Bressanone Christmas Markets: The Charming South Tyrol

Posted on December 24, 2014 by liguriansun

The streets of Bressanone / Brixen

Last December, I wanted to go back for more German Christmas markets, yet after so many weekends of whirlwind travel, my budget told me to look in places accessible by train. After long rides to Munich for Oktoberfest the past two years, I saw that the Italian Dolomites were an extremely attractive travel destination. The train always glided by as the grand, jagged mountains silenced the passengers with awe. A quick google search brought me to the website for the Christmas Markets of the South Tyrol:

After, I hopped onto booking.com, noting that most hotels were sold out, too expensive, or too far away, requiring a car. Yet, there was an extremely affordable option in Bressanone / Brixen. Towns in this autonomous region go by Italian and German names since those are the two official languages of this area that is more Tyrollean than Italian. After googling the town, I learned that the hotel in Bressanone was walking distance to the train station, the markets, and the spa. Booked!

The South Tyrol

The Alto Adige region of Italy, the South Tyrol.

It was more than a 7 hour train ride from Genoa, so once again, I dashed out of my 8th grade class exactly at the end of the day at 3:30, onto my scooter, downtown and onto the 4:10 train for Milan where I’d catch my connection to Bressanone. Yet, my train was late. And it got even more delayed en route. Even though I had a 35 minute transfer cushion, my train rolled into the station at the exact time my connecting train for Verona was departing. I leapt off the train, sprinting with with my backpack, and got to the train for Verona Porta Nuova just in time. I leapt on as the doors closed and the train glided away. Safe! Sweet Relief. Yet, this train was different. It didn’t look like the other trains I took to Verona. I didn’t remember there being a business section. Just as I noticed that, I heard the announcement, “Treno per Torino Porta Nuova.” OH NO! I didn’t catch my connection — I got on the wrong train. There was no time to check the track so I headed in the general direction of trains I’d taken to Verona and Venice before. I tried in vain to open the doors, pressing the button frantically as a businessman said, “Non e possibile. It’s not possible. It’s too late.”

I didn’t have a ticket or a reservation or a seat, and now I was heading in the opposite direction. I talked to the conductor for help, and they had me stand outside their little room– a weary, seatless vagabond–while they called for assistance. They said my ticket would not be transferrable to Verona because I got on the wrong train. Luckily, though, they did not charge me for the ticket to Torino. They said they would tell their colleagues on the train from Torino back to Milan but they could not guarantee that I wouldn’t have to pay for a ticket just go get back to Milan. I started arguing with them, losing my cool in complete frustration with Italy’s complete disregard for punctuality, saying “I didn’t know an Internet ticket wouldn’t be valid later. That’s not fair. I have nowhere to sleep tonight!” They responded, “This is Italy. The customer is not protected. You have no rights.” Raised on American service, I still could not adapt to this concept as I apologized, thanked them for all they did do for me, and silently fumed in an empty seat as my train pulled into Torino.

Rolling into MIlan again, having gone nowhere in the past 2 hours, I took a chance by going to the ticket desk as if I haven’t just gone to Torino. The ticket agent was understanding, and gave me a a new ticket to Bressanone, yet I was informed there were no more trains tonight, so I’d have to spend the night in Verona. I called Booking.com to notify the hotel I wouldn’t be there tonight, booked a hotel in Verona by the train station and shortly I was there in a tiny yet cozy single room where finally I could sleep.

The next morning I indulged in a great breakfast spread, hopped onto a train, and eventually to Bressanone, which, to my surprise, was not snow-covered as I had hoped. Ironically, my snowy Christmas market experience was not in the alps but actually the normally soggy and milder Rhineland. Bressanone was still absolutely beautiful in its eager, chilled wait for snow. I love places with the “mountain air vibe.” It was simultaneously exhilarating and relaxing, filled with action and adventure, families, couples, singles . . . everyone just here to enjoy, a combination of chillaxing and adventure.

At the hotel, I was pleasantly surprised by how charming it was for the price. I was also delighted that the hotel chose not to charge me for last night since they were notified. Yes! I gazed at the mountain views, dropped my bags, then began wandering around the markets. It was definitely like stepping into a fairytale in this crossroads of cultures, where you could order a crepe with Nutella, a brioche, a bratwurst, or a German pancake all at the same stand. I ordered a funnel cake with lingonberries, eyed the shops for tomorrow, took some photos, then hit the spa.

quaint streets

The best kind of advent calendar

Like German spas, there was a no-clothing allowed area. I was used to that in Germany, but in Italy, bathing suits are usually compulsory in all areas–even the sauna–so I was really hesitant as I slipped out of my bikini. A few shy steps, and then I noticed confidently nude folks all around me, sipping wine, snacking on aperitivo, and heading into the saunas. Before long, I was alone in an outdoor hot tub, naked under the stars in absolute bliss. The travel stress melted away and only this moment existed.

Afterwards, I went for a nice swim– the only one in the saline lap pool with grand windows– and then back to the hotel for a long, dreamy sleep. The next morning, I over-indulged at the breakfast spread, wandered through the markets some more, then visited the presepi museum. Presepi are Italy’s nativity scenes, and in the tradition of St. Francis, they are often set in familiar Italian settings to help make the story more relatable. Like little dollhouses. The museum had very ornate sets going back to the 1700s. After a casual stroll, I checked out of the hotel. Still no snow but much peace. I walked out of town, along the babbling brook, gazing at hilly vineyards and farmhouses, happy hikers, and the promise of good tidings.

Enchanting

I snagged an afternoon train back to Milan where I was so lucky to have a seat as it was as crowded as a NYC subway at rush hour, elbows and purses assaulting my head in the car so hot it felt like I was back in the sauna, but clothed. I was so glad I booked a hotel in MIlan for the night to break up the journey, although it also meant that I had to jump on the 6:10am train back to Genoa where I’d hop on my scooter and dash into the school just in time for work. Another fantastic weekend, but a lot more zen than whirlwind this time.

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For more Christmas Markets, my post about the Dusseldorf Markets, 2012.

Swiss Bliss with Mamma

Posted on August 9, 2014 by liguriansun

In 2004 when I earned my Masters in English, my mother took her first trip to Europe. During this graduation gift, I escorted her to many of my favorite highlights at the time, visiting London and where I studied in the Cottswolds countryside. We went to the Tuscan coast, with day trips to hill towns, and then to the Swiss Alps for the finale of our trip. With frequent backpacking, I always ensured to visit Interlaken at the end because if I went somewhere else afterwards, it felt anti-climactic–even the quaint mountains of Innsbruck. This region of Switzerland, the Berner Oberland, is natural, pristine, extreme and serene beauty. It just makes you feel good. There is a special energy that ameliorates nearly everything. I would stare at pictures of the blue lakes and jagged peaks during a dreary Bronx winter and dream of returning. I was thrilled to be back, and Mom adored it.

2004. Top of Harder Kulm, in Interlaken, Switzerland. Mom’s first trip to Europe, and the travel bug is spread.

As we walked through the charming valley town, she kept pointing to the snowcapped Jungfrau mountain. I often caught her just staring, with a blissful smile on her face. I don’t think I had ever seen her like that my entire life. We ate cheese and chocolate fondue, pet goats and cows, and just enjoyed the peace. While we did take the train up to the top of the local mountain, Harder Kulm, we never made it to any of the high peaks around the Jungfrau, though.

* * *

When I accepted the job in Genoa, I was excited for both the proximity to the Cinque Terre as well as the reasonable train ride to Interlaken, Switzerland, a place I visited nearly every summer since 2001. I planned to go as often as possible. And I did, with five visits over my two years in the region. I would have gone even more frequently if the six hour train wasn’t so expensive. I wrote about the mountains in the spring here. And now 13 years after my first visit, I was finally going to ski.

Many schools in America have February break (although, sadly, many have cut it in half or eliminated it). In Europe, they call it Ski Week, because a majority of the families head to the mountains for up to a week of skiing. Learning on icy, artificial snow in the Ramapo Mountains and other bumps in Bergen and Sussex counties, skiing the alps is always a treat for me. And the lift tickets are way cheaper than resorts in Vale. (I have yet to try skiing out West, but hopefully this year). In any case, while I have made sure to ski the alps last year and this year, I have not yet skied in my favorite place in the world. Last year, I got to see the high peaks around Interlaken covered in snow as I escorted my 12th grade students on a self-designed writing retreat perched in the peaceful mountain bliss in Wengen, Switzerland. This year, to save money, we stayed in the valley, with day trips to up to the magic. I vowed I would eventually ski there. This February, I did.

After a few days relaxing in Genoa, where Mamma enjoys living like a local (along with preparing a snack for me when I return home from school!), we boarded a train to Switzerland. We had a peaceful journey into Interlaken, where mom commented how relaxed she felt in the mountain air. There, we boarded the scenic train that would take us to Lauterbrunnen, the valley at the base of the high peaks, where we then boarded a cog railway up the dramatic slopes. Mom kept pointing in awe. But I noticed one very important thing was missing. Where was the snow? As we climbed higher and higher, I noticed the snow wasn’t covering the streets and paths as in January. Apparently, it was so sunny and warm that it had melted. Sigh. Meanwhile, back in the States, New Yorkers were pummeled with multiple snowstorms a week and low temperatures that didn’t allow it to melt.

Nearing Lauterbrunnen

Once out in the car free village of Wengen, we called a cab (a little electric car) that took us and our bags to the hotel for check in, just around the corner. They make a fortune at 20 swiss francs for the journey yet it was necessary especially with mom’s recent knee injury. The quaint hotel, perched on the cliff, offered dramatic views and plenty to enjoy even for a non-skier. When I had stopped by for a peek when I was here with my students earlier this winter, I saw the owner, who gave me a little tour and suggested I book a meal for the first night so we don’t have to worry about going out for dinner. I thought that would be convenient, so we opted for that.

Shortly after settling into the quaint and cozy room with panoramic mountain views, Mom and I went downstairs for the meal of the day. Each course was savory and scrumptious. We didn’t leave a drop of soup in our bowls or a piece of meat on our plates. I could easily stay here a week! I forgot to write down what we had, but the ever changing fixed menu was more satisfying than any of the more expensive restaurant food.

dessert

We vowed to sign up for dinner the next two nights, I took a starlit walk, and then we both drifted into a peaceful sleep you only can get in the mountain air.

twilight view from one of our windows

The buffet breakfast was plentiful and delicious, of course, and soon after, I rented skis for two days along with a two-day all-mountain lift ticket. For a bit more, I was able to get the premier skis, which were newer and extra sharp. This proved amazing for cutting the very few icy patches on the slopes. I boarded a cable car for the peaks while mom enjoyed a relaxing day in the sunshine, watching the skiers and the mountains.

When I exited the cable car, it was amazing to be in a place I hiked with Dad a few years before, on top of the world. These are stunning views that tourists pay to see during the summer, and now I got to enjoy them in the winter, while playing and carving the snow. The shop gave me skis up to my lips, a lot longer than I am comfortable with. But they explained that when I opt for the shorter ones, I can out-ski them, and the lack of control is even worse. I definitely realized that for my experience and skill level, these were the best — even though I’m a very cautious and often nervous skier.

It was such a delight to explore all the options, from quiet powdery trails to big, crowded bowls with moguls and stunning views. The skis helped me to advance my technique, and I got a great workout as I went down to the valley of Grindelwald where the snow melted and I wished I wasn’t wearing a jacket. I stopped for a trail-side restaurant where I devoured a full plate of Rosti, a hearty mountain dish of cheese, egg and fried potatoes, in a sublime setting before heading back up.

Hearty mountain Rosti in a sublime setting

A man took this photo of me when he saw me trying to take a selfie

At the end of the day, I stored my skis at the lodge for tomorrow and met Mom for another amazing dinner at the hotel with our super hospitable hosts. Nearly all of Switzerland is hospitable, so this is quite a compliment. I usually don’t like to give away hotel secrets, but Hotel Edelweiss deserves some recognition, so my modest little group of readers, you are in on my secret.

view from one of our balconies

For day 2, Mom joined me on a cog railway up to Kleine Sheidegg, a place where Dad and I enjoyed petting goats in the summer of 2009. The goats have been replaced with skiers for the winter, and Mom got to watch me do a few runs while she basked in the sun by a tepee.

Kleine Sheidegg, Feb 2014

Dad found the same shot from our summer visit in 2009!

As much as I was enjoying this side of the mountain and the super fresh snow I found, I decided to explore a bit and began heading for the other side of the valley. Apparently, I somehow got on a very, very steep slope — so steep that when I stopped due to nerves, the chunks of packed snow tumbled down the incline, a reminder that would happen to me if I didn’t allow my skis to cling to the terrain which was actually easier while moving rather than crouched in crying baby, a seldom used yoga position. I focused on one turn at a time, a girl whose only lessons were the “beginner ski packages” on those little bump places at age 9, and made it! At that point, I noticed I was on the World Cup Slalom trail, an “expert skier only” slope. They should have marked that a bit more clearly before my entrance . . . and expert sking in the alps, that’s some serious business.

With tired quads and frayed nerves, I tried to find my way back into Wengen where I would take the cog down and then a cable up to the other side of the valley, Murren. I did pay for the all-mountain pass after all . . . yet I should have paid more attention to the “trail closed” sign, noting the melted slush that covered it, because as I went down, the slush disappeared. I was downhill, by some farm, and had to remove my skis, toss them on my shoulder and do the awkward, clunky ski boot clomp on a hiking trail, past a barn with cows, bells jingling as they tossed their heads towards the intruder. Clomp, clomp, clomp, down, down, down — the sun making my head dizzy, steam escaping from my pink fleece, dehydrated and dizzy when I looked across the hill and realized that cute town up above me was . . . Wengen. I went down too far, and this trail was no good to me.

Clomp, clomp, clomp up the trail — dehydrated, I grabbed fresh mountain snow for a pathetic attempt at refreshment. Back past the jingling cows, back up the closed trail and onto the lift again where I would take the correct path down to Wengen. Except, the path looked very familiar. Very steep, and . . . oh man, tempting fate once again on the World Cup Slalom Slope. I again made it down safely, back up the lift, and finally safely back to Wengen, swishing by fields and pine trees, and ever changing vistas, often the only skier in sight.

As I prepared to board the cable car up the other side, I realized I needed more hydration. I thought about buying a water in the vending machine (which happened to include a pregnancy test called Maybe Baby, for when you just gotta know on the slopes) but opted for a Capri Sun because I figured the extra sugars would do me good and hey, it’s been a while. With the skis in my hand, I jabbed that silly straw into the squishy pouch. I think I missed a couple of times, and eventually got it. A few minutes and a big sip later, I looked at my hand, blood dripping down from my thumb, a chunk of my skin cut clear off. I must have sliced the hand on the ski in my straw jabbing attempt. The skis were so sharp, I didn’t even feel it. Since I had no bandaid, and the machine had every other convenience except that, I pulled my thumb loops over it, gloves back on, and tried to ignore it.

When I got out in Murren, dizzy, dazed and bleeding, I couldn’t find a chair lift in site, so I clomp, clomp, clomp walked. I walked for a long while . . . and then found the cable car up to Schilthorn, the site of a James Bond movie, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. My a Dad and I traveled on this cable car in 2010, for panoramic views of . . . clouds.

the restaurant was featured in the bond movie

Dad enjoying the panoramic view of clouds

Here I was now, without a cloud in the sky, for stunning views. And then I saw it, the dreaded sign” For expert skiers only” as our cable car sailed over struggling skiers clinging to a tiny, narrow cliffside trail that made the Slalom Look like a bunny hill. I exited the cable car, dizzy from the altitude, took a few photos, then rode the car back down, disheartened but alive.

Schilthorn Piz Gloria

Clomp, clomp, clomp — ski lifts were closing, so clomp, clomp . . . let’s try to cross country ski in the slush. . . . but these are not cross country skis, so . . . no. I was sweating, still bleeding, and regretting the journey to this side since I wasn’t actually skiing, just toting a lot of equipment for a peek at other peaks. Yet it was beautiful.

Eventually I returned to Wengen for an amazing shower, our last hearty and delicious meal at the hotel, and a final starlit sleep. It would be so sad to leave tomorrow. Meanwhile, Mom had a great day in the sunshine, loving every minute of her time on the mountains she pointed at from the valley 10 years ago.

Here are more photos from our lovely stay

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Nothing’s the Matterhorn

Posted on July 9, 2014 by liguriansun

In the fall, I received a text from my great friend Kat in New York City. She just started a new job and did not have many travel days, although she found an amazing airfare ($676) to Milan. “I can’t turn this down. When are you available this January?”

Many friends don’t like to travel to Italy when it’s not peak season, especially in the dreary days of winter, when even the Italian Rivieria can get soggy and cool. Yet such a great friend, Kat was only interested in seeing me and catching up, knowing we will always find great adventures.

Kat arrived last March and got lucky with great, warm, blue-skied weather for her visit as I posted here: Whirlwind Weekend

Again, this year–although I know Kat just wanted to see me–I was determined to find something wonderful to do during that short time. Why not take advantage of the winter weather and the proximity to the mountains? “Kat, do you want to ski the alps?”

“Why not?” she said. “I’ve always wanted to.”

This was extra special because for the second year in a row, I had to sadly miss our annual ski retreat in New Hampshire with great friends. Every President’s Day weekend in February, we would drive up to the cozy hilltop farmhouse where my friend’s mother lives, arriving after midnight on a Friday, waking to sunshine and mountain panoramas on Saturday, bacon and eggs for breakfast while someone prepared our sandwiches, then we’d drive to Mount Sunapee for a day on the slopes, chatting on the ski lift, laughing over our crazy antics, and convening for lunch and hot chocolate in the cafe. As the day grew to a close, legs weary and ice on the slopes, we’d call “last run” and meet in the lodge for the best moment of the day– the orgasmic crying out of “Ski Boots!” as they are removed. After, we’d indulge in craft brews and live music for Apres Ski, then eventually a winding car ride home with a stop at the grocery store to prepare dinner. Taking turns for showers, we’d gather around the dining room table, rosy cheeked and vino filled, for philosophical conversation, great laughs, and the kind of moments that can only happen on a retreat like this with special friends. The following day, we’d sleep in then depending on the weather, we’d head out to the slopes for a half day, go tubing, or find other random activities in sleepy New Hampshire, followed by another great dinner.

Since I’ve been gone, the crew always calls me from the slopes or Apres ski shouting “Ski Boots!” Kat and I have had many great conversations on chairlifts, and we were eager to do the same in the Alps. I chose Cervinia, the Italian side of the Matterhorn, with an easy bus connection from Milan. (The Swiss side is Zermatt). I told Kat to enjoy Milan when she arrived, then I would meet her after work.

Kat now works for a luxury travel company in New York. For work, she was able to get us two free nights in luxury hotels. Kat told me to cancel the bookings I made at budget hotels by the train station because on Friday night, we were staying at The Four Seasons. Saturday, we kept our cozy hotel suite in Cervinia. Then on Sunday night, we were treated to a room at the Park Hyatt right next to the Duomo. Ahh, luxury!

At 3:35pm on Friday, I made my usual mad dash to the train station, arriving just in time to take the 4:10 train to Milan. Although, the 4:10 was not on time. It was 2 hours delayed due to heavy rain. Only in Italy would there be train delays because of rain. Meanwhile in Switzerland, the train goes up snowy mountains. Anyways, despite Trenitalia’s frequent success in aggravating me on my departure, I eventually arrived in Milan. After enjoying a bit of of the city and a few winks, Kat gave me a big hug at the station, then escorted me to The Four Seasons. This budget traveler–who often grabs rooms in hostels, sometimes even sharing a dorm–was absolutely mesmerized for the treat. This room can cost almost 500 euros. A snack, fruit and prosecco were waiting for us along with some delicious truffles. After indulging, Kat and I were exhausted yet made it out for dinner in a local restaurant. With good wine and conversation, we strolled back in the misty evening, enjoying living how the others live. (It’s not really the other half . . .)

Welcome from The Four Seasons

delicious chocolate truffles

The next morning, we awoke for a very early departure, but first Kat ordered the American breakfast to the room, where we indulged in French toast and bacon!

My backpack on the floor – a travel buddy since Australia 2002!

Next, we dragged our gear to the metro and then hopped on the bus that wound its way up into the alps. It was snowing when we arrived in cozy Cervinia, an idyllic welcome to a quaint town. We dropped our bags at the hotel, suited up in ski gear, and grabbed skis and passes to get on the slopes as soon as possible. The heavy snow meant an abundance of fresh powder. Yet it also meant almost zero visibility at times. I was sure there were beautiful views of the Matterhorn and nearby mountains. We just couldn’t see them.

Cervinia

Kat on the Ski lift

After playing on the slopes for a while, enjoying the fresh powder experience, we decided to go up as high as we could. We originally anticipated skiing to Switzerland, but sadly, those lifts were closed–so we would be stuck there with no real transfer back. Instead, we went up as far as we could to the high lifts on the Italian side of the Matterhorn. The altitude was very high, and as we emerged into the horizontal icy conditions, I felt lightheaded and lost my side vision. Skiers struggled, falling because apparently it was so steep. If I had the views, I might have been very intimidated, but for me, that worked to my advantage as I struggled just to focus in front of me. I was also so dizzy that I was extra cautious, and somehow made it down the steepest part, hair soaking wet er rather, frozen . . .along with my eyelashes.

We found our way to a mountain lodge. In many American ski resorts I’ve visited, such a lodge would have overpriced hot dogs, hamburgers and other processed, greasy foods with little flavor. Here, we had real Alpine meals. We indulged in bresaola (cured beef), salad, cheeses, and realized our restaurant was featured in Bon Appetit magazine. We just had to pose for a picture with the owners, who were so sweet and proud of their work.

Bresaola

Swiss Bliss.

The article in Bon Appetit

The owner. Kat has a cute one with all of us including the chef.

How did they even get supplies there? So high up. So delightful. after navigating the not so delightful squat toilet in ski boots and pants, we enjoyed the slopes for the rest of the day, although never got any views.

That evening, after a glorious “Ski Boots!” experience and a warm shower, we strolled through town, finding a quaint restaurant for fondue and great conversation.

flaming fondue

We were not interested in staying out late for dancing, although even sleepy Cervinia had that option.

The next morning, we awoke for a quaint breakfast, then decided to ski again! Why not!?

morning views from our bedroom

quaint decor at breakfast

We checked out of the hotel, back into our ski gear and up the slopes, and again . . .it was snowing. We enjoyed another amazing meal on another part of the mountain, although sadly . . . we still couldn’t ski to Switzerland.

dancing on the slopes — Italy loves to play music for skiers!

You can see the actual snowflakes!

We hopped off the slopes just in time to grab the bus back to Milan where we checked into the Park Hyatt before an amazing dinner. They recommended a restaurant in the museum Nove Cento, which had panoramic views of the Duomo along with absolutely amazing cuisine. The prices were very high, but the flavor, ambience and service were wonderful!

The Park Hyatt was right by the Duomo, so we had a relaxing walk through quaint neighborhoods, and tried to get some sleep before my very early wakeup call. Kat ordered us breakfast!

Then I grabbed the 6:10am train back to Genoa and work, napping along the way with sweet dreams and great memories of another fabulous whirlwind weekend!

Spring Break: Genova, Roma and the Swiss Alps (Part 3 – Switzerland)

Posted on April 11, 2013 by liguriansun

On the morning of Wednesday April 3, we awoke in Rome for another yummy breakfast in our hotel, featuring fresh-baked cakes, breads, Nutella, cheeses, eggs, cereals, coffee, juice . . . plenty of options for a free hotel breakfast in a country where it is very common to just have some bread and coffee. The sun was making an appearance, brightening the room and our spirits.

I grabbed a few pieces of fruit for the journey, and we headed to the room for the final check out. Farewell Sacre Coure golden statue, the beautiful view from our 6th floor room.

View from our Rome hotel room – taken from my iphone.

Luckily, our hotel was just meters from the Roma Termini Train station, so it was easy to walk and board our train to Milan. It was a super high speed train that would whisk us to Milan in less than 3 hours, a journey that could take a very long time with regular trains. We paid dearly for the ticket, but with limited time and an ambitious itinerary, this was the way to go.

A bit of reading, a bit of napping, passing through gorgeous Tuscan rolling hills . . .Brendan tapped my knee to point out when we were in Florence. “You love this city, right?” I do like Florence, and was especially fond of my recent visit with Kat. Then before long, we were pulling into Milan’s Central Station where were transferred to a packed Swiss train for the Alps. It was so crowded, that even though I booked weeks in advance, we didn’t have seats next to each other — just across the aisle. No problem. Brendan was reading a good book, Umberto Eco’s Baudolino. I had a book for book club, Erik Larson’s Devil in the White City, but I just couldn’t get into that dark world of mystery and terror. I was craving more of light and fun travel writing. Anyway, I was sitting at a table with two Italian grandparents and their charming little granddaughter, coloring and chatting away. Grandpa was kind, and we spoke to each other with my limited Italian and his limited English. Very friendly. And Grandma made sure I was well fed throughout the journey with pizza, foccacia, and other snacks. It made me miss my own grandparents and my own family in general. They were from Recco, a local town nearby on the Ligurian Coast, bringing their granddaughter back to their son and daughter-in-law, who live in Frankfurt, Germany. Maybe she was visiting for Easter? The son was going to pick them up from Basel to lessen the amount of time the girl would have to spend on the train. But she was loving it at this point.

This train ride is one of the most scenic, starting just minutes after Milan. On a clear day, you can see the snow-capped peaks surrounding Milan. We glided right towards them, first stopping in a charming town called Stressa. Stressa is nestled along a lake, and seems like a charming and inviting escape near Milan, and ultimately not too far from Genova. I should go sometime during swimming season.

After Stressa, the mountains grew more dramatic, the lakes bluer, and soon we passed through some tunnels and popped out along Lake Thun, stopping in Spiez. I traveled this same route with my seniors in February for a snowy writer’s workshop perched in a hotel in Wengen, up in the Alpine Peaks of the Berner Oberland. When Brendan said he wanted to see alps, I knew we had to head to that region, and I could think of no better place than my favorite spot, Interlaken, nestled at the base of those peaks between two turquoise glacial lakes, Thun and Brienz.

The air was fresh, the vibe instantly awe-inspiring. We climbed into our last train for a short ride to Interlaken and exited in bright, relaxed spirits. It was sunny and slightly foggy, probably because of the snow-melt. We had arrived in the off-season, where skiers were squeezing in their last runs on the slopes while snow melted in the lower elevations. I clapped my hands with exhiliration and pure joy on my 10th visit to my favorite place in the world. Brendan’s hay fever and jet lag were both minimized and he instantly appreciated the stunning peace and beauty of the region. Even in the off season it was stunning, with both green grass and snow-capped peaks. “Are you happy?” he asked.

“Oh yes!”

The Jungfrau Region. Interlake is in the valley between the lakes.

The Jungfrau Region. Interlaken is in the valley between the lakes.

We took the short stroll to our hotel, which I had found along the River Aare, a blue green river connecting alpine, glacial Lake Brienz with the slightly warmer castle-strewn Lake Thun. I spent many days swimming in these lakes during summer visits. In my winter visit they were a steel gray, so I was glad to see them back to their vibrant blue.

View from our Swiss Hotel Room, over the River Aare with Jungfrau and paragliders in the background

View from the hotel window

The Beautiful River Aare

Our hotel was actually a few guest rooms above a restaurant. We had a view of the river and the high peaks beyond, including Jungfrau, the highest peak in the region, snow-capped even in August. We were extra lucky with our room because they upgraded us to a spacious suite, and the hotel staff couldn’t have been more friendly. Brendan was impressed with the Swiss Hospitality, and while I had grown to love it from all my other visits, I too was impressed and appreciative.

Jungfrau in the distance

We wandered through the city, touristy but in the good kind of way: friendly shops, adorable knick-knacks, snacks and chocolate, and paragliders floating through the sky in peaceful descent to the big green field in the center of town. Elderly couples strolled hand-in-hand, groups of tourists gazed up in awe, friends and families in good spirits. Switzerland is Peace, Love, and Happiness. Brendan later told me, “Your soul lives here.”

The difficult task of choosing from all the wonderful swiss chocolate.

After some shopping, we went for a walk to Lake Brienz. In this shoulder season, we had the whole trail almost to ourselves as we wandered through the woods, gazed at the majestic water, and passed my swans in Bonigen.

Bonigen

We continued along to Iseltwald, nearing the waterfall when, suddenly, the souls of my 1998 hiking boots literally split and fell apart. The rubber was that old. The boots were not worn away, but I guess that stuff doesn’t last forever.

In such a charming location, it didn’t affect me much at all as I hobbled along, but we decided to turn back, and boarded a bus for Interlaken back in Bonigen, continuing good, animated conversation and philosophy. Then we booked PARAGLIDING for tomorrow. My third time and Brendan’s first. We were going to fly.

That night, we went for dinner in the Happy Inn Lodge, a very special place for me because I stayed in this hostel my first time in Interlaken with my friend Anna the summer of 2001. We had always wanted to visit Switzerland, and spontaneously boarded a night train from Amsterdam when we were unable to get accommodation. We didn’t have sleeper cabins, so we sat in the seats all night and made friends, groggily rolling into town in complete silent awe along with our fellow passengers as the mountains revealed themselves to us. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

At the train station, we went to the hotel board, saw hotels with availability, picked up the phone, and the Happy Inn Lodge welcomed us. We stayed there, shared some drinks, and enjoyed a splendid stay, my first of many. While Brendan and I opted to stay in better accomodation, Happy Inn Lodge has good beer and food, and was perfect for a peaceful dinner, followed by a walk through town to the outskirts, where I checked on the dance club at the hostel Funny Farm. Closed tonight, but it would be open tomorrow (Thursday). Good Plan.

Back to the hostel where we watched some tv on NBC.com on the iPhone before drifting into mountain-air dreams.

On Thursday morning, we awoke for an absolutely delicious Swiss breakfast in the hotel, including homemade jam, fresh breads, farm fresh eggs, cappuccino, hot chocolate, whatever we wanted. Everything was fresh and flavorful, and again, the staff were super warm and friendly.

We prepared to fly, and a van came to pick us up, toting us to the top of a nearby mountain. I went paragliding that first time with Anna in 2001, and it was the most exhilirating experieince of my life to that date. It was summer. And it was summer when I went again with my friend Krista in 2006. Now in 2013, I went for my third flight in early spring. They suited us up in helmets and our seat, attached us to our instructors, and I snapped some photos of snowy mountains and the grass making her spring appearance.

Before long, Brendan was running down the hill then AIRBORNE. I was so exited for him because I can never forget that first time you are flying, feet dangling in the sky among the birds and trees.

Then I ran down the hill, and shortly after we were in the air, my instructor had me take the controls and allowed me to steer and fly a bit. “You’re ready now. It’s your third flight.” He explained that I could take flying lessons in Interlaken, spread out throughout the year, or in an intense two week course with several flights a day after some ground training. Once you are done, you can buy the equipment (used) for about 1200 CHF. “At that point, it’s a pretty free hobby.” Something to really think about. There is no feeling like it.

Brendan flying

The flights always feel too short because before long, I was spinning to the ground in dramatic dips and curves before a soft landing. Brendan gave me the thumbs up, clearly high from the adrenaline.

I was so excited to see him feeling better and truly enjoying the trip at this point. Yay Switzerland!

We packed our bags for the mountains. According to my iPhone, it was in the teens and 20s up in Murren and Wengen (two sides of the valley). I took him up to Wengen, where I was just visiting with my high school students in February. We hoped the roads would still be snow-covered for some tobogganing. We also packed our swimsuits, eager to use the spa at the Hotel Lauberhorn, where my dad and I stayed in the summer of 2011.

We took the train to Lautberbrunnen

then boarded the cog railway up the mountain to Wengen as Brendan gazed in awe. The alps are impressive from the valley and even flying. But we were going way up into them now, and the views were dramatic and ever-changing. When we exited the train, it was clear that the iPhone was wrong and the snow was melting, so we put our bags in the locker, stopped in the Coop where we found some Duff beer, yeah Duff, and went on a snowy/muddy hike up the mountain. We stopped at a bench on the edge of the woods to just be. It was the most peaceful, wonderful moment of the trip.

Then back down to Wengen where we enjoyed traditional Swiss food. We ordered fondue with herbs and rosti with eggs and cheese. A hearty mountain meal where I ate with both my father that summer and my students in the winter.

We were saddened to learn that the Victoria Lauberhorn was closed for the season (we missed it by a couple of days) so we couldn’t use the spa, to our dismay. We enjoyed a bit more of Wengen.

Then we took a train back down to the Lauterbrunnen Valley and had enough time to walk to the famous waterfall before our train to Interlaken. I thought with all the snow melt, it would be more impressive, but it was just a well-lit trickle.

In the summer, it’s a raging, rushing waterfall. However, it was still beautiful and impressive. Then back to town where we prepared to dance.

We walked to the disco club, which was quite empty when we entered. Brendan felt slightly uncomfortable and asked what I wanted to do. I said, “We are gonna dance.” We tore up that dance floor, and soon others joined us. It was a lovely, fun night followed by a nice starlit walk back to our hotel for another sweet mountain air sleep.

The next morning, we did not want to stress ourselves unnecessarily with an early train. We were woken up in the most swiss way possible. I heard a cacophony of metallic sound in the street. What was this? A bunch of metal wheels? A truck? I went to the window and saw the road filled with a parade of cows donning giant bells. They were heading somewhere. I had to wake Brendan up to see this special site. It truly made my day.

Back downstairs for another delicious breakfast, sad that we couldn’t stay another day or two. But we were lucky that we had a few hours to enjoy Interlaken before our train. I went to get my Jowissa watch fixed, and we rented a tandem bike, heading through town and back to Bonigen and my swans.

Tandem Bicycle

What a new, fun experience! The guy at the bike shop was super talkative, friendly and informative, and he gave me tips for my future visits, knowing I like to come so often. Apparently, there is a special camping hut in the back of the Lauterbrunnen Valley (below Wengen), where you can have a nice, peaceful time.

Time was unfortunately running short, so we had to return the bike and grab our bags from the hotel, where we passed the Cow Parade going back from whence they came this morning, perfect bookends to our final day in Switzerland. We grabbed sandwiches from the supermarket, then boarded our train back to Genoa. It was a wonderful stay and always sad to leave, but we had a fantastic time. Brendan said, “I don’t want to steal this as your favorite place . . . but I love it.” Yay Switzerland!

-written 27 June but posted in April for timeline purposes

-continued in Part 4

Under the Ligurian Sun

My life and travels while living La Dolce Vita in Genoa, Italy.

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