Every fine time is far more enjoyable if first one experiences some minor hardships along the way. As I write I am sitting on a second-floor balcony at the Hotel Lake Maggiori in Locarno, Ticino, Switzerland. It is 10 minutes after four in the morning; it is around 75 degrees and not a soul is stirring but me. I can hear the water lapping at the shore just 100 yards away. I’ve been in country less than 24 hours and already I have experienced enough of this part of the world to know why so many speak so highly of life here. More on that in a bit, first the path to get here.
My next-door neighbors are fine people; over the past decade we have come to a very association, so I approached them about getting me from Seventh Street to San Francisco International Airport. That part of the journey went smoothly, no freeway mishaps or construction to interrupt the drive and they, the father and two teenagers, deposited me at the proper terminal with plenty of time for me to navigate the process of getting from the terminal and onto an aircraft. After reading far too many online informative sources, which can, at least in my case, lead to a lot of anxiety every step along the way, especially when it comes to necessary paperwork and what can and what cannot go in luggage, I was surprised when I went through the whole process with no problems at all.
I will sidestep here to mention I did have to hold my tongue when dealing with a TSA employee who was far less than cordial. In fact, had my time with that person gone a minute of two more I probably would have met with a delay, or worse. I really came close to telling the smarmy little punk to go do something to himself that would be physically impossible but would have been gratifying to see him try it.
The aircraft was of a size I had never flown on before and was more emphatic, if that is the word, about in showing the class system of air travelers. One walks in the main cabin door and is met with a section of what could only be called cubicles with amenities galore: wide, plush seats that expand to sleeping size, large TV monitors, little tables for drinks and meals, and separate lavatory. Then one proceeds to the next class where things are a bit smaller but still allows for more leg and luggage room and a few more amenities. Then comes the last class. My class; the lower class.
We were packed in like sardines in a can in seats that offered little legroom, even less space for carry on bags and, worst of all, the whole cabin was freezing. OK, not freezing, but so cold I spent the entire 10-hour flight wrapped in a small blanket because, wanting to travel light, I wore only a T-shirt. All my fellow passengers, obviously savvier than I, were appropriately clad in warmer wear. I find it nearly impossible to sleep in a sitting position, but even the attempt to do that was nullified by the cold, air-conditioned blowing throughout the cabin. It was a long, cold, cramped altogether uncomfortable ride. And the food was not to my liking; but that is more personal taste than airline insufficiency. I was very relieved when we finally touched down in Zurich.
And now, Walter. Walter is my sponsor, if that is the proper term, for this trip; it was he who introduced the idea of visiting him in Ticino and he kept after me and finally overcame my reluctance to accept such an offer. I had not seen Walter, except on film, for 40 years, but upon exiting the Zurich main terminal there he stood waiting for me. The reconnection took only a few seconds, after which we were conversing just as if we only seen each other a few days before; such are relationships that were forged in youth and carry on into adulthood.
We made our way to one of the many rail stations—Europe has a rail system that makes our American counterpart pale in comparison—and we were soon on a beautiful, modern train making our way to Locarno, some three hours away. Walt and I covered some ground in our conversation, everything from old friends and where are they now (he, unfortunately, found that more were passed on than he knew) to some of the paths we both had taken since we last ran together to the two taboo issues—politics and religion. But these conversations were often interrupted when I would exclaim about some aspect of the land we were passing through.
This is one magnificently scenic part of the world. Walter had told me though I had over my lifetime crossed over some mountain ranges, the Sierra Nevadas, the Rockies, the Ozarks and the Tetons, I had never really seen a mountain until I had seen the Alps. And he was correct, they are lofty, both forested and rocky and quite impressive. As we traveled, we passed from the German speaking part of Switzerland to the Italian speaking part, which Water negotiates with ease as he is linguistic; he speaks 10 languages with varying proficiency: English, Spanish, Italian, German, Turkish, Flemish and a couple more I can’t recall. Walter has a very shape intellect with a wide variety of interests, and so we are never wanting for subjects of conversation.
I can see I have run out of space for this column with so much more to write. When you read this, if you read this, I will be back in King City with memories for a lifetime. Ciao.
Take care. Peace.
