Divide and Conquer

For their next adventures, Martello and Trofie Wife split up, each laying claim to a different swath of Switzerland for the weekend, with Martello skiing with his officemates on the French side and Trofie Wife visiting her family in Zurich (the German side). Martello had a great time skiing, particularly enjoying the freedom of not having to wait for me at every turn.

While it was nice to see her family, Trofie Wife definitely had been sold a false bill of goods (prior to getting on a train) regarding her niece and nephew’s ability to sleep through the night (they, in fact, don’t know how or have a very loose definition of "night"). As per usual, my child tolerance level capped out after about ten minutes (apparently, I was even zipping through bedtime stories too quickly; sorry, I wanted to read my own fascinating book). I did have some additional patience for the swapping of dirty looks with the tiny one (she senses my derision for her kind, and I sense that she already has the sarcastic wit of an adult, likely gifted by her father), who is continually confused by my physical resemblance to her mother and lack of a similar level of affection/ability to feed her.

About 12 hours into my stay, my overtired (due to the non-sleeping children in her care) sister managed to drop her house keys down the elevator shaft en route to the park, so our Saturday afternoon excursion (originally meant to be time at the lake) turned into an adventure to get the spare key from my brother-in-law (whose office, thankfully, is situated near the main Sprungli chocolate store). The rest of the day included naps (always a plus), a trip to the park (where I had to negotiate, with a persistent munchkin, regarding the number of sticks that would be permitted in the apartment (one, but he might have lost that privilege somewhere along the path home), quality Asian fusion takeout, sisterly bonding time (with children stashed away), and Vicky Christina Barcelona, which was truly fantastic (thank you, Woody!).

WANTED: For obstruction of sleep. Armed with instruments and surprisingly skillful lungs.

However, Trofie Wife's attempt at blissful sleep on Saturday night dissipated around 4:30 a.m. when the type of loud noises that could only be made by a baby (or toddler or whatever she is) emerged from the room next door; by 7 a.m. the older one was banging his tambourine. It was clear that I really needed to get out of that place! So, I maneuvered myself to the train station and enjoyed the truly gorgeous rail ride between Milan and Zurich (if you ever have the chance to do it, please do; you pass all the lakes and rows upon rows of mountainous skyline).

During my nearly two-hour layover in a sunny Milan, I ruminated on how we needed to spend more time there (preferably outside the train station). When I finally arrived in Arenzano, I basked in the quiet of our apartment and greeted an equally exhausted Martello when he walked through the door about an hour later. Trofie Wife slept very well that night, thank you.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Casa Dolce Casa!

The Lausanne métro has a characteristic that the MTA should consider importing. Each stop on the line has its own tune associated with the neighborhood; drum trills at one; horse clop clops at another. The sound effects could prove very helpful should you doze off; you’ll be startled to wakefulness by the tone of your stop! (Let's see, a jingle from "42nd Street" when you hit Times Square, a "cha-ching" (or maybe not so much anymore) on Wall Street, bongo drumming at 7th Avenue in Park Slope... .)

If you include the metro, it took us SIX trains to return to Arenzano. Apparently all the Italians were travelling on January 5^th since the 6^th was another holiday, Epiphany (more on that soon). The train we desired to take from Lausanne to Milan was already sold out when we arrived at the ticket booth, so we camped out in the station for several hours, getting in a bunch of reading and shivering, since the Lausanne station is mostly exposed to the elements, save for some on-track waiting alcoves. We took the first train from Lausanne to Brig (a big transfer spot) and noted the French once again giving way to German and the passengers loading on their ski gear as mountains appeared in the background. From Brig we headed towards the Italian border town of Domodossola. The scenery along the way was spectacular.

We thought that comfy and not-so-crowded train would take us all the way to Milan, but unfortunately, we had to disembark and hop on an overcrowded regionale. We luckily found seats and a place for our luggage, but many travelers were stuck standing. Nevertheless, it was heartening to hear all of the passengers complaining in Italian. We finally arrived in Milan and transferred to a gorgeous, brand spanking new Genoa-bound train. Midway through the ride, the woman sitting next to us struck up a conversation; she’s an oncologist that had at one point considered moving to the States, but for the time being is practicing in Milan. She gave us lots of great pointers for traveling around Italy and recommended a great local swimming spot for when summer arrives. Arriving in Genoa, we had to wait a bit for our last train of the evening. But when we disembarked in Arenzano 35 minutes after finally boarding, we were delighted. Vacations (even from your year-long vacation) are wonderful and we were thrilled to take this one. But after a while, you miss your own bed. More than anything, our journey into and out of Svizzera made clear that our apartment in Arenzano has really started to become our home, and we were so glad to return to it!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Un Giorno Triste for Culinary Peace and Harmony

Trofie Wife was appalled and embarrassed to learn that the so-called cosmopolitan Milan along with Lucca (in Tuscany) have banned any new “foreign” eateries from opening within city limits. Of course these eateries are of the kebab, chow mein, and shumai variety; hamburgers and escargot are exempt from exile.

Martello is especially homesick for falafel and other Middle Eastern veggie delights and dines on them whenever the opportunity arises (as it yummily did in Torino). This article points out that Italy’s vaunted cuisine was built on imports from Peru (the tomato) and likely China (spaghetti):

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/food_and_drink/article5622156.ece

Trofie Wife will be sure to keep readers informed as this story develops. She believes it would be unlikely for the ban to wind its way down to Liguria, but apparently anything is possible in Italy!

Baci e gelato (and in solidarity with falafel, sushi, and lo mein),

Martello e Trofie Wife 

And While We’re on the Subject of the Holocaust…

According to a recent New York Times article, Trenitalia has agreed to construct a Holocaust memorial in a secret, underground section of the Milan station (which is the only part of Milan in which Martello and Trofie Wife have spent any significant amount of time). In the 1940s, deportees were loaded onto railroad cars in the secret chamber and then lifted to the main part of the station before being spirited to concentration camps. Should this project actually be completed prior to our departure from Italy (there’s a pretty good shot of it, since the Milan station has, at least in our opinion, made great strides in its major renovation in the gaps between our visits there), we’ll be sure to visit while awaiting our next connection.

For the full story, see http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/04/travel/04COMtrain.html?ref=travel.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife