The train station at Milan was certainly no picnic. People heading each and every way bumping into each other, smoking everywhere with a general sense of disorganization if not pandemonium. There was a central display showing the trains and their numbers with their final destination but not the track number. We had to ask several official-looking people before we were sure about which track ours. For a while we sat at one only to find it was a 'local' and that ours was at nearly the opposite end of the station. All the while huge big screen TV displays blared the same three commercials repeatedly to the point of distraction. It was the sound track to a surreal event.
Once we did find our compartment, away enough from the din to filter it out, we unpacked our lunch and spread out. In first class, a sense of civility prevailed and the car was nearly empty.
Like clockwork, the train left on time and, after passing increasingly rural scenery we arrived at the Como station, not more than half an hour after we left.
Como is a world away from the madness of Milan. The trees, quality of cars, even the demeanor of the people was noticeably improved (or maybe it was us!). For 8 Euros the taxi driver delivered us to the Hotel Marco's (sic) and we were shown our lovely waterfront room.
So far, nearly all the beds we have encountered have been hard as nail. No sleeping in here! As everywhere pizzarias and gelato shops are ubiquitous. It has been quite a challenge finding food for Margii that does not contain either wheat or sugar. They are the national staple.
One of the first things we noticed were the birds. Pigeons, of course, are everywhere but the swans and colorful variety of waterfowl were a welcomed surprise.
A stroll along the waterfront rewarded us with scenic vistas of the mountains and towns. The Italiante villas forced me to wonder why most of them were shuttered. I came to realize there were just summer homes. It would probably by prohibitive to heat them during what was most certainly a cold and snowy winter. Easily 5-6000 s.f each and some no doubt more than 10,000, I got a sense of how the really wealthy must live. I would imagine many of them have been turned into flats by now but many haven't. Along the walk, the stonework was awe-inspiring. Numerous places, outcroppings were turned into abutments and wherever possible, bridges created waterways for private boats to enter and be stored in boathouses under landscaped front yards.
We took a funicular a thousand or so feet above the city and, despite the constant overcast, were rewarded with panoramic views of a city much larger than we could ever cover in the two days we had allotted ourselves. What we did find at the top was a small town with narrow, cobbled streets and, old stone buildings and ornate front doors with picturesque window boxes and perfectly-placed cats in windows. All the residents we passed smiled and we felt completely safe.
Just prior to heading back down, we heard the call of our first cuckoo. At first, I thought I spied it but I'm pretty sure now it was a local crow. (A subsequent museum visit in Florence confirmed that cuckoo's are much smaller.)
Upon the insistence of an American lady we met at the train station, we ventured a lunch train trip to Switzerland, Lugano to be exact. It was a stunning ride through the lower Alps with increasingly adorable and picturesque towns dotting the landscape. As expected, children and adults alike who boarded were scrubbed and Germanic looking .
Once at our destination, we headed downhill through wonderfully meandering streets, steep and precipitous. Nevertheless, smart cars had no trouble navigating them and parking wherever they pleased. We were worried the hike back up the hill would be arduous but a well-placed tram station revealed itself and for a .80 euro ride, promised an easy journey back up the to the train station.
As one would expect in Switzerland, every place we looked was scrubbed clean, the cars seemed all to be BMW's, Mercedes and other upscale Euro cars. We strolled along the waterfront, taking in the sights of the lake and the mountains falling straight down to the water dotted with small towns at the water's edge . Lunch was at a waterside cafe. At fifty euros for Margi's grilled vegetables and my ravioli, I got how expensive Switzerland can be. The train ride back seemed shorter and a card full of junior high school kids on a field trip reminded us how things never change as people evolve from adolescence to adulthood with girls giggling behind boys' backs and boys tormenting the girls.
Back in Como, lunch at a lakeside cafe was a feast for eyes and ears. Margi had a seafood salad that consisted of the biggest shrimp we have ever eaten (except for the heads). I enjoyed a delightful salad as well and it ended up being more than we could eat. When we were presented with the bill, we asked for a bag top take our food with us. The waiter seemed perplexed. With numerous hand signals we knew we got our point across and laughed when the waiter exclaimed “Oh, dog!”.
Despite a constant drizzle, we couldn't leave Como without a boat ride across the lake to take in the famous villas and resorts that hug the water's edge. Again, many of them were shuttered awaiting their owners' arrival for the summer season.
We grudgingly left Como the next morning for a dreaded trip back to Milan to make the transition to a train bound for Rapallo and the Cinque Terre. As usual, the ride back seemed shorter than going.
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