The trip to Italy

In retrospect, visiting southern Europe at the height of summer was not the best idea I’ve had. Sat beneath a heat dome, the temperature was consistently in the mid-thirties during the day and wasn’t much cooler in the evenings.

My skin is covered in mosquito bites, my forearms have again swelled up with a blotchy red rash, a worrying reaction that first occurred when I visited Amsterdam earlier this year. Thanks to broken shoes and having forgone socks, my achilles tendons have been cut to pieces and covered in plasters. I’ve experienced 2 weeks of persistent choice paralysis.

Remind me again, why do I travel?

Northwest Italy is disarmingly picturesque. Every fork in a road is an opportunity to discover something interesting but also has the potential to direct you away from something better. A more enlightened view might be that it’s impossible to take a wrong turn.

The majesty of its many churches and chapels, each with delicate frescos, awesome domes and charming bell towers, is soon undermined by their abundance. Visiting the old Fiat factory in Turin that featured in The Italian Job, and later Villa Del Balbianello sat beside Lake Como and used for a scene in Casino Royale, feel more relevant and engaging.

As much as I dream of being a travel writer, I neither possess the confidence to interact with strangers nor the gastronomic curiosity to seek out local dishes. Sat in Milan’s Starbucks Reserve roastery – a sort of Disneyland for lovers of mediocre coffee – I consign myself to being pretty basic.

I also lack an ability to plan effectively. With enough research I’d have known that Turin’s metro would be closed for a month, that Milan Cathedral is partially covered in scaffolding, Como’s waterfront is a construction site and that Zürich’s museums are closed on Mondays.

To be fair, this trip was planned late and in haste due to uncertainty around when my contract might end, and the possibility of getting called as a witness at the trial of my burglar.

I did make a few good decisions. Travelling on the Eurostar midweek meant avoiding the crowds and saving a few quid. Obvious in hindsight, but a revelation as to the difference it can make. Continuing on from Paris and spending a night in Lyon instead shared similar advantages.

I started writing this post in the cafe bar of Como’s San Giovanni Railway station and departed questioning my choices and motivation for travel.

In retrospect, instead of trying to visit a number of different cities, I should have picked a single destination like Como. That way I could get to know a particular neighbourhood, learn the location of its best restaurants and coffee shops and actually settle down and relax. It’s a familiar lesson that I’ll surely forget again before my next trip.

Arriving in Zürich rejuvenates the soul, the Germanic parts of Europe connecting with me at an almost molecular level.

Everything here is in tune to an unapologetic gestalt. Public transport shares a consistent colour scheme, has clear signage and uses a beautiful mono-line rendition of the city’s crest. Ticket machines work flawlessly and are easy to use. Sculpted concrete tram stations sit below church towers with weirdly large clock faces. Doors close with a satisfying clunk, locks engage with reassuring clonk. Cleanliness and order. Beautiful people going about their business in a delightful city. Le Corbusier! Frutiger! Helvetica!

My despondency lifts, my questions answered. I travel to awaken the senses, to feel connected to places like this that are foreign yet familiar.

Zürich is only 8 hours away by train; maybe I should spend more time in this part of the world instead.