Sunday, September 23, 2018

In which we explore Milano and Swan Lake (Lago Maggiore part I).



Back in early spring, a friend (we will call her Jana) casually mentioned something about her parents' holiday home on Lago Maggiore, a lake in northern Italy that pokes into Switzerland. This was in conversation with another friend (a certain Steven) and me, and the two of us quickly did a rewind and said "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jana, did you just say your parents have a holiday home on Lago Maggiore? Why are we not there RIGHT NOW?!" And from that moment we hatched a plan that the three of us would go there in the summer and spend a week lazing on the beach and exploring the little villages and beautiful nature in the area. Spoiler alert: Oops, too late. Now I guess you need read no further, unless you want to see pictures of some pretty dreamy scenes. When I showed a couple to my brother just now (coming to you live from the Green Mountain State), he responded saying things like "You jerk!", so maybe abstain from looking unless you can be nice about it. Or not. Whatever. Here we go.

On August 8, about a week and a half after returning to Hamburg from Norway (see previous posts), Jana, Steven and I sleepily met aboard the S-Bahn to the airport at an ungodly hour in the morning. "Whose great idea was it to take the plane at 7am?" grumped the Jana. In fact, we had all agreed to take the early flight together some time ago because a.) it was cheapest, and b.) it would give us the whole day to explore Milan before taking the train north to our final destination. And also in fact, getting up at 4:30am is never fun, not then or anytime. Sorry, Jana. You're the best. Here we go, take two.

Our descent into Milan gave us our first view of Lago Maggiore, long and narrow with the snowy Alps poking out of the clouds in the distance, its shore dotted with little villages, one of which would be our home for the next week. After bussing into the city, depositing our heavy backpacks at the central station, and changing into shorts (because wow, it was h.o.t.t.), we wandered downtown and checked out some of the main touristy sights, such as the Duomo cathedral (from the outside), the very sparkly Galleria Vittoria Emanuele II shopping center, the history-rich grounds of the Castello Sforzesco. To get there from the main station involved walking through some of the Very Fancy Designer District, deserted and the fashion all barred behind windows at that morning hour, though the streets still smelled strongly of perfume.






Lunch we found at a little outdoor café in the Brera district, where all the restaurants had sprinkler systems built into their awnings that sprayed passers-by like heads of lettuce at the supermarket, the mist refreshing and cool and gone in an instant.




From there we wantered a bit untl we found outselves in a courtyard with a statue sporting the best ass in Italy. This turned out to be the Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera, a fine arts academy with a fine open house going on with lots of fine art and fine, cool, shady hallways in which to hide from the sun and every-increasing crowds of tourists.



After having our required cultural experience, we left the art in search of gelato, following Jana's bread crumb trail of memories back through the Touristica, past the La Scala and the Leonardo, parting the sea of pigeons in front of the Duomo, and posing with the hand of God until we found ourselves at the ancient Roman ruins of the Colonne di San Lorenzo, and temporarily more importantly, the gelato shop around the corner where Jana had indulged in her wild teenage days.









The Colonne di San Lorenzo, a fine collection of columns which may once have been sported by a 2nd-century pagan temple or bath house, today are pleasingly picturesque as they significantly lower the age median of the surrounding architecture and toss and turn their shadows across the square in perfectly synchronized, straight lines; a paragon of parallelity. There we sat by the church in the shade of the old walls, slurping creamily sweet, rapidly melting gelato, all in agreement that this was a pretty bella vita.






The lazy part of the day eventually came to an end and we made our thirsty way back to the central station, collected our things, and took two trains north, passing out of Milan and through smaller and smaller cities and larger and larger fields, the shadows of mountains growing before us and swallowing us in their ever-increasing tunnels. All of a sudden, we emerged from a tunnel to find ourselves chugging along the eastern shore of the brilliant, blue, be-mountained Lago Maggiore, a view that was too good to be true and apt to vanish every few minutes as we plunged into darkness without warning, again and again, cutting through that glorious landscape.






After passing through several lakeside villages that would become known to us in the coming days, we hopped off the train in the sleepy little town of Pino sulla Sponda del Lago Maggiore -- or Pino for short -- the last stop on the Italian side before crossing into Switzerland. The train went on its merry way and left us alone with the station-side view of the lake and blue mountain backdrop that Steven and I were not yet convinced was real. 

From there, Jana led us up, up, up the hill and through the village until we came to the famed holiday home with its own glorious lake view from the terrace and every home comfort we could have possibly needed for a week away.



From the house it was just a walk downhill to the shore, crossing the train tracks and passing a little chapel and a big pizzeria, a straight shot down the main road that was being "fixed", but looked somehow worse for wear when the construction crew had finished. The views from the town and terrace were grand, the view from the beach was better, and the view from the water itself, while swimming and splashing in its sparkly blueness, the reflection of the mountains undulating in the ripples and waves around you, was The Best.
 






This family of swans came a-patrolling by during our first morning swim, swimming up and down and up and down the shore before pausing to do some yoga and then toodling off again.





Our first out-of-Pino adventure was to Luino, with Jana valiantly manoeuvring her mother's car down the one-and-a-half-lane mountain road to the main drag along the lake, radio turned up and hands surfing with the top down with a feeling that was 100% Pure Vacation. Once there, we located the best gelato, walked around its old streets, peeked inside its less-than-inviting church, and finally hit up the supermarket, bringing home tasty spoils with which to cook for the next week.










That night, back in Pino, the evening settled on the town with a low blanket of clouds as we loitered in front of the big, yellow church, watching the sky deepen and the lights flicker on across the lake, then later lay under blankets on the terrace, being eaten by mosquitoes and making wishes on shooting stars. 












One shooting star was so big and so bright, burning so blue across the Milky Way, that we all gasped and Oohed and Ahhed and declared that it was the best shooting star we'd ever seen, and I completely forgot about the wishing part. Not that I needed it. Who needs wishes when you already have a couple great friends by your side and a wee dram 0f chilled Limoncello under a sky full of stars?