Northern Italy and Lugano, February-March
2005
--Andrew McGarrell
Selected pictures are shown here; the whole gallery is on my Picture page .
I took the opportunity to go to places in Northern Italy and Italian Switzerland, where I hadn’t been, in winter 2005, when my parents were residents of the Rockefeller Foundation’s Bellagio center. I liked the opportunity to be in Italy in winter, which I hadn’t done in a long time, and see the state of places during a time of everyday non-touristed life. For a small part of the time the cold weather was notable, but for the most part I was glad to be there during this time. While my main travel discussion group now is devoted to “Slow travel,” I moved around and had several one-night stays in succession. This calls for more of a day-by-day account of my travel than usual, but I’m getting it done long after the trip, so some comments need to be sketchy.
I’ll follow my style of writing about my flights at the end, and start with my arrival at Milan Malpensa airport. I had researched fully the possibilities for getting from the airport to Bellagio. There are a few buses from the airport to Como. I was in the airport lobby around 9 and had just missed the 8.30 bus, so I took the more frequent option of going by train with a connection. I went to the airport train station and bought a ticket to Como Lago. I got the train with the destination of Milan at 9.23. The man across from me was talking on his cell phone about there being snow in Milan, although there was none around the airport, a confirmation of how far out Malpensa airport is; indeed I would change well short of there. At 9.44, the train arrived at Saronno, where I had 20 minutes to connect; the schedule had recently changed from allowing one minute to connect on different platforms or wait another hour. I took the opportunity to look at the street outside the front of Saronno station; nothing of interest. I found my platform; these are marked on screens at the ends of the underpass and not readable when one enters from the platform of arrival from Malpensa. Many trains of the busy independent Ferrovie Nord passed through, and I got my 10.04 train. I’d paid 1 euro extra for a first class ticket; the Malpensa Express is all first class. On this train, I needed to rush to the front of the train to get the first class car, and I don’t think there was much of a difference from second. As we got to Como, I saw the mountains appear dramatically after there hadn’t been much to see. The train arrived at Como Lago at 10.44; the station looks nice and I had a first look at the lake.
Across from the station was the bus station, really a kiosk where they’ve managed to squeeze several bus bays. I bought a ticket to Bellagio for 2.60 euros. My schedule showed the C30 bus leaving at 11.14. The little kiosk had a nice electronic departure board, and it didn’t list this bus. There was a sign saying only buy tickets at the window, go inside to ask questions. I opened the door to the small interior and asked if that bus was indeed running; the man assured me it was. None of the bays were marked for this bus. I tried to stand where I could see the most possible places where the bus could approach. It was 11.14, and I finally asked at the ticket window “Where does that bus stop, anyway?” Across the street, the lady told me, something that hadn’t been volunteered to me earlier. So I went across, back by the train station, where there was a city bus stop. It was good that the bus was running a little late; after a few minutes it arrived.
There was no sign of a baggage hold, and the bus had seats four across, with a narrow aisle; I had trouble getting down it with my wheeled suitcase and full shoulder bag. I took an empty pair of seats and had the suitcase next to me. This was less than a full size bus; I found that a good thing as it started its run on the twisting and high roads along the lake. We went through small towns along the lake, some of them with entrance signs giving their names in Northern dialect. We arrived in Bellagio, and I noted the great beauty of the town. I also saw how clearly it was off season, with the prominent cafes and hotels along the waterfront shuttered.
Bellagio
I had researched my reservations in advance and found that just about all hotels in town were closed for the season. One of the only hotels open was the Hotel Bellagio. I’d learned the walking route there and went along the lake to the Salita Grandi, one of the streets of steps that characterize central Bellagio. The hotel had warned me that a climb was needed to get there; I ended my transatlantic trip huffing and puffing up, and got to the door where the friendly young lady welcomed me by name. The hotel was very modern inside, with a keycard system including for the lights. I had a room with a great view of the town and the lake as promised. I phoned my parents at the villa to tell them I’d arrived, and said I was hungry after not getting much on the flight. They came down to join me for lunch. In addition to being off season, it was Monday; the hotel man guessed about one restaurant being open, but it wasn’t. We settled for sandwiches at a bar: in my case, a toast, in the Italian sense, a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. My parents showed me the entrance to the villa, and arranged to meet before sunset.
I didn’t really rest; I looked around the picturesque small town a little. The time came, and I met my father at the villa gate. There was something of a climb to the Villa Maranese where they were staying, and more of a climb to the main Villa Serbelloni. I saw the great grounds and villas, and some of the residents gave a talk on their research. I was invited for the evening activities of drinks, then dinner with the group. I saw that they had a nice formal setting for artists and scholars to discuss their work and general activities including travel. At the end, I was given a flashlight to make my own way back into town. I’d been directed which way to take at one fork; I followed that direction, and the gravel road twisted more than I remembered. After a longer walk than I remembered, the road ended and turned to grass, the lake seemed to be close, but there was no sign of the village. I hesitatingly (returning down for a time) went back uphill. I got close to the villas and went down a lit walkway with steps. It reached the village, with a locked gate. I guessed correctly the button at the top of the last flight of steps to unlock the gate. I worried that it would set off an alarm, but there was no problem. I eventually figured out that I had started off on the wrong road by the main villa; if I’d started at the Maranese, the route would have been clear. So that’s how I ended my first day after a transatlantic flight on which I got no sleep.
The next day, I had the hotel’s breakfast; there were one or two other guests there. It was my father’s birthday, and my parents had excused themselves from meals at the villa so that we could do things together. Rather than Como, which seemed like a major trip when I wanted relaxation, I chose short ferry crossings, going to Varenna first. We saw that the ferry landing prominent on the central Bellagio lakefront was for the servizio rapido without cars; we needed to go to the car ferry landing to the south. We boarded that ferry, going upstairs to the enclosed seats, and arrived at Varenna. We saw that there were streets of steps steeper than in Bellagio; recognizing the need, we climbed to look at the town center. As we went around there, we asked a grocer lady about good places to eat that were open; she recommended the Hotel Olivedo by the ferry landing. We went there and did eat well: I note the local pasta specialty of patole, an extra-large flat filled pasta.
I was collecting my thoughts about the trip. While most of my travel is independent, in Italy I also get involved in social things. In the morning, I’d called Martina in Torino, who had been an exchange student with my family in 1991, about the possibility of meeting. She suggested that I go to Torino Saturday, then Sunday she would bring me back to Bellagio so we could all be together and she would return Monday. My original plan had been for my second Bellagio stay to be the next Monday-Wednesday, and then I’d go to Lugano. Bellagio off season would be perfectly nice to spend a few days relaxing, but if I were there while my parents were there, I couldn’t expect to be invited to the villa all the time, and I didn’t want to take them away from their activities there too much. Given that I’d be returning to Bellagio Sunday, I decided that I’d stay Monday in Como, then arrive in Lugano Tuesday and have three nights in one place.
Lake divides
into two
That would be next week. This Tuesday, we decided to take the ferry from Varenna to Menaggio. I had bought round trip ferry tickets from Bellagio, but the return could be used to Menaggio. My original plan for getting from Bellagio to Lugano next week was to take the ferry to Menaggio, then the bus. Now when we arrived at Menaggio, I saw how the walk from the ferry to the bus stop would be , along a sidewalk too narrow even for my side-wheeled bag, along the busy road from Como. We saw that Menaggio was a nice, busier town, but we were there during the afternoon closing time. We sat in a bar and had hot chocolate.
We went back to Bellagio on the servizio rapido rather than the car ferry, and went back to our places before dinner. I had my bit of a chance to walk all the streets, mostly in steps, of the historic part of Bellagio; all very attractive, and especially in this season, a far cry from a name one would expect to see evoked in Las Vegas. The hotel asked me to settle the bill before going to dinner; my two local phone calls added 9 cents to the bill! They had given me a card for a discount on a meal at the Bellagio Sporting Club, under the same ownership as my hotel and the Hotel du Lac. I’d made a reservation for dinner there, and it called for their shuttle bus to take us there. In fact, it was the hotel lady who took us there in her small car. We went out of town to this country club of sorts, not much to see after dark, but we had a nice meal, good to get together and have good food, fish-based I believe. The hotel lady had stayed at the restaurant visiting with staff there until we were ready for her to take us back. I said good-bye to my parents until Sunday at the base of the salita, and she agreed to take my parents into the villa grounds.
Wednesday morning, my departure for Bergamo. The man working the desk nicely carried my bag down the salita. I bought a bus ticket to Lecco at the tabaccaio on the salita closest to the bus stop and waited for the 9.10 bus. I had learned before leaving home that the road to Lecco was interrupted for construction, and the convenience of geography meant that passengers would move to a boat for that section before catching another bus. The first bus was a true Italian city bus, with big spaces for standing if needed (not today) meaning I could place my bag comfortably. I saw the scenery of that branch of the lake, with snow on the opposite side. We reached the place where we transferred to the boat, and had that scenic continuation of the trip. There was a middle stop where most people started to get off, but this was not where we rejoined the bus; it was another stop to Onno, where we got a new bus, a four-across one meaning trouble with my bag. I was hoping for the side-roller to be useful in these situations, but I can never pack that lightly, winter clothing being a bigger problem, and this bag is heavy even empty. People got off the bus at various places in Lecco; I confirmed with the driver that we were on the way to the station, and we got there. There was still nearly an hour for the train to Bergamo; I bought the ticket from a coin machine. The train was ready, plenty of room on the regionale, and it made its way through snow-covered ground to my destination.
Bergamo 
In Bergamo, through Venere I’d booked the Hotel Piemontese across from the station. There are many criteria for choosing a hotel; for short stops on a trip by train convenience to the station is a big point. I had found generally favorable reviews on Venere, with only a few people concerned about the station area. The hotel was fine and functional. I settled in, then began my exploration of Bergamo; the city is known for the historic città alta (high town) perched dramatically above the newer città bassa (low town). The hotel sold me a bus ticket, good for a set amount of time from validation and including a transfer to the funicular to the città alta. I took that, noting that the difference in altitude meant snow on the ground above but not below. I saw the appeal of the area, small streets with active shopping, a student presence, and I heard some of the dense dialect. I got to Piazza Vecchia and the buildings around it, notably the Cappella Colleoni with ornate decorations inside. (I don’t try to replicate where others have written in detail about sights.) I walked around the area with interest, and then made my way down to the low city following directions to an Internet Point. The directions weren’t right and it took some detours before I found the place; during that time I noted the great activity of the città bassa: broad boulevards full of people; the city really has two different faces.
I rested at the hotel, then went for dinner to the Taverna Valtellinese. In a trip that included looks at several parts of Lombardy, I noted that an area where I didn’t go, the Valtellina north of Lake Como, got attention, including this restaurant with its cuisine. I had tortelloni and sottofiletto di manzo. After dinner I felt comfortable going to the station to buy my next train tickets. After I’ve become an authority on Italian train reservations online, coming first in a Google search of the topic (even though I’ve made minimal reservations on the Trenitalia site myself), I thought I’d try out the self-service machine at the station. I did Mantova-Torino, which included the one reservable segment of this trip. I also went ahead and bought my Bergamo-Mantova ticket, on two non-reservable trains; this trip can be done on different routings and I made clear on the machine which one I was taking and got the right ticket.
The next morning, I first had an errand to do: to change some lire that had come to me through a family friend into euros. I went to the Banca d’Italia on via Roma, the main street of the città bassa, filled out the form listing each banknote denomination I had, and got it done. I thought it would be worthwhile to get a day pass for the city buses; the hotel didn’t have those, but I got one from the machine at the station bus stop. I had seen a sign that all bus stops in Bergamo were on request only, and I saw how true that was, when bus 1 did not stop at the base of the funicular. So I took the bus to the back of the città alta, a university area where many students on the bus were going. I did some more exploration of the high town, getting many views, going on streets by the Donizetti conservatory and hearing music; I paused at the city library on Piazza Vecchia. At lunchtime, I went to the Trattoria Tre Torri and had the bruschetta di melanzane; this was a bruschetta without bread: just eggplant, tomatoes, and grated cheese. Then the local dish of polenta al Bergomì con porcini; the polenta covered hot cheese. I walked down from the città alta on another side and caught a bus back to the hotel to rest. In the afternoon I took the return bus and visited the Accademia Carrara art museum. When I left, snow was falling but not sticking; I looked around the medieval section of the lower town.
I had a pizza dinner at the restaurant attached to the hotel. It was noteworthy of me to have a day in Italy eating out without pasta; I could have made it a vegetarian day, but with my noting Valtellinese themes the previous night, I had pizza valtellinese with various meat toppings. So I had my second night in Bergamo, a good amount of time before my one-night stays ahead.
Friday morning: off to Mantova. I was leaving at 9 a.m. and connecting at Cremona. It was all regional trains; on the first train, there were no other passengers in sight and we went through heavy fog. I got to Cremona and had an hour to wait there. With no baggage check, I went to the waiting room and saw a notice of routine delays for construction on the line to Mantova. Then the cleaning lady came in and had us clear the room. I guess it was permissible to go to the first class waiting room--its presence was odd, since very few trains going through there had a first class--but I waited on the platform. Sure enough, there was an announcement of a 20-minute delay on my connecting train, which became 30. We arrived in Mantova; I went to the underpass and found the elevator to go up to the station lobby with my bag. The elevator had the disabled symbol and I don’t know if it was permissible for me to use it; it was a platform with the wall just going up far enough for there to be buttons, otherwise no wall or ceiling, and I had to hold down on the button for the elevator to move.
Mantova 
I had booked a stay at the Hotel ABC Mantova. The Web site had a form for requesting a reservation online and they would phone with a response. I gave my parents’ Bellagio number, and there was no reply. Online booking is appealing to me; even though I don’t have a language problem, I don’t particularly like using the phone; well, this hotel seemed a good deal and right across from the station. So I phoned from Bergamo; they didn’t have a record of the online request, but they took my reservation over the phone, no problem. Sometimes “right across from the station” is hard to find; which side, what angle?, but there it was right down the crosswalk from the main entrance. They gave me the key to my room and said I could leave my passport when I came back down. They said my room was up two flights of stairs; I went to the base of the stairs and saw an elevator down the hall, so I tried that. I pushed the second-floor button and wound up on a landing between two floors. I went down and the room numbers seemed to be distant from mine, and I was thinking this was a different stairway and I’d need to go back to the ground floor, but then I turned a corner and found my room. I settled in and went out, leaving my passport, which they kept until I checked out.
I got a quick lunch of toast in the bar next door, and proceeded to the city center. This was a nice area with active life in streets with porticoes. I got to my main sight for the afternoon, the imposing Palazzo Ducale. I had a guided tour in Italian (sometimes it’s unusual to have it in Italian) of the great rooms and the dimly lit Mantegna fresco. Very interesting, much of the afternoon had passed, and I went out and saw the palace from the outside and the lakefront park of Mantova’s three small lakes. I had dinner at L’Ochina Bianca, listed in Michelin as offering good value meals. It was somewhat fancy with a nice meal of rigatoni con salsiccia e fagioli and a tasty frittura mista di pesce. I saw an independent film at a theater near my hotel afterwards, so I was pretty much only in the hotel to sleep.
Saturday morning I checked out of the hotel and stored my bags there. This was my time, after a walk through newer areas, to see the Palazzo Te, famed as a nobleman’s pleasure palace designed by the artist/architect Giulio Romano. There was much to see in the frescoes, design, and grounds. At first I was misled by a sign that implied I should stay in the courtyard; after going around once, I had the crowning touch of seeing inside the first branch. I spent a fair time in the palace and could make a leisurely walk back to the centro, noting other architectural features. I went back to the station area and had a quick lunch of a slice of pizza. I picked up my bags at the hotel and prepared to board my local train at 1.30 p.m.
I’d had strong advice to go to Mantova, and also cautions against going there on this trip, with the train connections not being great and my having limited time there. One could spend longer there, but I’m glad I made this trip and had an adequate look at the top sights. With over thirty years since I first lived in Italy, the opportunity to get to these places in the North hadn’t come up before, and I wasn’t trying to rush through the top cities in Italy.
Now I was getting to the most rushed part of the trip, going to Torino. I was taking a regional train south to Modena, then getting the IC Plus to Torino. I originally thought I’d be changing trains in Milan about four times on this trip, but I wound up not going through there at all. The train out of Mantova had many students, most of whom got out at Suzzara. The sun came out as we went along the plain. I got to Modena on time for my 20-minute connection; I worried about it, given my delay getting into Mantova. I used the elevators to the platforms at the Modena station, where I had time to think about my visit there as we were moving to Italy, and how my father’s late Modenese art dealer had often plied us with food specialties from there. The IC Plus train arrived; I rushed along the platform to the car and found my reserved seat, a middle seat in a modernized compartment; I put my suitcase on the shelf with fear, but there were no problems. The train came from Bari; I saw that my seatmates had newspapers from Teramo. We followed the Po and, as darkness came around 6 p.m., we arrived in Torino.
Torino 
(Moncalieri)
Martina, the one-time exchange student with my family, was there to greet me. She had worried in seeing that the train originated in Bari, making this one of the longest-distance trains possible in Italy, and was impressed that the train came in on time. It’s always great to see her and hear of her success as an architect; she drove me to the house that she has set up with her mother in Moncalieri, in the hills above Torino. I settled in there; in my first visit with them over a decade earlier, they’d taken me to dinner at Le Tre Galline; this time we went to an offshoot, I Tre Gallini. I got this nighttime look at the city, seeing the signs of preparation for next year’s Winter Olympics, including new upscale hotels in the city center. The food was good, although I didn’t keep notes; it was especially good to be in Martina’s company. We went back to the house, me staying in Martina’s apartment while she stayed with her mother. We made plans to meet at 9.30 a.m. Sunday with vague plans about what we might do to make the trip to Torino worthwhile.
She appeared earlier than that; she had just learned that, as an anti-pollution measure, Torino and Moncalieri would be closed to traffic starting at 10. Traffic would be allowed on the autostrada bypass of the city, giving us access to the Lingotto, where we could spend some time. She was determined for me to see the Moncalieri main square, where we could have a pastry breakfast. We did that, and were in the car when the 10 o’clock hour struck. We had a few illegal minutes on the empty streets, then got onto the road to the Lingotto.
The Lingotto, the historic Fiat factory with a test track on the roof, has become a big shopping mall with an art gallery with artwork donated by the Fiat-controlling Agnelli family. We saw all this with interest; it’s still a surprise to me to see shops open all day Sunday in Italy. We had lunch at a quick place in the mall, in the hope of getting to Bellagio in daytime. So maybe it was crazy to go the long distance to Torino and spend so little time there, but I’m glad I did it. I’d been there before, and it was good to spend this time with Martina and get this glimpse of Olympic preparations. I looked forward to having this free lodging, since I’m not used to paying for lodging every night, but even with prices in the strong euro this trip wasn’t a big budgetary problem for me.
We left, and it seemed that we didn’t have the same access to the autostrada leaving the Lingotto; we needed to drive a few blocks illegally. We made our way towards Milan, seeing the new high-speed rail line under construction nearby. I navigated the route via Lecco; leaving Bellagio earlier in the week, I’d seen the signs pointing to Como one way and Milano the other, so I figured it was advisable to go this way and not through the city traffic in Como. We were across the lake from the main part of Lecco, and I noted the streets named after characters in Manzoni’s I Promessi Sposi, a novel set in the area which all Italians need to read in high school. I knew about the road along the lake being closed, but I’d heard some people in the bus say it was set to open to cars the previous Friday. We found it not so, and we needed to detour through the twisty mountainous roads above. We got through that, with a fair amount of traffic and going through small towns, briefly getting great views.
Bellagio again 
We arrived in Bellagio towards sunset. Even in the off-season, there was something of a crowd on Sunday, and it took an effort to find a parking place. In the historic area of Bellagio, there are two small piazze along the lakefront with parking; it’s hard to imagine how it is in high season. Martina had been looking for places along the road to stop for coffee; she’d found none that looked right, so we stopped for coffee before checking into the hotel. We had our return to the Hotel Bellagio and took our two rooms there. My parents came and met us; they’d looked into things and said that even with the crowds we saw, there weren’t many dinner options in Bellagio for that Sunday; we would return to the Olivedo in Varenna for dinner. After another Bellagio bar stop, we took the ferry to Varenna. It was dark, but still early for dinner, and it had gotten cold. After a brief walk along the lakefront, we sat in the Olivedo’s sitting area upstairs, then took our dinner tables at 7; we needed to be alert about catching the last ferry at 8.45. We had another good meal and made the ferry in good time.
The next morning, after breakfast and checking out of the hotel, we drove to the villa grounds and visited with my parents. My father had scheduled a mid-morning showing of the watercolors he was working on for the residents. We had that, and said good-bye just as snow was starting to stick on the villa grounds. I had hoped that at least my mother would come along with Martina and me to Como, but she finally didn’t. So Martina left Bellagio after seeing very little of the town; I could have spent more time going around the little streets, but it worked best for me to leave with her for Como. As we left, snow was no longer a problem.
Como 
In Como, I had booked a room at the Hotel In Riva al Lago. It was on the Piazza Matteotti, adjacent to the bus station and Como Lago train station. Martina found a parking place, and I confirmed that the hotel behind scaffolding on a side street was the right one. My room wasn’t ready yet, and I checked my bags. We wandered the shopping streets of Como some. The previous week, it had been chilly, but I felt fine spending time outside with a coat on. Now it was colder. It got to be lunchtime, and we had lunch at the Ristorante Teatro Sociale, associated with a theater. This was my chance to get a spaghetti carbonara fix. After lunch, I said good-bye to Martina as she returned to Torino, and I was able to complete my hotel check-in.
The Hotel In Riva al Lago is a one-star hotel in a convenient location; it was undergoing renovation. It is a walk-up; the man at the front desk carried my heavy bag to my room on the top floor (three flights up?). In the halls and stairway, the lights went on with motion-detecting sensors. I was in a newly renovated room; I took the 45-euro option with bath; there was also a 35-euro without bath. The bathroom light too went on and off with a sensor. When stepping out of my room into the hallway, when I closed the door I was in complete darkness; I needed to take a step for the light to come on. Even though they had a traditional hotel key with a weight, they had me keep it when I went out, because the desk was often unattended. They gave me a card with a code to enter to open the front door and the door to the hallway with my room. The first time I needed to do it myself, at the hall entrance, I entered the digits and the E on the keypad and nothing happened. After multiple tries, I went to the desk and had explained what I hadn’t seen before, that I then needed to press the key logo on the light switch panel beneath the keypad.
I hadn’t planned to stop in Como before starting the trip, so I didn’t have much of an agenda of things to do. I saw the Duomo, with its impressive tapestries; the Broletto next to it was closed this Monday. I wandered the streets some, and had dinner at a chrome-and-glass pizzeria.
The hotel didn’t offer breakfast in this season, so I had it the way I like it: cappuccino e cornetto at an ordinary bar next door. I checked out of the hotel and took a taxi to Stazione S. Giovanni. There are trains to Lugano hourly at that time of day. The train in the 9 a.m. hour was running 5 minutes late and I was just missing it, so it was about an hour to the next train. I bought a ticket--no reserving this short route--with assurances that the ordinary ticket was right for the next train. This was a very quiet station for a city of this importance; most people go to Milan on the Ferrovie Nord train from the other stations. I saw the departure board listing some trains out of Switzerland cancelled for the weather. Finally it was time for my train; it was Swiss Rail stock, with an open seating area. We were at the border in five minutes. There were Swiss border guards asking questions, something you don’t see much anymore when crossing borders in Western Europe, and this will change in 2007 when Switzerland joins the Schengen agreement. It was about a 20-minute border stop and 20 minutes to Lugano. The train continued, with a snack cart taking payment in euros and Swiss francs, and continuing past stations with Italian names in the Swiss typeface. The train was continuing to Basel, but most passengers were getting off in Lugano.
Lugano 
I’d had a lot of questions of how to do things in a new country, especially pertaining to my original plan to get to Lugano by bus from Menaggio. Entering by train was making it simpler; my first task was to get Swiss francs (CHF). At the station ATM, I got 100 CHF in one 100-franc note. Now my task was to buy a day pass for the city transport system, including the funicular from the station to the city center, for 5 CHF. I asked at the funicular ticket booth about getting the pass; they said it had to be bought at the machine, which required exact change, but I could change the bill at the station bank. That was cheerfully done. In fact, if I’d had 3.50 euros in coins I could have used those to buy the pass from the machine; with Switzerland surrounded by euro countries there is widespread acceptance of euros, even in machines. Lugano is so compact, it’s questionable whether I needed the pass, but I made good use of it, and wrote up the procedures for using public transport for a Slow Travel page.
The hotel I had booked was the Acquarello, especially appropriate since it means watercolor, and that was my father’s project during this time. The location couldn’t be beat for convenience and central location; it was right at the bottom of the funicular line, the center of town. The building wasn’t attractive, and the funicular went right through it; some people who’ve reviewed the hotel complain about the noise from the funicular, but I didn’t notice a particular problem. Reception was friendly, my room was ready, and I settled in. After four one-night stays in succession, I had some hope of regaining Slow Traveler status by spending the last three nights of my trip here, a place that had long interested me but where I didn’t have much of an agenda.
I’d been interested in going to the place outside of Italy where Italian is the language, and in seeing how the stereotypically contrasting Italian and Swiss styles would meet. I have great love for the Italian people and can like going along with situations in Italy that become chaotic, but overall I like efficiency. Switzerland has its special situation in Europe and the world, and it was interesting to see an Italian cultural area as part of this. If the Italian-speaking Ticino canton were a province of Lombardy, it would be one of the smallest; as it is, it has great prominence. It is reputed that much Italian wealth is kept in the banks of Lugano. It’s interesting to see Swiss retail companies and the like offering signage and packaging in Italian for such a small population.
I went for my first walk and saw the great charm of the area, Italian signage being an important part of it for me, along with a clean setting and Swiss and cantonal flags being an important part of the scene. I saw the narrow and attractive Via Nassa full of shops, where I heard much German and French spoken, and I saw the lakefront, with its beauty holding its own in the winter chill. I stopped in the tourist office and confirmed that the Villa Favorita, once home of a great art collection, was closed for good. I took the main bus to the end of the line and saw the general attractiveness and wealth, with proportionate prices, of the place. I saw that this wasn’t Italy when the shops on Via Nassa closed at 6.30 and the street emptied. When it got to dinner time, I went to the Sayonara, not a Japanese but an Italian restaurant; I noted that wine was to be ordered in increments of tenths of liters. Also I was asked my smoking preference, an indication that I was outside of Italy, where restrictions had made most restaurants smoke-free.
The next morning, I continued to use my 24-hour bus pass by going to Castagnola, another old area to check out. Back in the Lugano center, I went to the Cantonale art museum, where Balthus paintings were an attraction. It was a clear day, and I knew that mountaintop views from places reachable by funicular were top attractions here. I went back to the tourist office and asked about these: Monte Bré was the only one open this time of year. I took a bus (never many passengers on these) and it was interesting to hear people talk about the news story that Lugano was the tenth most expensive city in the world, but it was not clear if that meant for residents in proportion to their income or for visitors. In general, I thought residents were doing well. Getting off the bus at Cassarate, I boarded one funicular that was completely automated. Then at Suvigliana, I crossed the street to buy the ticket and board the main funicular. I saw the great views while going up and reached the top. In winter, the funicular had a two-hour break for lunch, but the restaurants at the top were closed for the season. I walked the distance, downhill, to the town of Bré, which had its own charming old town and just one open restaurant. I had some doubt about going and finally didn’t. I considered walking all the way to the lake or taking the bus waiting there, but I finally didn’t, since I’d bought a return ticket on the funicular. It was an uphill walk back to the top, where the driver was mopping the station floor, and I was ready to make the descent as the only passenger. Seeing the Web site at <http://www.montebre.ch>, it would have been nice to go in summer and get lunch for 6 CHF more than the 20 I paid for the ride alone. It was 3 p.m. and I was hungry; dare I say I took the $10 U.S. meal at Burger King that included 30 minutes Internet access. After some resting and strolling, at dinnertime I chose the Swiss side of the culinary offerings at the Ristorante Commercianti: rösti in the especially decadent bacon and egg combination.
The next morning, I went to the Galleria d’Arte Moderna, and found that it was completely closed down between exhibitions. Now snow was falling, and it was sticking. One interesting destination I had in mind was the public library; I walked there during increasingly heavy snow and found it closed for renovation. I found the natural history museum next door in a high school building and spent some time there with an interesting video presentation. I rather like snow when I’m not driving, and it’s interesting to see how a city deals with it. Lugano was taking it in stride, but it wasn’t the right time for me to go to other towns, such as Locarno or Morcote, as I’d considered. I’d exhausted the indoor sights and wouldn’t spend too much time outside. I had lunch at a non-alcoholic restaurant, then stayed in my room and took it easy before the next day of getting up early for my return. I heard reports of snow being heavy just to the south in Italy. Before dinner I found the streets well plowed and the stair streets shoveled. For dinner I went to the Cantinone restaurant, and had amatriciana pasta, a nice last meal. I settled the bill at the hotel that night, since I was leaving early; they said that since I was skipping breakfast they would prepare a sack to go for me. I was very glad about the time I spent in Lugano, and hope to have the chance to see more of Ticino in the future.
I left the hotel at 6 a.m.; the shutters were closed around the hotel desk and dining area, leaving just a hallway between the elevator and the door; my key set included a front door key and I was advised to keep the keys if I was going to be out past 11 p.m.; now I used that key to unlock the door from the inside, hold it open with my bag, and return the keys to a bucket provided inside. I bought the funicular ticket from the agent in the funicular before the booth was open, and went up to the station. In front of there was the stop for the 6.30 Bus Express to take me to Malpensa airport. I was the first at the stop; eventually there was a crowd and the bus arrived. I loaded my bag, boarded , and paid the 30 CHF fare to the driver. We started off and I had the sandwich from the bag the hotel provided. We stopped at Chiasso and crossed the border , with Italian agents doing a quick passport check of people who were mostly about to leave Italy. I saw the bigger covering of snow, but the autostrade were clear and we reached the airport.
Transatlantic flights
Now I’ll discuss my flights in both directions; I kept some detailed notes where I should have paid more attention to restaurants, for instance. My planning blog shows some of the thoughts I went through before booking my trip on Continental Airlines (CO). First, I went from Kansas City to Newark on a regional jet, as all CO KC-Newark flights are now. I checked a bag with a TSA-approved lock; the bag was inspected in my presence and the agent showed that the drawer with keys for those locks was empty, so I opened it. I’d had one lock removed, and now I find it inadvisable to use these for checked baggage. I had the single seat on the left, not great comfort. Scheduled departure 10.55 a.m., door closed 10.50, takeoff at 11. It’s unusual to get even a snack on a flight out of KC, all the more so on a regional jet, but they offered a small packet of salami, peppercorn cheese, and crackers. From the air, it was my first chance to see the Manhattan skyline since 9/11, with its true alteration. I’d had my last view of the World Trade Center in an unplanned connection at Newark in July 2001. The arrival was scheduled at 2.33; it landed at 2.13, at the gate at 2.18. I had some Internet business hanging when I left, so I tried to use the public Internet stations at the airport, but they basically just took my money and froze.
My flight to Milan was scheduled for 6.05. As I’ve found on flights to Italy, there were passengers crowding the gate before their rows were called; I had to push through when it was my turn. The door closed at 6 and we took off at 6.20 (better than usual in my experience at Newark). In the main cabin, all the flight attendants were male. I had wondered whether to carry on a meal rather than take the airline’s service; I finally took the airline meal, nothing too special, but I’d gotten hold of drink coupons and used those. I had a window seat, and the control unit for the seatback entertainment system took up the legroom I could usually find next to my carry-on; I didn’t get the sleep I usually manage to get. There was some low visibility around Malpensa; landing was scheduled at 7.55; it landed at 8.17, at the gate at 8.27. Passport control was quick compared to recent experiences in Rome; a slight wait for my checked bag.
Return flight: I was at Malpensa at 7.50 for my 10.05 flight. There was a special entrance for check-in for U.S.-bound flights, past a guard’s screening. Check-in was quick, and I was directed back to the main lobby. I had time on my phone card and wanted to call my parents before leaving, thinking 8.45 was a reasonable time. I called, they said the villa in Bellagio had snow like they weren’t prepared to handle. I went to the Swiss ticket counter to improve their seat assignments for their return flight. After taking things leisurely, I went downstairs and found a major line (or not really a line) for security. There was first an open area, then switchback areas where people were cutting in front of me, notably a woman with a suitcase that I was pretty sure wouldn’t be a carry-on for anyone; she was in fact sent back. It actually went faster than it first looked. I had time to stop at a duty-free shop and get my desired Amaro Averna. I got to the gate, the flight had partially boarded, and I joined the line. The gate agent looked down the line to see if anyone was getting miles; he saw the account on my boarding pass, and even though I was getting Northwest miles and had no status, I was able to board before the people in line. After my bad experience on the outbound, I’d changed my seat assignment online to an inside aisle. When the door closed at 9.57, I had an empty seat next to me, and I could put my carry-on in the overhead bin without disruption and have full legroom. Takeoff was at 10.20. The older woman flight attendant had wisecracks about my drink orders, like was I old enough. We were on track to arrive early, but around Albany we went into the first of three circles to keep our distance while the U.S. president left the Newark area. Landing was scheduled for 1.25, happened at 1.35, at gate at 1.45. We walked on overhead bridges over the departure area as I’d noticed on the outbound. The baggage claim was changed from what was first announced; then U.S. entry formalities were uneventful.
I had the security check for my connecting flight and got to that gate. Among the phone calls I made, I learned of a mix-up in my credit card payments, and I had to start straightening that out. From the TV I also learned the unfortunate news about the U.S. assault on the Italian journalist freed in Iraq. This Friday afternoon, I saw business travelers lined up for my flight all with bags for gate checking. They may have all been elites, but I followed the rules and waited for the general boarding call, I was last to board, and I had to sit on my coat; there was no place to squeeze it into the overhead bins. The door closed at the scheduled 3.20 departure time; takeoff at 4.02. There was a snack on this flight; landing was scheduled at 5.35, happened at 5.45, at the gate at 5.52.
I have good thoughts of the trip; it wasn’t entirely according to Slow Travel rules, but I’m glad about what I did, I’m glad about the winter perspective, and I like reliving the experience by writing this much later.