my destination. Go figure. What a lovely wooded walk! Tree shaded with little touches of sun just trickling through here and there. A wide gentle path, the land rising at my left and sloping downward to my right, this morning traveled by one couple with a dog and another family of three and me. Plenty spread out enough to feel solitary and to drink in the colors of light passing through those layers of green. No mosquitoes.

The final approach to this pilgrimage church was designated by another, very straight version of the smooth-stone path, and devotional stations of the cross niches on either side. I found a photograph on the web that exactly matches the way it looked to me.


http://www.beat-kaufmann.com/images/tessinokt0527.jpg


Isn’t it beautiful? (I hope it’s fair to share this link with you. Feel free to correct me if it’s not.) Here I was able to peer through an opening in the front doors to see the lovely interior. Again, however, the doors were locked. I hope you can sense the graceful proportions of Santa Maria d’Ongero. Later in Carona, I purchased a postcard that depicted a view of it from above, and it is even more pleasing to the eye from that vantage point. Must stop now. J.

Day 3, contd. I see that I’ve confused my Madonnas with my Santa Marias until I’m not even certain which is correct for the beautiful sanctuary in the woods. Phaidon says Santa Maria. Beat Kaufmann has his own website. He lives in Brugg. I’ve been trying to find a photograph or two of Santa Marta. I was so close once I reached the crest of its hill and I wasn’t able to walk completely around to see the church from the back. So I’m one of the blind men who conjure up “elephant” based upon limited experience. (Where did that come from?) Ingo, if you’re looking in, perhaps you’ll tell me if the following link is indeed Santa Marta? (Sorry to be such a pest.) I deeply regret that I was unable to enter that church. And if Mr. Raz-Huber’s photograph is indeed Santa Marta, I regret that I’m not an experienced walker who would have known where to scout out that excellent vantage point.

http://de.geocities.com/seppraz/carona/5.jpg

It is one of a collection of excellent photographs taken by Vladimir Raz-Huber.

I walked back into the village, this time peeking into a couple of the side streets and piazzas. There are a few houses with their trompe l’oeil frescos preserved respectfully. With the exception of what I’ll call the red house (with turquoise shutters), the houses here are not primping for tourists. This is not Disneyland. The red house is somewhere between the color of rust and the color of ground cayenne pepper. There is a good picture of a detail at Trekearth if you do a search for Carona. It really is quite beautiful. There’s another house just a bit farther on that has corncobs hanging along its porches. I ask myself; is this posing? I think I’m becoming cynical. Nevertheless, Carona casts a spell over you in the morning hours. I’ll going to return.

My final church of the morning was the parish church of Saint George. There he is above the entrance. To the left of the church there is a loggia with a painted façade. Beautiful proportions enhanced by the gentle rose, terracotta, and muted ochre hues of the frescos. I now know that those are the crests of the first 12 cantons that you see between the windows and the portico. I’ve tried to find out something about the relationship between this building and the church, but I’m really not having much luck researching the architecture of Carona. Any ideas? For example, were the loggia and the rebuilding of the church in the 16th century conceived together? Why is the loggia included in one of my favorite websites, swisscastles.ch? Was it the equivalent of our city hall?

Into the parish church. (Hallelujah, the door isn’t locked.) My Paidon says the interior is lavish. Good word, and I haven’t used it yet. You have no doubt figured out that I travel without guidebooks. This time I left in such a hurry that I didn’t even Xerox or clip. Therefore, my enjoyment of San Giorgio’s interior was strictly sensory. Cool and dark is a welcome contrast with the bright Ticino sun, but it makes looking at the paintings a little difficult. The reduced light is an integral part of the time travel experience, so it’s a fair trade off in my opinion. Tell me, someone, about Domenico Pezzi’s small copy of Michelangelo’s Last Judgment. I was so surprised. I don’t know what else to say. The church is filled with art, but once again, the altar that has stayed in my memory is one with angels. (I’m not one of those people who collects angels, but I might be turning into one. They’re just so beautiful. After twenty years, I still remember a particularly lovely one in the church cemetery in Altdorf.) Anyway, Paidon refers to an 18th century marble side altar, so I’m guessing that’s the one. The altar is set into a recessed chapel, and from within at its right and left, two life-size angels reach out. The guardian angel at the right instructs or admonishes or leads a tiny cherub, or maybe that’s a human toddler. From the left niche, Michael the Archangel (or one of his colleagues) defends us from wickedness and snares.

There’s still time to wander a bit and have lunch (yes, today there’s lunch) in the garden of the Restaurant Posta which I spotted earlier. Carona is a place of textures, yes? Textures and roses. And as it turns out, peonies.
The garden is raised and trellis covered, so the flowering plants, paving stones, and tablecloths are dappled with shadows. Iron chairs and cement benches, take your pick. My table has a single sweet-smelling bloom in a vase. Naturally, I decide that it must be what we call at home an old rose, the romantic floppy kind. Wrong. When one of the restaurant’s family members comes to take my order (I know because she’s in the family photograph in the restaurant window), she says “peony.” What she must think of me. Don’t they garden where this woman comes from? Another post-trip assignment – find out if you can grow peonies and if so, do. Exquisite. Lunch is salade nicoise. More when I can. J.

By the way, I'm finding that the post a reply button at the top works, but the one at the bottom doesn't. If you've a holiday today, enjoy. J.

Jw, it is indeed Santa Marta. From your description of the interior it is obvious (and the picture makes it sure). It is too bad you missed Madonna d'Ongero! Next time, eh?

The Renaissance loggia links San Giorgio with the former vicarage. The frescos by Domenico Pezzi inside San Giorgio are indeed amazing!

Thank you again for posting this wonderful trip report. You make my day(s)!

Regards, Ingo

WOW...thank you for sharing such a beautiful report. Are you an English or Art teacher? You certainly have the soul of a poet or painter. Your writing has transported me to a magical place that I don't want to leave.

Fortunately we will make our first trip to Switzerland, including the Ticino, in September and after reading your magical report I imagine it will feel a little like going home. I can't wait for your upcoming installments!

contd.:
Proofreading after posting is not a good idea. “I’ll going to return” is pretty bad, even for me. After lunch, I had time to write a couple of postcards and make a drawing of said peony before heading for the bus stop. I confess to being just a tiny bit unsure of myself when I use the buses. The place where you are dropped off and the place where you should stand in order to be picked up are not always right together. One summer in Dielsdorf on my Regensberg excursion, the two were not even close and I messed up pretty badly. Fortunately a nice woman at the hotel in Dielsdorf listened to my tale of woe and helped me devise a plan B. (It’s the hotel recommended by Karen Brown, the Lowen maybe. I didn’t stay there, but her kindness wins my seal of approval.) No problem this time. Destination Bellinzona. I only hit one snag, and that was because I thought I could simply retrace my steps from the bus stop in Paradiso to the FFS station. Silly me. When I did just that, I ended up at the station, but standing at the wrong track. (Did I tell you this already?) I had to walk back down again to the city street, walk farther away and under the rail viaduct, and then back up again. Now I was at the part of the station designated as “to Lugano”. The other one was “to Chiasso.” It was one of those times when I was really happy that my bus/train connection was not a three-minute wonder.

In Bellinzona, I think I did a couple of chores. I cashed a couple of travelers checks (left over from four years ago), a service for which I was not charged a penny either of the two times that I used local banks, and the exchange rate was as good as I had expected (or should I say as bad). (I used cash for miscellaneous and my Visa for hotels, restaurants, and gifts for my niece and nephew.) Then stopped in at a post office for a couple of stamps. Next, the very accommodating Bellinzona office of tourism, where I picked up a map and a promise that Santa Maria della Grazie did not require hill climbing. I also received pointers on the best vantage point for the tds stage 7 riders, who were expected to arrive sometime after 16:30. (A tiny tree-shaded square with sculpture along the Viale Portone between Largo Elvezia and Via Claudio something.) But first I walked to Santa Maria delle Grazie. Its fresco covered rood screen did not disappoint. The central crucifixion scene is set off by fifteen other scenes from the life of Christ, each one a jewel. I was the only visitor there.

By the time I had meandered my way back to the town center, the afternoon had become very warm. That shady square with a vacant bench looked good to me. There were small clusters of people milling about, children playing, teenagers being teenagers. Not a crowd. Did I mention that stage 7 finished in Ascona? I could see one of those inflated arches and a sign indicating that there was a sprint opp for points coming up just ahead (I have only the vaguest idea of what that means), but mostly, Bellinzona was just a place for the tour to pass through. So we waited, and waited, and waited. From time to time, sponsors’ cars and the other peripheral vehicles that you would expect to participate drove by blaring their commercial messages. One vehicle looked like a big block of swiss cheese. Police were positioned here and there, communicating with their walkie talkies (is that an antiquated expression?). The local traffic wasn’t diverted until the last possible moment, so I suppose communication was a big deal. One or two helicopters were busy providing those wonderful aerial shots of which I’m so fond, not because I’m a sport, but because I love seeing the views of the towns and countryside from that vantage point. I’m a fan of the photographers of the Giro d’Italia. Their work is gorgeous.

Grey clouds were beginning to roll in. Skies grew just a bit darker. Blessedly, the breeze picked up. Rain won’t stop le tour, but will it stop me? Probably. I left my travel umbrella in the seat pocket of my Delta flight. I hope whoever found it takes it on many wonderful trips. I had heard that Ascona expected the finale to occur around 5 p.m., so they’d better get a move on. What do I know. At long last, we heard a loud speaker on a passing car announce in Italian (can’t imagine how I caught on) that the tete de la course (he must have said ‘testa’ something) would be along in five minutes, with the peloton (again, that’s not the word he used, but it was close enough for me to surmise) passing two minutes after that. Thank goodness. Everyone was refreshed by the news and the breeze and began to walk to what each person considered the perfect spot. Police diverted cars. I was getting really excited! This was so cool for someone who never does anything remotely earning that description. Then Holy cow I see the break away coming toward us! Swissshhh. Applause (no yelling, catcalls or whistles in Bellinzona). That took five seconds. I thought they must be so proud, I hope they can hang on. (Not a chance, my vast knowledge tells me from three years of OLN.) I was fairly certain that the only rider I had a hope of recognizing would be in the peloton. Almost exactly two more minutes passed and sure enough, this powerful, sleek, and graceful mass of riders were heading our way. What a wonderful sound, those wheels on the blacktop (whatever). The marvelous colors of the jerseys. The spectacular synchrony of it all. Swwissshhhhhhh. They were fabulous, it gave me goose bumps. Jan Ulrich. I saw him, I’m positive. What a kick. That took about 8 seconds. Time to head to the station for home. It looked like it could storm any minute. (Portent of cycle controversy to come?) I wonder what’s for supper. J.

HeeHee, from one who gets up early every morning in July to watch the TdF, I totally get it. (Too bad Jan got ousted before the race.) It is a most colorful exhibition. I'm another fan of wonderful Bellinzona. A huge picture of the cathredral, I have to think it's Santa Maria della Grazie, hangs over my fireplace.

We are avid watchers of Le Tour (living in Austin, Texas, it's not a stretch!). A couple years ago we were fairly close (within a 2 hours' drive) of a town the race would be going through. Once within reach, we had to park 3 miles away, then walk. And as you say, we waited and waited, found a great pizza place for take-out and waited some more. The pre-race festivities are quite something.

Finally, the helicopters could be seen, and the great swoosh of the peloton - they were all bent over going mega miles an hour, but fortunately Lance was wearing yellow so we could pick him out. It was very exciting.

Loving this report! ((L))

Thanks, you all. As I headed back quickly toward the station after my live stage race experience, I noticed that the cafes were jammed with people watching the race on television. I won't be able to add to this till tomorrow. Please forgive delay. J.

Contd.: A little FYI here which has been mentioned before. Swiss trains in busy stations run like clockwork. An inter-regional train that you’re to catch at 16:43 probably arrives at the track within 30 seconds of that time. So be really cautious if a train pulls up at your track five minutes before that time, especially if you’re in the middle of a fast change and don’t have time to think because you’re too busy moving quickly. I almost slipped up this trip, and I think it was in Bellinzona. Five minutes before my train was to depart, a train arrived. I had pushed the button to open the door and was boarding when I glanced once more at the blue banner hanging near the track. It had another destination on it and a departure time five minutes before my own. The compulsion not to miss ones train is strong, so I could not bring myself to believe the sign. I asked an approaching railroad employee, and sure enough, it was heading to Lugano, not Locarno. No destination in the engine window, none on the sides of the cars. It pulled out, and a couple of minutes later mine pulled in. Trust those track banners. Just now my curiosity led me to my favorite SBB site, where you can click on the station name to see all trains passing through that station w/in a given length of time. I saw the Locarno and Lugano trains noted five minutes apart, but they were assigned different tracks. Not so the day of my perplexity. So there must have been some construction somewhere that necessitated the piggybacking.

The overcast skies gave the evening terrace views from the Panorama a whole different color palette. The charcoal clouds with gilded edges and the shimmery water (you know, little sparkley places among the dark), the boats all tucked up securely to their buoys. The colors of the tile roofs muted, the grape vines and rivella umbrellas being tested by the wind. I had arrived back with time enough to collapse in my room and regroup before facing my hosts and fellow diners. Good thing.

As I passed through the foyer, Hanni there to welcome, I could hear music coming from a small radio she has at the desk. She always turns it down immediately to engage in conversation, and I never remembered to inquire about the station. One time the program was opera and another time more like the sound of Al Di La, but not. (I have no reason to believe it was the same station each time, but I’d like to think so.) How old are you? If you’re somewhere around my age, you’ll remember the summer of Al Di La (I graduated from highschool that year.) Rome Adventure. I thought if I could be Suzanne Pleshette, the world would be my oyster. Now that I think about it, I believe Rome Adventure was the beginning of my devotion to European travel. I purchased a copy of “Europe on $5 a Day” that summer and wore it out, dreaming and planning. My first trip to Europe with two best friends didn’t come for another five years. We three innocents bought Eurrail passes and away we went. All we knew about European travel was that thick paperback. No itinerary, no reservations. I can remember that trip and those three silly young women and their misadventures just like it was yesterday. But that’s another story.

Supper Friday night was minestrone to begin (delicate, made my tastebuds sing), followed by a different take on the assorted salad with vinaigrette. Then felchen filets served with a bit of golden creamy sauce and risotto. Notice I have not written ‘cream sauce.’ I can make a cream sauce, and this was not it. It was incredible. (I don’t dine at fancy restaurants, so take my superlatives with a grain of salt; pardon the pun, it did not need salt, it didn’t need anything. Perfecto.) A glass of chilled, very dry white wine. Much later I asked Claudia (family sou chef) to tell me what gave the fish sauce its color and unidentifiable (for me) flavor. I guessed saffron—not having a clue what saffron tastes like but remembering that Axel had been experimenting with it some time ago--, nope, wrong season. She was running translations through her mind and came up with curry. Just then Axel came out of the kitchen (by this time, supper was long over and we were having this conversation in the foyer) and said no, no, no, it’s cumin. Mystery solved. We use cumin when we cook Mexican-inspired recipes, but this was different. Isn’t travel wonderful? Dessert. Almost forgot. It was the same basic plan with variations each of my half-board nights. This night the ice cream was vanilla, the fruit layer was rhubarb! The last time I came almost in contact with rhubarb (I wouldn’t touch it), I was a kid visiting northern relatives, and my grandmother was making some sort of warm stewed dessert with it. Axel’s was not purple, and it was very tasty. Again, real whipped cream on top with complimenting sprinkles – which looked like little seeds but turned out to be bitter chocolate.

This concludes the three planned days of my little trip. The two remaining days in Ticino were intended to be reserved for moseying and gazing, time to absorb sensations which will be held on reserve till needed. (I’m a great fan of those mental getaways where you calm yourself, close your eyes, and imagine yourself in a special place. Works for me every time.) If you thought the first three days were uneventful, well you haven’t seen anything yet. Tomorrow will begin with breakfast on the terrace, stretched out as long as I can without appearing slovenly, followed by a visit to Lugano (art museum talk ahead; don’t say I didn’t warn you) and maybe some time on the Panorama’s roof terrace. Or not; it gets really hot up there. If you come back, I’ll see you then. J.

Your trip report is just great; I would love to travel like this. Excellent writing. Have you been enough times to know how to do what you want to, or do you spend the rest of your time in trip planning?

hello jmw44 - it's such fun to follow your adventures in Switzerland, your love for the Ticino and your culinary and cultural explorations. As a child, I've spent many summer vacations in Ascona, learned to swim at the Lido and ended up with blisters on my thighs going by "pedal boat" to Isola Brissago. :-( You make me downright homesick ;-)

Are you familiar with the Swiss radio station DRS? Go to www.drs.ch/drs1.html and click on web radio. On the toolbar you have several choices: DRS 1 plays contemporary pop music; DRS 2 plays classical music; DRS Musigwälle plays traditional Swiss music from 10 pm to midnight, e.g. With luck you might hear a "chorale ticinese" :-)

Thank you for sharing your thoughts and discoveries with us. Your report is a treat!

Thanks, waggis. I'll check out that radio site. Carolyn, there are such long dry spells between my travel opportunities that I depend upon the conversations here to keep me going. I look in as often as I can to see who's traveling where, and I'm constantly copying and pasting information that I glean from swandav, schuler, ingo, and others. I'm always planning. My favorite website is the sbb. The Swiss rail and bus system is so dependable and so easy to use that the entire country is my comfort zone. My friends and I have always chosen small towns as our places to stay, and we've always settled in for four or five days at a time. When you do that, the town begins to feel like home. That is why, when I began to travel solo, I chose Gerra. I had already stayed at the Panorama twice before I ever got up the courage to go it alone. If that's what you mean by traveling like I do, then don't hesitate. Find a small place with b&b's or small hotels and good rail connections. (Rivaz, Cully, Lutry on Lac Leman; Brienz or Oberreid at the foot of the Oberland; or any of the other small places folks rave about here). Please join those of us who continue to return to Switzerland as often as we can, and God willing, have many more visits in our futures. J.

Hello jmw44 - have you ever visited the Basilica di Santa Maria del Monte outside of Varese, Italy? A Christian pilgrimage high up a hill, its 14 chapels are devoted to the mysteries of the Rosary, represented by lifesize statues and paintings. It was on our itinerary last March but we just never got there. The Travel Channel had a wonderful program on it which sparked my interest.

http://tinyurl.com/ek8uh

http://tinyurl.com/humnt

No, I never have, kopp. Thanks for the recommendation. One's to-see list can never be too long, and I'm never too disappointed when I don't get to every place on my itinerary, because it just gives me all the more reasons to return. Yes? I'm still working on my notes from my final two days in Ticino. Don't despair and don't expect too much. It's kind of downhill from here. (No pun intended, but Louisiana is really downhill.) J.

I’ve been following Nancynancy’s trip report with almost morbid fascination. The description of the rope courses which she posted 7/06, 11:23 is astounding. I keep thinking, OMG, OMG. I have vertigo just reading about it! There are several trip reports running right now which include Switzerland. No two are alike. What a marvelous country!

Day 4. Between Friday’s supper and Saturday’s breakfast buffet, there were the required hours of balcony. I bet I blink my eyes only a fourth as often in Switzerland as at home. I probably appear to be so stunned and still that folks who don’t know me might think I’m having one of those TIA’s. Saturday --crisp morning, great breakfast. Why don’t I ever make soft-boiled eggs at home? The yogurt I spoon out of a crock onto my muesli at the Panorama is milder than Albertsons’ Danon. And then I think, hark! Could this be crème fraiche? Philistine. Anyone know from similar experience? I know I could ask Patrizia or Hanni, but I ask them so many questions already. Two kinds of cheeses this morning, one Swiss, one French. Orange juice and coffee taste better on Panorama’s terrace.

I rode the Saturday 9:16 bus from the post office to Cadenazzo, and you know the rest. Lugano by 10:30, I think. At the foot of the little funicular that brings you downhill from Lugano’s station (free with swisspass), you are immediately enveloped in a cornucopia of food and flower scents. My nose always leads me toward the right into a very short, narrow pedestrian lane that is quite dark and makes a bend or two. I can’t tell you the name, and I can’t recognize it with any certainty on my Lugano map. It’s crowded with shoppers, vegetable and fruit stands, and those enticing displays of olives, sausages, and breads that the merchants arrange along the path because they know you won’t be able to resist. If you look beyond those, and I can’t seem to, the shop windows hold gorgeous salads and pastries. 10:30 in the morning! I confess, it’s the display of sausages and the one of olives that gets me every time. Can anything be more beautiful or smell so excruciatingly delicious?

I turned toward the sun-filled Piazza della Riforma with its flower-decked balconies on one side and the Municipal Hall (Palazzo Civico) on the other, and cut across a corner of the piazza heading in the direction of the tourist information office. The tourist office is a good one and faces the Via Albertolli. It’s just across from the beautiful promenade and the lake. There I picked up a map and checked to see if the hours for the Museo d’Arte Moderna (Villa Malpensata) were as I expected. (I had become a little insecure about museums and their scheduled hours.) There were other folks there receiving assistance of all kinds, and their enthusiastic plans made me want to do everything they were anticipating. Much talk of Gandria and Morcote, two of the gold stars in Lugano’s crown and two of my favorite photo opp villages in Switzerland. (Yes, someday I really do want to walk from Lugano to Gandria, or was it Castagnola to Gandria, schuler?) I toyed with the idea of visiting both the Moderne and the City Museum in the Villa Ciani, but decided to compliment one museum visit with a slow turn around the Parco Civico (very shady and gentile; you expect to see ladies with parasols and gentlemen with top hats), a walk along the promenade, some bench-sitting, followed by window shopping under the arcades of via Nassa and my own pilgrimage stop at the church that captured my heart on my first visit to Ticino, Santa Maria degli Angioli.

What is it about that church. It was originally a Franciscan monastery church (the monastery buildings are no longer there, replaced by a hotel), and its exterior is solid and unpretentious.

http://www.vitruvio.ch/arcgallery/gallery.php?id=1315

http://myswitzerland.igougo.com/phot....asp?ID=175027

The first two times I visited Santa Maria degli Angioli, I didn’t even give the exterior more than a glance. For someone who’s supposed to be observant, it usually takes me three or four visits before I can truthfully say that I’ve seen something. I seem to get jammed on one component and disregard other aspects. I read about them or see photographs of them later and think to myself, well I didn’t notice that, or that, or that. So in this case, I was infatuated with the frescos inside this quiet old church and only now am noticing how beautiful its architectural features are. I have included the above links, because my architectural vocabulary is fairly basic, and I don’t have the words to describe this building properly. (You’ve noticed that I say ‘niche’ a lot.) If you have time, read the excellent commentary in one of ticino-tourism’s “prospetti”. I’ll link it below. After all these years, I have finally seen the subtle contrast of textures, the stonework which frames the small rose window, the simple detailing under the eaves of the main aisle, and the sculptural quality of the exterior wall that holds the side altars. I shall show immense restraint and not get started on the nuances of color, which I have to admit are more noticeable in the photographs referenced above than they are in mid-day light. This humble church suffers from being crammed within the hustle and bustle of shopper-tourist paradise. There is no buffer to protect it except for its own thick walls. I wish I could be there very early in the morning before the city awakens, but that will never happen. And this, I suppose, is the one big drawback with staying out of town rather than in the thick of things.

http://www.ticino-tourism.ch/prospet...ntempla_gb.pdf.

The justifiably famous frescos by Bernardino Luini inside Santa Maria degli Angioli are considered to be Lugano’s treasure. The above link contains excellent discussion but not a good photograph of the Passion. I’ve been googling images for quite awhile, but I can’t find a photograph that has the right colors, includes the entire fresco, and is large enough for you to really see it. I hope you can find one. It’s magnificent. The church also houses a couple of other frescos by Luini, but I find that I can’t take my eyes off the rood screen. There is so much to see. It’s a visual masterpiece with main themes and subordinate plots, rich with detail, but restrained in palette and graceful in balance. The following link does contain an interesting quicktime view of the interior of this church.

http://vrm.vrway.com/projects/chiesa_degli_angioli/

I’ll stop here to post, and I’ll summarize my visit to Lugano’s museum of modern art later. It might be sacrilegious to write about my visit there in the same post as my pilgrimage to Mary of the Angels. Brace yourself. The reason for my trip to Villa Malpensata can be spelled out in one word, “Christo.” But my two hours there encompassed one of the biggest surprises of my trip. J.

Day 4, contd. I walked along the promenade to the Villa Malpensata which houses the Museo d’Arte Moderna of Lugano. That weekend marked the conclusion of the three-month retrospective of the works of Christo and Jeanne-Claude. I teach my students about the visual arts, so there was no question about it; I was obligated to see this exhibition. We knew that the art that brought Christo into our art history textbooks was about temporary transformation of structures and places for evocative import. That’s a fancy way of saying that I think Christo wrapped and draped and surrounded big stuff to trigger personal associations and emotions in the viewer. Or not. What I did not expect to find was such beauty. Besides a small selection of early small wrapped pieces, the retrospective included the drawings and collages Christo made at the proposal stage of each his large projects. The Gates, The Surrounded Islands, Running Fence, etc. Huge drawings and mixed-media pieces, let’s say four by eight feet. Some of the most stunning artworks I’ve ever seen. In his collages, he incorporated photographs of the site, topographic maps, fabric samples, pencil, crayon, and sometimes paint. His drawings are breathtaking. He layers crayon strokes of many hues which mix optically to suggest the play of light and shadow and breeze. If he learned to do that by studying the works of the Impressionists, he learned it well. Such richness of process and surface, such a convincing depiction of the proposed installation. The young docents (one in every room) were knowledgeable and enthusiastic. I enjoyed several lengthy conversations with them. They gave me the impression that they were happy to have a conversation rather than having to pace monotonously with eagle eye. You see? --I do interact with people occasionally. (smiley face) OK, I’ll stop.

I wandered a bit more, and then returned to Gerra. Sometimes I think I can enjoy the cosmopolitan ambience of Lugano because I know that at the end of the day, I’ll be back in the peace and quiet of Gambarogno. (There are other villages, by the way; how many years do I have remaining to discover them.) That night it rained while we sat on the terrace. Another transformation of colors. The Panorama has these great awnings that can be extended or rolled back. I have not mentioned them before, but they are red-orange, and they reflect their own warm shadows in the hot late afternoon light, and when it rains they provide shelter while their color turns maroon. I usually return to the United States reminded of the simple architectural ideas that folks in Europe incorporate into their residences and in this case small hotel. Things like the slatted rolling shutters and these excellent awnings, and those windows that open like casements or swing back from the bottom. If I take the time to search the web to find the correct terms here, this post will be three days late instead of two. I don’t have to do any research to know that the cost of such things would be beyond my budget. Back on the terrace in the rain. (Thank you, J, for abridging yet another description of your post-day out ritual, which today did include time for a teeny tiny nap.) The sounds. Rain on the palms, on the tile roofs, on the grapevines overhead. Breeze cooler than what comes out of my AC on a good day at home. Exhilarating. Colors, I already said colors. Everything sort of teal, charcoal, the deepest dullest violet. Eek, that sounds a little Martha Stewart, but maybe you can visualize. And when the rain stopped, all of the haze from the day was gone. The air was the clearest of my visit. Crystal.

Saturday night’s menu was startling. I’ve already made it clear that it has been several years since I was in Switzerland, and I’ve always known that Axel collects cookbooks and widens his repertoire season by season. But, friends, I thought I was in Texas. Spareribs from the grill, baked potato with sour cream and chives! (Tonight’s wonderful soup was cream of zucchini, followed by another pretty salad.) It was delicious, and I’ve never had spareribs in Texas, but you know what I mean. Here’s my question: Are meats from the grill a new European trend? Baked potato with sour cream and chives? Yummy, but it looks a little odd in a trip report, no? A cold Cardinal beer went well with the ribs, but I could have used about a dozen napkins. I might be getting my nights mixed up, but I think the parfait glass sweet had peach ice cream and fresh peaches that night.

Axel came out to sit awhile and visit. We spoke a little about business, “com ci com ca,” (correct my spelling), the rockslide and the closed highway to the north which resulted in some cancellations, about what Axel looks for when he has time for a roadtrip (vistas, water, mountains), about the aesthetic properties of a rainy evening in Gerra, about the Christo/Jeanne-Claude retrospective (Daughter Claudia likes modern art), and then I asked him if he had a suggestion for tomorrow. Hanni and Claudia brought out an exhibition catalog from a museum in Maccagno, a town farther down the road toward Luino. Axel’s computer told us it would be open on a Sunday. Maccagno is in Italy, but Hanni assured me that it was the Swiss rail train that would take me there, so the Swisspass was valid. Every trip should include at least one serendipitous destination, don’t you think? More when I can, J.

So lovely ... I'm absolutely transported!

Hi again jw,

wonderful trip report, I *love* your writing style! Please keep it coming!

Re meat on the grill - it has always been quite common in East Germany, even before the wall came down. Don't know about other countries, you might be right that it is a relatively new trend.

Day 5. Why is it that as I approach the end of my visit to Switzerland, I tend to pull back and lose momentum. (She has momentum?) Relaxing for me, mind-numbing for you. Still up with the sun just in case there is a detail I have not captured yet. If you’re thinking why doesn’t she bring a good camera, my photographs never live up to the memory. I do see some spectacular pictures linked to threads here. (Have you seen Lauren’s of Naxos and Paros? Oh my.) Well maybe next time.

A sweet slow morning, breakfast on the terrace. Hi Speedy, barely a nod in return, he’s off, rounds to make. Lower Gerra must be paradise for a cat. Such a variety of venues to leap to and from, and wonderful places to sit and be catlike. What a good idea. But first I’ll go for a walk below. This very small area between the road and the water baffles me with its layout. I am never correct when I think I know where I’ll end up. The paths (and there are only a few, perhaps only walked by those who live below) are very narrow and paved with flat stones. Wild flowers grow out of crevices. Roses here and there, bougainvillea, and the bluest of hydrangeas. Willows near the water. I may be wrong about the willows. They are not the weeping ones with which I’m familiar, but they’re at water’s edge and their foliage is very whispy and grayish green. Please tell me if you know. I try not to drive my hosts crazy with minutiae. At road level houses, stores, and flats are faced with stucco, but here I’m surrounded by natural stone, grey and cool and moist. This is probably one of those times when the eyes of the visitor romanticize the actuality.

I caught the Luino express and had glimpses of Ranzo, Dirinella, and my vision on the headland, Pino, as I passed by. I probably should never visit Pino, because it cannot possibly live up to its magical appearance at sunrise from a distance. In Maccagno, the station is an easy walk from the lake where the Civico Museo Parisi Valle is located. I followed Hanni’s directions, assisted by a tiny printout from Maporama. A couple of short blocks among pretty houses brought me to what I’ll call their river walk, a lovely raised paved path with landscaping. The river/creek has been modified with constructed waterfalls. As in Gerra, what looks like a creek to me may just be a crevice that the melting run-off from somewhere far away trickles to the lake. (?) I hear real church bells in the distance. That means that I think they were being played by human bellringers. At home everything is programmed or worse yet, recorded. As soon as I started walking along the path, I could see recreational areas on the other side, a park down at the lake end, and the museum. I’ll include another link here, because it has excellent photographs of this extraordinary building.

http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/36d50/2462c/4/

The interior space of the museum is absolutely suited for the display of contemporary art. Moveable walls, high ceilings, wide expansive windows which not only provide natural light but bring the landscape into the museum space to compliment the art. Around the perimeter there is a plexiglass covered counter top under which are displayed smaller drawings, watercolors, prints, etc. The museum also contains glass cases holding a permanent collection of artifacts. My two favorites were very small pieces of pottery: a black covered container with a horse on top and a pitcher whose handle was an extraordinary (unidentifiable) animal. Both from about 6th c. B.C. The main exhibition at the time of my visit was the work of Sandro Negri, large lush, exuberant paintings, primarily landscapes. Very painterly (yucky artsy term) and expressionistic. Emotional responses to the Tuscan countryside (and other places as well). The brochure is written in Italian, but even I can tell that he was born in 1940 in Virgilio, Mantova. Anyway, I enjoyed myself immensely. The paintings I liked best were “Fronde di ginestre,” “Lirica fioritura,” and “Verso Casa.” I wish I had taken the time to write a few descriptive lines in my notebook. Which reminds me. The most vivid recollections of my trip are those about which I paused to write notes immediately, in the place. I had never done this in any of my previous trips, and I only wrote this way a few times on this trip. I’m going to have to develop this habit, though, especially if I continue to resist being a shutter-bug.

All I knew about Maccagno was this museum. Period. Since returning home, I’ve done some websearching and surprise, surprise, there were many faces of Maccagno to be discovered. Would that I had known. An image search came up with several interesting churches, a lovely lakeside neighborhood, and the knowledge that there is a Maccagno Inferiore and a Maccagno Superiore. Who knew? It’s on my to do in greater depth list for next time. Along with taking time to explore my other neighbors, San Nazzaro, Vira, and San Abbondio, in particular. In hindsight, I should have chosen one of those to add to my Sunday itinerary. Because I could not decide which one, I stayed on the train all the way to Locarno, and added to my city-moseying time there instead.

My last supper at the Panorama started with a creamy pumpkin soup. The piatte principiale (spelling?) was steak in the Tirolean style. (tomatoes, onions, etc.) Tasty and tender (with another Cardinal), it was served with an assortment of vegetables. Tonight’s parfait glass contained strawberries, I think, but because I was really beginning to get lazy with my notes, I cannot recall for sure. But earlier in my visit, I did borrow the official carte from Axel so I could tell you about a few of the items on offer to those not participating in half-board. A number of my fellow diners were drop-ins drawn by the cuisine and the view, and I enjoyed watching Hanni present their meals gracefully and dramatically from silver services. Ah, dining as theatre. I was not snoopy enough nor close enough to get the details, but my guess is that everything was terrific. So.

I copied specialties from the carte in Italian and German, and now I can’t quite read my handwriting.  One appears to be pork medallions with rosemary and (maybe) a delicate cream sauce. Another is a salt im boca of veal in the Roman style with tomatoes and mushrooms. Another seems to be veal sautéed in butter with mushrooms and cream sauce. Yet another, pork in lemon sauce with gnocchi in the Piedmont style. There are four or five fish dishes listed featuring felchen or egli from lago Maggiore. If you visit the Panorama and don’t see anything to match my descriptions, then one of two things has happened. As Axel cautioned me to remember, he changes his carte often. Or, maybe I just messed up with my translation. If that’s the case, you don’t know where you received such misinformation, ok? Day 6 will be my reluctant farewell to Gerra, my circuitous train trip to Bulach, and departure from the Zurich flughafen. Can you stand one more of these posts? J.

Good morning jmw44, yes we certainly can stand one more post from you, we will just be sorry when your trip is finished! I have been busy the last couple of days but I was able to catch up on your trip this morning. As usual your trip report is breathtaking!
Best regards.

A beautiful report JMW and I'm glad to see you survived the heat. Your food and scenery descriptions are great.

For the diehards. It was difficult for me to bring my last night in Gerra to an end. I remained awhile in the foyer talking with Hanni, Claudia, Patrizia, and Axel. Axel said “We’ll see you next year?” If wishes were horses, etc. We said our goodbyes, because usually only Patrizia hosts breakfast. Then when I went upstairs, I sat and sat watching the evening. I just could not shut down my senses. I don’t know how many hours of sleep I got that night; I felt that every minute sleeping would be a minute wasted. It was a restless night.

On my balcony by 5 a.m. Bittersweet. Promises to keep. (w/apologies to Mr. Frost). Do you feel that you must engrave every single nanosecond into your brain so it will be there to call back when you need it? I find Baroque art to be melodramatic, but I see that I can emote excessively myself. Mea culpa. Breakfast in the cool mist of the terrace. Say goodbye to room number 3. (I’ve mercifully excused you from the packing ritual, a part of which involves going through every receipt, brochure, label, and paper bag to decide which ones I can bare to leave behind. I always have a paperback mystery or two to leave with Claudia; this time I didn’t read a single page! Not one.) Bag packed, purse, straw hat, scarf.

Per influence of numerous fine dressers at Fodors, this was the first time I’ve brought a scarf along to wear nonchalantly in Locarno, Lugano, Lucerne, and on the Cisalpino. I never wear scarves and I think I invented this knot. Mine is a very soft cotton print scarf that my grandmother made for my grandfather maybe forty years ago. Shades of burgundy, olive, and beige. I don’t think he ever wore it. I found it a month ago in a drawer. My Nana sewed doll clothes, she baked bread and chocolate chip cookies, she planted a garden, she loved trains. So I wore the scarf and felt closer to both of my beloved grandparents than I had in years.

Patrizia and Claudia waved me off with come back soon, and I walked to the post office to catch the 9:16 bus to Cadenazzo. I say ‘catch the 9:16’, but I was in no danger of missing it, having left the Panorama at 9 a.m. I suppose I just wanted to get my departure over with. I sat on the wooden bench, gazed at the lake (I think there are only one or two crannies in Gerra from which you cannot see the lake), and watched folks loading up their cars across the street. Evidently, there are several rentals along the lake whose parking is on what I’ll call a parking ledge across from the post office. Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone approaching me, and when I looked, I realized that it was Hanni. I can’t tell you how that made me feel. Hanni does not speak a lot of English and often looks to Claudia or Axel to translate my words. But she and I both have aging parents, and I think maybe we are a sisterhood of a sort. That she would trouble herself to come to see me off touched my heart so that I could hardly speak. It was as though she understood the significance of my visit to the Panorama more than anyone else.

This was my plan: I was going to train to Bulach (my last night town of choice), drop off my bag, and then make a quick visit to Stein am Rhein. I had been there many years ago and was interested in seeing those fascinating painted buildings again. So Cadenazzo to Bellinzona, Bellinzona to Zurich, Zurich to Bulach, etc. I love trains. Good thing. Does the countryside change as quickly in the U.S. as it does in Switzerland? I suppose it could have something to do with the speed of the trains and the fact that the variations in terrain are condensed in this amazing small country. In the blink of an eye, you’re in serious mountains with crystal clear streams, huge boulders (Did they tumble recently as referenced in the news, or generations ago?), and those arched viaducts that seem to reach down into the center of the earth from the sky above and that I could never in a million years drive upon. Stone churches. Tunnels. Then window boxes begin to appear. And before I know it, we’re in Fluelen! Where did the hours go? (Nice train, by the way, sleek and smooth.) I remember when Fluelen was a couple of houses, a hotel, and a church. It’s bigger now but still has its nice boat dock and a train station and quite a pretty lake view, so it’s a possibility if you’re in the market for a place to stay farther south of Lucerne along the Urnersee. It has the advantage of being just a few minutes from Altdorf, a delightful little town (or used to be, I remind myself it’s been years), with a statue of William Tell and a wonderful church and cemetery, cuddled among dark green hillsides – I remember hearing the cowbells from the cemetery.

We passed Sisikon. Years ago I got off the lake boat there and walked up through streets of neat houses to the station. It still looks peaceful, and I think I would definitely consider it for a lake village base in central Switzerland. Through historic Schwyz and then a lengthy stop in Arth-Goldau. And that’s when I changed my plans. While we were sitting in the station, I remembered toying with the idea of riding the Voralpen-Express as I had numerous times when my friends and I spent a week on Zurichsee in the 80’s. The Voralpen is the line that runs from Arth to the Bodensee through beautiful rolling hills. So on the spur of the moment I hopped off the train and was soon riding across country toward Rapperswil. For those of you who are not addicted to Switzerland threads, this is schuler country. If you take a look at this webcam of Rothenthurm, you’ll have an idea of why I was tempted to make a return visit (albeit on the move).

http://camserver.mobotix.ch/showpics...undenID=638cam

The towns are larger now than they were in the eighties, and I was looking for a particular memory. Schuler, as odd as it may seem, I think the bucolic scene which enchanted me then is just on the Rothenthurm side of Sattel. Does it make sense that there wasn’t a station in sight but I remember distinctly sitting there for several minutes one cool misty morning? Maybe we were waiting for another train to pass by? If you’re riding from Rothenthurm to Arth, it will be on your left as you approach Sattel. The greenest of hillsides and a scattering of the most beautiful wooden farms. Right or wrong, it’s a lovely vista. When you have a minute, tell me more about Sattel. Smaller or larger than Rothenthurm? Residential/industrial? Actually, my map shows two Sattels. Back on track – Rothenthurm was bustling! (Webcams make everything look so still.) What are the words on the roof of the church?

I decided to save Stein am Rhein for another time. Stopped in Rapperswil to see how it has balanced aesthetics with tourism over the past twenty years. Well. I reminded myself that the impression one gets in the middle of the day is very different from that which you enjoy early mornings and evenings if you stay there. That’s a very important thing to remember, and it applies to all the European towns which have become popular destinations. Rapperswil has a compact, well-preserved, photogenic old section. However, it also has a big concrete tourist info/concert/festival venue smack at the harbor. If that indicates it is a ‘happening’ place, then I’ll need to scratch it off my list. There are a number of pretty hotels along the quai, and the tree-shaded walk that extends out into the busy boat-filled harbor is still nice. What are those trees with the big peeling bark? The hotel where we had a huge corner room for four with wc down the hall and shower IN the room now appears to belong to a chain (10 something?). That’s where I had my very first geschnetzelts mit rosti and thought I’d gone to heaven. Ah, well, twenty years is twenty years. I think Rapperswil is still a good base ‘small city’. I’ve just changed my requirements as the years have passed to ‘a place where nothing much happens at all.’

The train I caught an hour later continued through Zurich toward Bulach and beyond. I suppose the crowds in Rapperswil made me melancholy, because I was glad to wind down in Bulach, which doesn’t seem to be on many folks’ to-visit list. Their loss. Bulach has excellent rail and bus connections. The old buildings in its center have been meticulously restored and cared for. They are lovely.

http://www.photoatlas.com/pics02/pic...rland-022.html

http://www.buelach.ch/cgi-local/sfc....tadt/intro.htm

If you’ve got surfing time, stick with the second site, because it will show you an enchanting knot garden, and you’ll have a glimpse of my splurge last-night in Switzerland feeling sorry for yourself Zum Goldenen-Kopf, which is an historic building and a dandy place to spend a night if you’ve got some swiss francs left or if your visa will take one more hit. The hotel has its own website if you’re curious. Trains zip back and forth to Zurich every half hour and will take from 17 to 23 minutes depending upon which one you board. Best of both worlds. For about five minutes I considered checking in and then going back into the city to shop and eat. But the afternoon was hot and the fresh sheets on the big bed plus a tennis match on television were too tempting.

I’ll tack on a bit more (I know I said this would be the last post, but I didn’t take into account my side-trips down memory lane) later. This is too long for one post already. J.

Please DO tack on a bit more to your trip report, jmw. I don't want your trip to end either. Not only do you have an appreciative eye for the beauty in this world, but the gift to share your feelings and impressions with us in words that touched my heart.

waggis, you're being very kind, and such fortitude to still be with me after all this time. If you'd like to look at the zum goldenen's website it's

http://www.zum-goldenen-kopf.ch/

and in German only. You can see one of the rooms in the new wing. Mine was in the original building and a bit less expensive. There's also a menu, which I always enjoy seeing at hotel websites. I might as well mention for LLinda, calville, and others, that there is no AC. I'll conclude as soon as I can, and again, thank you for your very nice words. J.

jmw I had no idea that Bülach is such a lovely old town with beautiful half-timbered buildings. What a find. Thank you for the website "Zum Goldenen Kopf". I'm salivating after reading their menu!! I agree with you this was a lovely splurge :-)
Alas, an analyst said on CNN today that the Swiss Franc will be gaining against the dollar. It will make everything so much more expensive :-(

Did you see that Gottfried Keller (1819-1890) was supposedly inspired to write "Die Leute von Seldwyla" (The People of Seldwyla) while staying at the hotel? The book was published in 1856. He is required reading in our schools, I'm sure schuler can confirm this. Foremost Swiss German novelist, poet and short story writer. Amazon sells only one paperback in English: "Gottfried Keller: Stories (German Library). Even Goethe stayed at the inn "Zum Goldenen Kopf".
You mentioned the hustle and bustle in Rapperswil and Ascona, have you ever visited the Appenzell region?