More Mountains

The next morning was completely clear. It was the perfect summer day. Is it possible to suffer from an overdose of too much gorgeous scenery? I came close. During the entire drive into Eastern Switzerland I saw one jaw-dropping vista after another: verdant valleys surrounded by towering peaks, often covered in snow, charming villages, alpine chalets with flowers cascading from their balconies, the smell of fresh-mown hay, lazy summer clouds drifting across the bluest sky -- it was almost too much. OMG was the mantra of the day. The plan was to traverse the Swiss canton of Graubuenden (Les Grisons in French), heading west and reaching Lausanne by evening. From Dobbiaco I passed the lovely ancient towns of Bruneck (Brunnico), Brixen (Bressanone), Bozen (Bolzano) and Meran (Merano). Brixen was founded in 1100 and is celebrating its 908th anniversary -- now, that’s old! I turned off on an even smaller secondary road to reach the Swiss border at Val Mustaire. I love the unexpected pleasures of exploring an unknown area. One of those was the perfectly intact medieval Tyrolean town of Glurns (Glorenza), just before the Swiss border, that I had to drive through. It was an enchanting little burg, like entering a time warp. I had to remind myself that I was actually in Italy, since everything was so Austrian in appearance, and nearly everyone spoke German. Entering Switzerland I crossed the first of about six high mountain passes. The views were always spectacular. With the alpine driving that entailed many winding roads, and becoming stuck behind large busses, tractors, and once even behind a garbage truck (!), I made slow time. I might have made it to Lausanne that evening if only...if only I hadn’t missed a right hand turn somewhere. I’m very good at reading maps and had made myself a map with the names of important towns and route numbers. Somehow, I wasn’t on route 19 anymore. I climbed yet another steep pass, then the villages had Italian names, then there was a sign that read: ‘Welcome to Ticino’. I had inadvertently gone south and crossed over into the one Italian canton of Switzerland. The Ticino is nearly inaccessible to the rest of Switzerland as it is surrounded by very high mountains. One wonders how it ever ended up in the Swiss Confederation (which, by the way, is the official name for the country) at all. Not being in any mood to cry over splillt milk (more breath-taking scenery) I found a room in a charming Albergo in a town called Olivone, halfway down the mountain on the other side, and called my friend James in Lausanne to let him know that I wouldn’t be making it for dinner. He took it well, knowing that it was unlikely I would reach Lausanne in a day and a half of driving. Funny, it doesn’t look all that far on the map...