Milano

The plan for today was a special excursion to Milano, where we would take a city tour that included admission to view a very famous work of art.

At some point on these trips, something tends to go awry. When a Swiss train pulled into the station at Stresa at the appointed time this morning and our host ushered us aboard, I was puzzled. Our tickets were for Trenitalia, not SBB. [And indeed, we were in the wrong.] A testy exchange (in German) ensued between the ticket-taker and our host, but fortunately we were permitted to continue our journey.

After wandering in vain through the main station in Milan (in search of the tourist office and paper maps), I was increasingly worried that we would be late. We needed to be at a particular place at a particular time, and the clock was ticking. I pulled out my phone and suggested that we allow Google Maps to show us the way.

Several people wanted to see the Duomo first, but I suggested that it was likely to be part of our tour later (which turned out to be correct). I was keen to go directly to our destination, the Chiesa di Santa Maria delle Grazie.

The Castello Sforzesco, however, was on the way; we traversed the grounds and learned more, later, during our tour. The castle is situated at the center (more or less) of Milan, which is not surprising given how cities have historically grown.

I first visited Milan about 30 years ago, and we made a pilgrimage to see this painting. I remember being very surprised to find that it was simply painted on the wall of the friars' dining hall. It was under restoration at the time, with very little discernible through the scaffolding.

Now, after 21 years of chipping away at many layers of paint from prior restorations, The Last Supper can be seen again. The latest restoration took great care to expose what remains of Da Vinci's 15th-century original, filling in the gaps with watercolors. There is much to observe in the details of this well-known work—gestures, lighting, positioning—that I never before knew, or appreciated. You might wonder why Leonardo would not position the work above that doorway. Well, there was no doorway; it was unceremoniously cut through the wall (and the painting) during the 17th century.

We did breeze past the Duomo, but did not enter. Our guide explained how the exterior changes color over the course of a day, from gray to white to pink, as the light shifts.

We moved on to visit the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, where we admired the architecture without being tempted by the boutiques.

Our tour concluded across from Milan's famous opera house, La Scala, the interior of which is apparently worth seeing. The exterior? Not so much. One of the folks in our group made our guide laugh when she asked if we could see the front of the building ...

Laveno Loop

The other side of Lago di Maggiore was alluring, so we decided to cross from Piedmont to Lombardy. Some folks boarded a boat next to the hotel; I joined the group that cycled first, to a ferry at Verbania.

The air was clear enough to see the distant snow-capped peaks of the Alps.

We headed south, passing a campground with banners advertising charging stations ... for bicycles! (Electric bikes are popular in Europe.) Someday I will appreciate that assistance, but today food still fuels my motor.

We took a detour to see the hermitage of Santa Caterina del Sasso, but were not sufficiently enticed to pay the entrance fee.

On the other hand, when we caught sight of the Rocca di Angera, high on a hill, we goaded our leader into doing the climb. [At its steepest, a 12% grade.]

We paid the entrance fee. [It was worth it.]

We wandered around the fortress on our own, but didn't linger long enough to explore it fully. One of the first rooms we found was devoted to wine-making, and I can say that I had never before seen such a humongous press.

It's a challenge to walk on cobblestones in bike shoes—even more so when the walkway is inclined. But the stone arches of a fortress often frame lovely views. [It was worth it.]

The grounds have been restored with period gardens and grapevines, and oh ... the views!

The fortress dates back to the 13th century, and I wish we'd had enough time to explore the historic rooms, but we were mindful that our ride leader was keeping watch over our bikes so we could be tourists.

We made our way around the southern end of the lake, to the town of Arona (where, evidently, the locals have a sense of humor).

Here we found, not umbrellas, but colorful pinwheels suspended overhead.

And, a view of the Rocca di Angera across the lake. [Yes, indeedy, we climbed that hill.] Overall, though, a flat day by the time we returned to Baveno: 48 miles with only 1,001 feet of climbing.

After dinner (which, by the way, is a multi-course meal every night), I was rewarded with this view of a rosy moon rising above the lake. Molto bella!

Mergozzo

The agenda for today was a hike, which turned out to be more of a  meandering stroll through the nearby lakeside town of Mergozzo.

We visited the parish church, which has a lovely vaulted ceiling that we could not see (but Night Sight could). Sources seem to vary, but much of the building dates back to the 17th century.

We walked down a street adorned with translucent pastel umbrellas that made me think of jellyfish. Seems like it would be particularly drippy on a rainy day.

Of course we found a café where we could enjoy a snack and a view of the lake.

A few of us embarked on another stroll after returning to our home base in Baveno.

That stained-glass dome overhead in the lobby ... is not the only one in our hotel. [Wow.]

We wandered through a residential neighborhood on the hillside above the lake. Would I ever tire of that view? [No.]

The needles on this tree are so tightly packed that the branches look bare, from a distance.

Do the locals appreciate the stunning beauty that surrounds them? [I hope so.]

Watching the evening light fade at the water's edge was totally worth all the mosquito bites I collected.

From my balcony, I watched the full moon rise above the clouds. I can't think of a better place to be, right now.

Around Monte Mottarone

First ride of this trip! We headed north, passing Feriolo before turning west.

We split into three groups today, and I would stick with the middle group. We would not climb Monte Mottarone, but circle it in the (easier) counterclockwise direction. When we reached Lago d'Orta, we traced the eastern shore.

We wondered what this Moorish-style building was—a luxury hotel, as it turns out. (That was not one of our guesses.)

When we reached the town of Gignese, we stopped for a snack. There was some grilling going on, though it wasn't clear whether they were cooking for customers or having a Sunday afternoon barbecue.

When the head honcho headed straight for me with a frown on his face, I guessed (correctly) at the source of his disdain. I removed my sunglasses and turned them around, so he could see that the rectangle mounted on the frame was nothing more than a rear-view mirror. (Not, as many suspect, a camera.) With a smile as broad as his face, he showed the brilliant invention to his compatriots. A boombox materialized, and they treated us to the Rolling Stones and Van Morrison.

 

It takes a pretty special view to stop me on a descent ... here, it was Stresa (and, of course, Lago di Maggiore).

After 32 miles and 2,041 feet of climbing, we had enough time and energy to stroll through town before dinner. Gray clouds were looming; there is a chance of thunderstorms in the forecast, all week.

Baveno

The adventure begins by train ... three trains, to be exact: Zürich, Switzerland to Baveno, Italy.

I started my journey early, knowing I could catch a later connection if I missed the third train—I would have only four minutes to exit the Swiss train on Platform 8 and transfer to the Italian train on Platform 3 in Domodossola.

No ramp. Down the stairs I went, with my baggage. One backpack. One rolling suitcase. And one bike bag. [Yes, I am quite the sight.]

Along the tunnel to Platform 3, where I could see the train above me. Up ... the ... “Signora!” a voice called out. A chivalrous Italian gentleman reached for my bike bag and carried it up ... the stairs! “Grazie, grazie!” I said as fellow passengers helped me (and my baggage) aboard.

On these trips, our group is accustomed to modest accommodations in small inns. This time, our group was large (27 people, not all of whom would cycle). The lobby of our hotel on Lake Maggiore was a clue that this trip would be different.

As well as the lovely mosaic in my shower.

And, of course, my view of the lake.

Notice the bride walking up the red carpet?

After settling in, I set off to explore the town, starting with the Church of Santi Gervasio and Protasio, parts of which may date back to the 11th century.

One side of the plaza features a 19th century colonnade depicting the stations of the cross.

Another advantage of our hotel became evident in the capacious dining hall: They cater to large groups (bus tours, mostly).

Our Grand Jubilee Tour has begun!

Züri Fäscht

My taxi driver explained the circuitous route to my hotel—major streets in the center of town were closed to traffic for a festival.

Not just any festival, but one that comes to town only every three years: Züri Fäscht.

Having grown up with easy access to beach boardwalks on the east coast, I was at home with the rides and the games and the prizes, and with the smiles on children's faces. Push-bikes on an obstacle course ... I don't think this would be possible, back home. [What if a child got hurt?!]

Less familiar were the foods: everything from Argentinian to Yemeni.

There was an airshow, formation flying, daredevil pilots, and helicopters doing things I never imagined a helicopter could do.

I walked and walked. [Daylight is good for combating jet lag.]

I scored a prime fireworks-viewing spot on the lakeside wall. I was starting to feel tired, but .. hey, I can sit. That's not much to ask. The sun sets late at this latitude, but the pyrotechnics were worth the wait. Several paragliders dropped from above to the theme from Skyfall, landing on the platform to get the the show started.

I'd seen something about a drone show that would follow the fireworks, but with no apparent activity I headed back to the hotel.

They launched more fireworks at 1 a.m. (sadly, not visible from my room). And the drone show? I heard it started around 5 a.m.

I headed back on Sunday morning, determined to explore the full extent of Züri Fäscht (and, evidently, a second celebration that happens every year: Caliente).

The site was ... a colossal mess. [How un-Swiss!] The cleanup crew corralled the debris with leaf blowers and rakes. A street sweeper averted catastrophe by climbing out of his machine to set aside two giant rolls of toilet paper before they spun into his brushes.

There was a woman in a red dress walking a very long tightrope spanning the river, strung between buildings.

There were high-divers—some serious, some clowning around.

There were amphibious convertibles (!).

I walked and walked. And then I walked some more. [30,000+ steps for the day.]

There was music. Kids playing what looked like kayak-polo. A tank where you could try scuba-diving.

A giant water slide that launched riders into the river.

And chocolate-dipped strawberries on skewers. [Mmm. And again, mmm.]

The random selection of old books in my hotel room included a copy of In Bicicletta a Beverly Hills (yes, in Italian). They didn't know that, after this week in Zürich, I would start my cycling holiday. Not in Beverly Hills, but in Baveno. Italy.

Or, did they?!