back to basics

Reggio Emilia is a normal place. It's Italy basic. Old men wash their faces in fountains while their wives wait. Churches are under renovation. Lunch starts with a plate of salume.

There were more bicycles than cars. And a lot of old men killing time in the piazza. Nothing crazy. Nothing wild. Just Italia passing by.



We did get to see a three year old inhale an entire plate of salume, and then move on to a bowl (larger than her head) of tortelli and broth. In a country that markets cellulite crème to its teens her appetite was refreshing.

We were also impressed by a group of family members who came into the restaurant, each one more bronzed than the next. Nothing belts out, "We're a happy family!" like skin the color of tangerines.



There were very few tourists in town. In fact, I don't think there were any. Except for us. And at this point I don't think we count.

We're just folks who like to see where the train can take you. And what you can eat once you're there.

it grows on you

Ok, so maybe Genova isn't so bad after all. It seems to depend on where you walk around. Simple, I know. But should you decide to waltz down, say, a glorified alleyway teeming with ne'er-do-wells and hoodlums on your way to the train station in the already claustrophobic heat of August... you might come away with the impression that Genova is for the toughest among us and that maybe you should have picked up some survival tips from the sharks in the city's famed aquarium. And you might later, in the safety of your own home, describe the atmosphere with a phrase along these lines: we were worried that if we screamed for help, it would only summon more ne'er-do-wells to the scene.

Yes, I've told this to people. And yes, I'm sorry. But in my defense, I also told them that the aquarium warranted a visit regardless.

Little did we know that Genova is not only made up of its historic quarter. It's also a great people town that feels real and work-a-day. It's got laundry drying out of windows. Markets crammed with kids and dogs and fish. And fruit and cheese and vegetables. And small crumpled old ladies selling wilted flowers in bunches on the corner.

Heavy rounds of bread studded with dried fruit. Focaccia in the hand of every passerby - wrapped in paper and eaten on the go. And no one looking like they're about to raise themselves from the door jamb that they're laying in to clobber you over the head. Who knew Genova could be so carefree?



Genova is all about the food and we ate like we were starved. Starting with giant sweet cherries and peaches from the market - so ripe that the perfume of the peaches wafted out of our backpack and teased us all afternoon. There was lunch in a casalinga (homestyle) place that while recently written-up in the New York Times still hadn't washed its walls or hands. The menus were handwritten, taped-together sheets of paper and the tablecloths were red and white check - to match the honeydew green walls. There was cold minestrone (we ordered it that way) and sardines both stuffed and fried. We left full. Maybe that was also because of the focaccia we had delved into earlier - with pesto and spinach. Or the amaretti cookies from the candy shop? It was hard to keep track, and too easy to keep eating.



There's a Genova suburb - Nervi - that you can reach easily by bus. Stepping off the bus you'd think you were in Miami, Florida. The streets are lined with villas hidden more by their palm trees than their elaborate gates and thick blankets of humidity rise from the lush vegetation. And there's another similarity - the Wolfsonian Museum with its sister site in Miami. Born of Mitchell Wolfson's design collection both museums are brief larks into the best design of the early 1900's. Wolfson had quite an eye and the collections value shape, line, color... And they're perfect for an afternoon away from the masses. If - and here I should capitalize the word "if" - IF you can find the place. We took a long unintended detour sponsored by Italy's vague signage and arrived at the museum sweated-through and ready for some air conditioning.



Thankfully the AC was cranking - maybe that's what kept the Italians away - and we had the museum to ourselves. We spent the most time in front of a fully-furnished child's room that had been decorated by a famed Italian illustrator. It was surreal and wicked in a way that children would find amusing but that I find somewhat scary. Pigs holding knives in their stumpy feet and eating cake at a crooked kitchen table doesn't make my dreams any sweeter, let me tell you. But apparently, kids love that kind of stuff.

We also spent some time in front of a lumpy wax blob that was apparently a sculpture of Mr. Wolfson. We were sincerely trying to figure out what we were missing. That was until one of the employees came by and told us that while this was in no way the official opinion of the museum, he felt we should know that there were far better pieces in the collection than the mess before which we were currently standing.

Thank you for that bit of honesty sir. And I take back what I thought of your city. Every bit of it. Although, I'm still not going over to the other side of town after dark. On second thought, not in mid-day either. But there's sure a nice aquarium over there.

not open = closed

So what if it's six months too late... So what if it's June.. We finally found some snow! It started out as rain but by the time we went to sleep on Friday night in Zermatt, Switzerland it was snowing. And when we woke up on Saturday, there was a veritable winter wonderland splayed in front of our hotel room window. The pine trees covering the mountains were coated in white and the not-so-subtle cemetery beneath our window was rendered a little less eerie by the addition of fresh snow. We couldn't have been happier about the snow. Although there was one small problem - a little something we like to call the Matterhorn.

We came to Zermatt to see the Matterhorn - that giant alpine mountain known the world over as much for its dramatic profile as for inspiring a DisneyLand ride. But with all of the snow and clouds and general wintry-ness, the Matterhorn was nowhere to be seen. Really. It just wasn't there.



Zermatt is a cutesy Swiss town populated by chalets and tourists, and chalets for tourists. There are also vast quantities of cowbells and Swiss Army knives to be purchased. Only three hours from Milan, Zermatt sits in a picturesque valley surrounded by snow-covered Alps, alpine meadows and a most excellent view of the Matterhorn. It is, in fact, hard to find a postcard of Zermatt without the Matterhorn featured prominently.



On Saturday, we tried to see the Matterhorn up close. For the price of a nice hotel room in most countries (and the price of a nice hotel room + all of the contents of the mini bar in many others) we rode three cable cars into the white abyss. Often the slowly-rising car would emerge from the clouds and we'd see fierce mountain ranges below. It more closely resembled the view from an airplane than from earth. In the end, we were something like 12,000 feet up above Switzerland. My impressions at that altitude? White, white, and more white. And freezing.



It was so snowy at the top that the observation deck was partially closed. It had snowed so much the night before that they couldn't remove it all, and it didn't help that the snow blower was broken. We know the snow blower was broken because we saw it laying on its side in the snow as a man struggled to fix it. It was cold and pitiful... but then we took some photos with the snowblower. And the man fixing it. So then it was still cold but a touch more enjoyable.



Unfortunately, the glacier palace (which is touted as a highlight of the cable car adventure) was closed due to snow blocking the entrance. So, instead of seeing the Matterhorn, or the glacier palace, we took more photos in the complete whiteout. And when we finally came down from the mountain I stopped at the ticket booth to ask why no one had told us that the glacier palace was closed. The ticket agent told me, in all earnestness, that "when it is not open, it is closed." In one moment, Switzerland's reputation for precision and detail went out the snowy window.

We spent the rest of Saturday hiking and hunting the Matterhorn -- of which we finally caught a glimpse. We could see the tip - which was much higher up in the sky than we'd expected. Again, it's really hard to picture how gigantic the Matterhorn is until it's there in front of you. And here let me quote my favorite Swiss ticket agent: if it is not open, it is closed. And up until that point the Matterhorn was definitely closed.



Down in Zermatt most of the snow had melted by afternoon and our hike was gorgeous. We swept past alpine meadows thick with wildflowers. Waterfalls were streaming down the mountains. Disturbingly large snails crawled in the vegetation along the path and marmots took note of the coming dusk. There were deer skittering across the path, and soppy puddles to straddle. Some of us hadn't brought our hiking boots. And some of us also got sunburned. Ok, it was just me who didn't bring my hiking boots and then got sunburned. But I would like to note that I did remember the M&Ms and crackers.



Speaking of fine cuisine I should note that Switzerland makes a mean Raclette - which is basically vegetables served with melted cheese. While I don't question the savory combination of pickles and melted gruyere I do wonder how the Swiss can be such active hikers if they're eating melted cheese and pickles every night before bed. A worse state of affairs can be found in Swiss coffee. Apparently, Italians have long held the opinion that their neighbors to the north know nothing about coffee. And for once, I'll have to side with the Italians. Swiss coffee is nothing if not terrible. I have no idea how to make a great cappucino but if you'd like to have the opposite, order one in a Swiss hotel.

Our Sunday began by heading outside to see if the Matterhorn had decided to show itself. We joined hordes of other tourists waiting for a miracle. Most people gave up within a few minutes and took a picture with the clouds obscuring most of the famous peak, but we waited. And waited.



It wasn't until we were deep into our Sunday hike that the Matterhorn came blaring out of the clouds. And what an entrance... To have stared at a largely blank space in the horizon, with small cracks and hints at what was really there... And then to have the whole peak rising before you. It made you feel like a fool for ever having thought the average-sized peak nearby could have been the Matterhorn.

Our hike was picture-perfect. It had the kind of views you see in travel magazines - rolling green alpine meadows with white snow and flowers. Mountains everywhere. Small barns with stone slab roofs. Actual cows with cowbells. Sheep with cowbells. It was sunny and crisp and we just kept walking and wondering why we don't come to Switzerland more often.



There is something to be said about the cost of anything and everything in Switzerland. It's shockingly expensive for no identifiable reason. But we paid. Everyone pays. There's not much you can do. I guess when you have the Alps in your backyard you kind of have a monopoly on the Alps.

Unless they're closed. Because as we know from experience, if the Alps are not open, they are closed. At any price.