World Travel Guide Online

If you are paying attention to such trivial things, you’ll eventually hear of many cities that have a nickname claiming they are the “Venice of” something. These can be found in almost every corner of the world, and a bit of research has demonstrated that some are much closer to the real thing than others. In fact, some of them have such a flimsy case that the real Venice should probably get a lawsuit going.

Even though some of them are really pretty close, it seems in order to call your city the “Venice of” something you must meet the following strict qualifications:

1. Your town must have at least one canal or slow-moving river

So let’s start by taking a quick visit to the real thing, and then we’ll compare and contrast all the fakes out there.

Venice, Italy – The Venice of Italy

The Venice that started the whole “The Venice of…” craze, it’s easily one of the most beautiful and romantic cities on earth, and it’s an excellent place to visit if you are a fan of crowds of other tourists wondering why this place is so damn crowded. But seriously, if you follow the advice of the pros, you’ll spend at least one night here and discover that the early mornings and evenings are amazing and easy to deal with.

Suzhou, China – Venice of the East (Chinese version)

This city of over 6 million in the suburbs of Shanghai is on a lake and also near the mouth of the mighty Yangtze River, and evidently many centuries ago it had an extensive canal network, which earned it the nickname “Venice of the East.” Most of those canals have since been paved back over, but enough still exist that they are a tourist attraction, and from certain angles this place actually does look just a bit like the Venice of Italy.

Alappuzha, India – Venice of the East (Indian version)

With over 2 million residents (this is India, after all) this is one of the largest cities on this list. Its canals somehow seemed unusual enough to earn it the title “Venice of the East” around 100 years ago, in spite of the fact that the canals themselves appear to be the only similarity, and even that might be stretching it.

Bangkok, Thailand – Venice of the East (Thailand version)

With its position on the Chao Phraya River basin, Bangkok actually has quite a bit in common with the real Venice. Its extensive canal network is actually not used for in-city shipping as much as it used to be, but the city is also said to be slowly sinking itself into the swamp. Many visitors will get to spend some quality time on the canals, as tours of the various “floating markets” in the area are a very popular novelty.

Basra, Iraq – Venice of the Middle East

Evidently, the canals that flow through this second-largest city in Iraq that sits near the Persian Gulf are at the mercy of the tides, so the nickname of “Venice of the Middle East” is only valid during parts of the day. We can excuse the city for not resembling Italy much, especially since any gondoliers that might have been here before have, up until very recently, been replaced by the British military.

Amsterdam, Netherlands – Venice of the North (Dutch version)

One of several cities sometimes called “Venice of the North,” Amsterdam actually has more canals and bridges than the Italian city (and Hamburg, Germany has more bridges than both of those combined), so this is not some phony nickname that stretches the imagination. Amsterdam is also extremely well known for its network of gorgeous waterways, and some of the nicest are those in the Red Light District (pictured), which is the oldest part of the city.

St. Petersburg, Russia – Venice of the North (Russian version)

This on-again, off-again capital of Russia sits on the Baltic Sea, and in the early 18th Century the city planners began digging a series of canals to help move goods around. Most of these canals remain, and the hundreds of bridges crossing over them definitely do make the Venice association believable.

Monasterevin, Ireland – Venice of Ireland

This small town of around 2,300 people in County Kildare that sits on the N7 road that connects Dublin and Cork is sometimes known as the “Venice of Ireland,” which does seem to be a bit of a stretch. A confusing passage on the Monasterevin city website says, “An aqueduct built in 1826 carries the Grand Canal over the River Barrow. Monasterevin is noted for its unusually high number of bridges,” so it sounds like the combination of a ‘Grand Canal’ and some bridges were all it took to adopt its own Venice nickname, in spite of the small size and look of the place.

Nantes, France – Venice of the West

The 6th largest city in France is the largest in the Brittany region in the far west, so the fact that it has a canal network helped earn it the nickname “Venice of the West.” The current description on its Wikipedia page says the name is, “owing to its position on the river delta of the Loire, the Erdre, and the Sèvre (whose tributaries were infilled in the early 20th century).” Sounds like a perfect match!

Sète, France – Venice of Languedoc

“Languedoc,” (in case you didn’t know either) is the region in southern France that borders Spain and the Mediterranean Sea, so being known as the “Venice of Languedoc” may not sound like a big deal, but it turns out this city of around 40,000 actually resembles Venice, Italy more than probably any other on this list. The Canal du Midi spills into the sea here after its 240km journey from Bordeaux, and the whole town is filled with small waterways that actually look somewhat like the real Venice.

Puerto de Mogán, Canary Islands – Venice of the Canaries

In one of the more dubious claims on this list, this city in the Canary Islands (owned and operated by Spain) features what the most recent Wikipedia editor calls “Canal-like channels linking the marina to the fishing harbour.” This seems to set the bar pretty low, but still it is sometimes called “Little Venice” or “Venice of the Canaries.”

Recife, Brazil – Venice of Brazil

Lately it’s become more famous for its many shark attacks just off the coast, but this nearly-500-year-old city on the Eastern tip of the continent is also sometimes known as the “Brazilian Venice” due to the number of rivers and bridges in town. While it may be the closest thing Brazil has to the famous Italian city, this one does seem to stretch the moniker a bit. In our book, just having rivers and bridges doesn’t cut it, but we don’t get a say in these things.

Ft. Lauderdale, USA – Venice of America (East Coast)

This touristy city just north of Miami used to be mostly known as a cheesy Spring Break destination, but its 165 miles of canals just behind the beach definitely do qualify it for its nickname “Venice of America.” One major difference is the Italian waterways are used for shipping goods while these are mainly used so more people can park yachts in front of their houses and then get them out into the ocean.

San Antonio, USA – Venice of the Southwest

This huge city in Texas has a section called the River Walk, which is a series of canals just off the San Antonio River, and is said to be the number one tourist attraction in the state. It has at least a few bridges that appear to be inspired by Venice, Italy, so obviously its worthy of being known as the “Venice of the Southwest” by at least some people.

Venice, California – Venice of America (West Coast)

This is one of two actual ‘fake’ Venices on this list, since it was built in 1905 to copy the canal system (to some degree) of the Italian city it was named after. Over the following decades the city boomed and then fell into disarray, and the stagnant water in the remaining canals became something of a health hazard. But the canal area that sits a few blocks from the beach was cleaned up and revitalized, and it’s quite nice to look at today, even though it’s so out of the way that most people don’t even know it’s still there in this form.

Venetian Resort – Venice of Las Vegas

Since the vast majority of Americans don’t even have a passport, much less enough money for a flight to Italy, the Las Vegas Sands Corporation decided to grant a public service to under-traveled Americans by imploding the Sands Hotel and building a 5-star hotel in its place that has a kitchy and over-the-top Venice theme. You can now take a gondola ride through its indoor-outdoor canal system, and be piling prime rib onto your buffet plate less than 10 minutes later. Take that, Italy! The Venetian in Las Vegas has been such a success that it’s spawned an imitator, in the name of a similar Venetian hotel in Macau (owned by the same company) that features the world’s largest casino.

He looked at me with his eyebrows scrunched up in that inimitable question mark = ? I was regretting having taken away his watch. And at moments like these I wondered why I married him. True, he was drop-dead gorgeous. True, he had a mind to go with it, as spaced out as it was. True, he was kind and sweet to bleeding animals. Not that they had to be bleeding, but it helped.

The real thing that attracted me to him, despite all these wonderful qualities however, was his obsession. I identified with it. Not HIS particular obsession, but the fact that his was so ALL-consuming, he had sought outside help. As Professor of Social Geography, he specialized in ‘Space, Action and Time.’ And TIME was his obsession.

I think there is something very reassuring – something comforting in knowing that as crazy as you are, there is someone who is crazier than you. That was my second attraction. We met at a psychiatrists’ office. The same psychiatrist who had suggested that he leave his watches (a collection of over 250, not including his collection of antique timepieces) at home, as a form of therapy. I now looked at his haggard face and knew it wasn’t jetlag, another 3 hours without a watch and he would definitely come apart at the seams.

The good news was that we were landing in Zurich. He could look at clocks for the next 6 days before going on to Cambridge. I consulted my Patek Philippe, an extravagant wedding gift from my husband, which he gave me saying “with you time stands still.” I took it as a compliment- “We’re landing in Zurich in exactly 3 minutes and 32… no 31 seconds. If you ask me one more time, I am divorcing you in Las Vegas.”

The Swissair flight was smooth as Lindt chocolate, the only grievance I had was that every hour, either for geographical high points, (Some Goddamn Alp) or for climatic information, the stewardess made announcements in Swiss-German, Swiss-French, Swiss-Italian, Romansch .The 3 comments became a running monologue of 6 hours; the time it took Moses to climb Mount Sinai for the 16 commandments. Thank God they were in English!

The first thing that assailed you at Kloten airport, was the cleanliness. It was disgusting. There was nobody sleeping on the floor, waiting for some mis-connection outside customs, and apart from our group there were only 2 other flights picking up their luggage. I asked a stewardess if the airport was always this calm, and she replied with an hysterical edge to her voice. “You think this is calm!?” (I had read somewhere that Einstein developed his ‘Theory of Relativity” not far from Zurich. It all fell into place.)

Regardless of our numerous travels to Switzerland, (which my husband equated with the Bahamas – that’s to say that when the bickering at the University reached a saturation level close to the density of peanut butter, he would come here and contemplate space and whatever) I was excited about Zurich. The Swiss-German cantons were the last on our list, and it was still terra incognito. We grabbed a cab, and George asked the driver if anything special was happening in the next few weeks.

The driver meant this to be the weather report and proceeded to tell us that the air pollution level today was very high and that this morning, he had to drive some old burgher (farmer) to the emergency ward for oxygen. George looked at me shocked. He does have an expression for shock, but since he uses the same expression for anger, it’s hard to tell sometimes what he’s feeling. Anyway, curious we rolled down the window and inhaled deeply. “George, you know what this reminds me of?” “No, what?” “Remember last year, the casino in Las Vegas. 2:00 am, the craps table.” “Yea, what about it.” “They pump pure oxygen into the rooms after midnight. That is what this is!”

The driver now was angry. The car swerved. For a Swiss, this was serious. “You say that I now lie?” The consequences for calling a Swiss a liar can not be compared to anything in our culture – in Los Angeles its’ considered a compliment, in New York a necessity.

But George who on occasion can be sensitive, immediately defused the bomb. “We are Americans.” Whenever we had occasioned the frustration or anger of the locals for no apparent reason, (at least to us), we used this simple phrase and watched in awe, each and every time, as the miracle of understanding, forgiveness and then ultimately peace unfolded.

The cab driver…said “Ah Ya zoo, Americans.” I was leaning out the window to revive myself from the jet lag. “George?” I decided to whisper. “Yea?” “You know, I was thinking if someone wasn’t used to coming to Switzerland, they could die from all this healthy air! Their lungs wouldn’t be prepared for the gruesome onslaught. It’s like giving cocaine to a baby.”

We turned left and suddenly from out of the rolling green farmland backdrop, the city of Zurich emerged from a foggy Lake, much like the Loch Nest Monster – Medieval, foreboding capped by a gunmetal grey wintry sky. I gasped. George said, “What time is it.” The small narrow streets were all cobblestones and tourists. It took less than five minutes to bounce in front of the Krone Hotel, next to the train station. George had picked it for its moderate price. (105 Francs for a double with bath).

The concierge was kind enough to inform us that it had been founded in the 17th century, that not only has it lodged the down and out for 3 centuries, “Why in your room, Lenin hat geshlaft.” George never easily bushwacked, smoothly responded. “Of course he did. – and plotted and planned the revolution.” But on the way to the room – “Deb, why do you think so many revolutionaries lived at some time or another in Switzerland? What does that suggest?” I really thought about that.

It was true – Zurich had been visited by Engels, Lenin, Jung, Einstein, Thomas Mann. James Joyce had written that scandalous, most censored of its time, erotic poem – Ulysses. I tried to think hard on his muse, and found none. There is nothing sexy about Switzerland. It is a surprise to me that there are Swiss, considering, that as true Reformed Protestants, pleasure is forbidden.

Again, came the plaintive addictive question, “What time is it?” “George, didn’t you hear the bells of 100 churches peeling only two minutes ago.” “I couldn’t tell how many gongs, they all ran together.” “It’s 4:00. OK?” We were seated at a cafe having a sandwich and beer while I paraphrased from Fodor’s tourist book. “Well we really should see the Kunsthaus, they have all of the impressionists, and Rodin’s exhibit ‘Gate of Hell.’ Zurich also has about 89 hotels, some of which are very famous, a 113 tea-rooms/cafes, 246 banks, and about 473 bars.

There is also a Botanical Garden for the English tourists and 3 McDonalds for the Americans, and/or Swiss teenagers tired of Bratwurst.” “George, Foders says that the Grossmunster and the Fraumunster Cathedrals are the top attractions. They say that, according to legend, the Grossmunster was founded by Charlemagne whose horse bowed on the spot, marking the graves of three early Christian martyrs.”

“Oh Pulleese, was this horse Trigger?” George had that look – shock or anger, his beautiful blue eyes were open Montana skies, and with his blond hair in disarray, he looked every inch the “believer.” The open, sweet, unspoiled man who never had a cynical thought that I dropped for 4 years earlier. It hadn’t taken long to uncover the ugly truth – within a matter of days, I had fallen into the murky depths of that humid, malodorous bed of cynicism that lay an inch below this angelic face. This is what higher education does to your mind.

Sipping my café – I plunged recklessly ahead – knowing full well the outcome. “Then they say that construction started in 1090. And then..whoa! listen to this! “What?” “Well it says here, that the three martyrs were patron saints of Zurich: Felix, Regula and Exuperantius. And in the 3rd century, the martyrs attempted to convert the citizens of Turicum, that’s what they called Zurich then, to Christianity. This inordinately upset the governor, who ordered them placed in boiling oil and forced them to drink molten lead.”

“So, in those days, torture was a refined art form.” This part he had no trouble believing. “Wait that’s not all…apparently they refused to renounce their faith, and then were beheaded.” I looked up to see if he was still open-minded. No response. “And then – well George – they PICKED UP their heads, climbed to the top of the hill and dug their own graves, and buried themselves.” Very Swiss to clean up after themselves I thought before rushing on as only courageous fools know how..

“They say there are statues of them carrying their heads under their armpits.” Stone cold silence. “George, isn’t that amazing?” In my mind’s eye, his laser blue eyes zapped a hole in the wall next to the coat of arms, over the doorway, (a chicken holding a scepter, I kid you not) before dropping his chewed ham and cheese sandwich. “Do you believe that!” “Amazing isn’t it!” My excitement barely concealed. “YOU DON’T even pick your clothes off the floor. Yeah! I believe it! Most miracles are unexplainable. That’s why they are MIRACLES, George.”

George looked at me in shock/anger? “Maybe I’ll go to the Kunsthaus.” “That’s a good idea, or one of the famous walking tours. The Munsterhof was the old swine market or..” “Debra, it’s March and its’ snowing so strong you can’t see your frozen fingers!” “I know – but the concierge swears tomorrow will be 80 fahrenheit, and you know the Swiss never swear and are never wrong.”

TWO DAYS LATER

“What time is it?” “I don’t know George, I left my watch at the hotel.” “You left your watch at the hotel!? The most expensive thing I have ever bought, you left at the hotel!” George wasn’t cheap, he was a professor. “George, “What about that 400 A.D. Mayan sundial you bought from Professor Enrique Fernandez Cuentamentiras Arencibia de Bilbao Guzman – you hocked the house to buy!!? Of course I left it at the hotel. There’s a clock on every corner, and I am tired of you asking what time it is.” “What if the maid steals it!?” “But George, this is not New York, the place you always know where your bag is. This is S-w-i-t-z-e-r-l-a-n-d, the only country in the world, where they have not only a “lost” but a FOUND department. The land of the honest people. Remember?

I had delivered this with the patience of a Corsican/Sicilian mother who is used to wayward children. Letizia Bonaparte would have been proud. George, bored. “So what do you want to do on this trip?” “Well now that we are over jet-lag..you can devote the rest of the time to your obsession. I know you want to pillage the watch stores, which I calculate shouldn’t take you more than 4 days. “Let’s see,” consulting the Zurich News we found in the cafe, that should be Bahnhofstrasse.” (Later, I realized it was always Bahnhofstrasse).

“What are you going to do while I’m pillaging the watch stores?” “George, you know I have to write a travel article for ‘Cultural Manias of other Peoples.’ I have to de-construct the town. If you want to help, you could ask a few questions, and we can meet at Paradeplatz for lunch, and compare notes. What says you?” He yawned, and then returned to the International Herald Trib as if I were one of his dead postcards of drunk St. Bernard dogs, lethargically laying on the table, waiting for the next rescue mission in the Gothard Pass.

“George, did you hear me ?”

It was high noon. The sun was a misty silver disk, surreal above the mountain range. A swan caught my eye as it whizzed across the lake, flapping huge white wings in hot pursuit of a lover. The traffic was dense, but reasonably quiet..only a few honking mopeds, clanking trams, and a series of peeling bells as they marked the hour, ultimate timekeepers – the Swiss. There was such a bucolic peace that an image of 15^th century maiden, sweet, chaste, pure, dressed much like our quakers or amish flashed quickly thru my inner eye. Cathedral organ music even played in my head as I navigated the bridge over the canal to the center metropolis.

I had been a crime reporter in Miami for 2 years…thinking now that I would have starved if my beat were here and longing perversely for something sensational, something shocking, something violent, even evil to happen. And best of all – being the reporter to get the scoop. American Journalist witness to multiple murder in broad daylight as Swiss gnome – employee of the Yamamoto Bank – goes on killing spree.

I took a breath and refocused on reality…What I really wanted was a drink. A nice cold beer. There was a bierstube with the date 1002 carved into the antique doorframe- though I wanted desperately for something evil to happen, I didn’t want it to happen to me. This place was older than war and my insurance was HMO.

I walked a few feet further downhill, and there was one dated 1467. I ducked inside its dark interior and headed for a table near stainglass windows. Scribbled notes… Zurich is situated on both shores (left and right bank, much like Paris, although sadly enough here the comparison ends) of the Limmat river. It flows from the northern end of Zurichsee (Lake Zurich), a beautiful, crystal clear body of water that lays like a giant’s tear drop at the feet of the powdered, bewigged snow capped Alps.

The beer was a big help..but I started to dry up. I needed lunch.

FOUR DAYS LATER 6:30 pm, as pre-arranged at breakfast, I met with George at Paradeplatz. He was reading a book called “Why Switzerland?”, 34 francs, at the Librerie Francaise, (Jonathan Steinberg – Cambridge Press, his old alma mater). Tea and apfel strudel. “Didn’t you sleep well last night George, your usually beautiful blue eyes have circles. It’s disturbing.” Breakfast I never notice anything but my coffee and croissant, call me insensitive.

“With the trains clanking away every hour! And then total silence, no police, ambulance sirens, no gun shots!” “We could have stayed at the Dolder Hotel if it wasn’t so expensive. And they had Einstein, Arturo Toscanini, Winston Churchill and even Kissinger sleeping in their beds!” George wasn’t impressed. “It was a medieval fortress and they have their own funicular. Isn’t that romantic.” George yawned. His jaw crunched as the mandible settled back. I had forgotten he wasn’t romantic.

“George they have their OWN dungeon!” Now that had gotten his attention. “What a great idea, if they can’t afford to pay their exorbitant rates, they lock them up. They probably have all kinds of tourists; English, American, French, German, Japanese.” He actually smiled. When George smiled the angels sang. I know this is true, I can hear them. Over 3 Heineken beers I offered up my notes for George’s approval. I knew better but I was out of control. “What do you think of these ideas?”

And reading directly some scribblings, not yet in order, I dived right in. “Zurich is….bla.bla. Most of the cities 380,511 residents speak a form of German called Schwyzerdutsch, which is a gothic guttural language that sounds very much like a Japanese samurai movie in the original. The main street is called Bahnhofstrasse and.. George all of a sudden found his fingernails fascinating. “Look, I am sorry this is boring, but I have to give them some streets to let them know where the hell they are. OK!” I blithely continued “Against 14th century architecture, reminiscent of vintage horror movies, stands the everyday man in the street…who in reality is one of four: 1. a retired farmer 2. a conservative wealthy member of some arcane guild of which their great-great-great-great grandfather belonged to 3. a businessman, basically a well-suited, homogenous, drone-like individual, and last but not least 4. a young person who has a Toulouse Lautrec, bohemian, cabaret look of too many sleepless nights, of too much booze. They are dressed in the cross cultural fall out of the sixties. With their wild hair black or red-carrot punk hennaed, their platform heels and torn leather jacket – you might mistake them for Americans George frowned.

“Debra, do you think.. they’ll care who lives here?” “George, please, my readers care.” (I immediately crossed it out.)
“The Swiss are extremely insular and seem a little cold, and sometimes even hostile. Of course this varies, depending on how long you stay and how much money you spend.” (I knew the money thing wouldn’t fly, thinking on Paris, New York, Istanbul…et al.)

“You can’t say that! George, I wasn’t going to, but just LOOK out the window! They all look as if YOU, YES YOU, PERSONALLY shot their dog. In New York they all look as if you COULD shoot their dog. But there is a difference between making someone responsible for something they haven’t done..and” “OK! OK.” “Anyway I have come to the conclusion that the Swiss’s problem of ‘sociability’ is very simple. It’s the Alps.” George was shocked/angry “What do YOU MEAN THE ALPS?”

We had discussed the Alps. They were breathtaking. So much so that they looked fake, ersatz, like a “Sound of Music” Hollywood set. And from Uetliberg, a 2,800 foot hill overlooking Zurich, I had seen the Matterhorn. Apart from a few days in the “paramos” (swampy lowlands) of Columbia, digging for the El Dorado treasure, it was the most disappointing day of my life. It looked exactly like the one in Disneyland, in California, with the sole difference that you drive through the bogus one in a bob sled, and you have the added excitement of faked fear.

“Yes, the Alps. George, do you know how psychologically isolationist that is – to be surrounded by a massive range of rock day and night!? I mean, pretend you were raised in a closet. A BEAUTIFUL closet, but a CLOSET. And the only people you saw were people visiting, you know to take out clothes.” George now exasperated said, “That sounds very much like New York, What the hell has that got to do with the Alps?”

“George they voted against European Economic Area, which was the first step towards Maastricht and European Market. They do not belong to the European Union. They are isolationist. They don’t want to go down the tubes with the rest of the world!” Now I was warming to my topic, picking up momentum..and outrage… “Switzerland is still solvent! It doesn’t have a deficit of King Kong proportions and worse yet” (here I stopped for emphasis, and to get air) “it has the biggest gold reserve in the world, buried in a vault under the Schweizerische Bank, Bahnofstrasse 34.”

Another quick gasp..”I mean really!” George waved his hand as if a fly had entered the room. “This is the only economical entity that hasn’t gone bankrupt in the last two years!” “Yes, exactly! George forget it..just tell me what you have.” “Gossip or facts?” “Whatever.” “Well for the last 2 days I had my coffee from Sprungli and I had a perfect view of the Volksbank and Credit Suisse, from the second floor. You won’t believe who I saw going in and out?”

Before I could ask and smiling his beautiful smile, he pulled out his notebook and rattled off his findings. Wednesday at 11:00 Muammar Al Kaddafi with 5 women ‘chaddahed” bodyguards, carrying American Mac 2 hand-held sub-machine-guns.

At 11:16 Jack Nicholson alone. At 12:28 Madonna with an entourage of 3 gay bodyguards..at 12:34 at the Credit, Ricki Martin followed by two paparazzi, and right behind him was Demi Moore with someone I don’t know.” (As if we knew Bruce Willis). He looked at me a second before continuing – gauging my reaction. “Then around 2:00, after lunch – I saw what looked like Idi Amin coming out of the Volk. Deb, didn’t he exile from Uganda to Saudia Arabia? “No news is good news, darling, keep going , you’re on a roll.”

“At 2:45 Liz Taylor exited a black Mercedes with Rod Steiger in tow, at 2:57 before closing, Senator Dole with a tall statuesque blond. Oh and without exception, they were all wearing sunglasses. Expensive sunglasses. “So.” “It’s snowing.” George turned the page, “and then Thursday..” “George, I can’t use that. But thanks anyway. What else?” He didn’t hesitate. “You know you can time your watch by the trains and trams, they’re so punctual!” He was acting as if this was his very first trip to Helvetia! His eyes sparkled until he looked at the white band on his arm where his watch used to live. News like this puts me to sleep.

He was unaware of the soporific effect he was having on me, he forged on..”I read somewhere of something that happened the other day….A woman was arrested for pulling the emergency brake in the train going to Winterthur.” I woke up! My old war instincts, finely honed in Miami, were on red alert. “That seems a little strong, what was the emergency?” Trying to sound nonchalant. “Her baby fell out of the window.” “No kidding! But that’s awful! Couldn’t they see how important that was?”

“Yes but apparently in more than” ..he ducked into his notes..”in more than 211 years, no zug, I mean train, has arrived late. He glanced up at me. “It threw all the other trains off for days. The conductor who suffered a complete nervous breakdown was sent to a clinic (for the very, very, very nervous) in St. Moritz. It was a scandal of Italian proportions. They are still talking about it.” Oh, the excitement draining out of me, after the false alarm.

“George you know what is phenomenal.” “No What?” “That they have six pubs per block but no drunks.” He seemed to be passing this through his critical left side brain – the one professors use to digest the world around them, and spit it out…I could actually see the synapses snapping dutifully back in place. “Really!?” he said, I looked at him, and said…”I miss New York.”

He looked at me and said: “what time is it.”

Lindor Milk, the absolute classic of Swiss chocolate, is a popular pick in Lindt’s chocolate factory shop south of Zurich. As you savor its smooth and creamy filling, you will understand why Switzerland has the highest rate of chocolate consumption in the world. The Excellence assortment with a high content of first-class cocoa butter and flavors such as vanilla, chili, mint and orange is another delicious Lindt chocolate.

The quickest way to reach Lindt’s factory shop is the 11-minute ride with the S-bahn (local train) from Zurich Hauptbahnhof, the main railway station, to Kilchberg. If efficiency doesn’t mean anything to you, make use of the city’s free bike scheme, and borrow a bike at the railway station for a calm tour to Kilchberg along Zürich Lake.

The lake area is popular among the people in Zurich, especially during the summer months. Don’t forget to visit the Chinese Garden on Bellerivestrasse in Zurichhorn park, set in the attractive Seefeld zone. The garden is a gift to the city from Zurich’s twin town, Kunming, in southwest China and offers a peaceful, calming atmosphere.

Bahnhofstrasse, lined with jewelry, watch and fashion shops, is one of the most exclusive shopping avenues in the world. The renowned pedestrian street starts at the railway station and continues to the lake. Globus' terrific food hall, the department store, Jelmoli and Confisserie Sprüngli, are well worth a visit. Sprüngli is the city's oldest pastry shop located on the square Paradeplatz in the middle of the avenue.

From Bürkliplatz, at the end of Bahnhofstrasse, you have an amazing view of Lake Zürich and the snow-covered mountain tops in the distance. Skiing is a popular sport in Switzerland and prominent resorts as Zermatt, St. Moritz and Verbier attract thousands of people each year. In Engelberg, less than two hours from Zurich, the season runs from December to early May.

In November thousands of people gather at Bürkliplatz to attend Zurich’s annual Whiskyship festival. Last year over 6,000 visitors came to try the selection of Scotland’s finest blends and single malts. The festival is held on six deluxe ships, this year a floating casino and a golf course will offer further enjoyable activities.

Zurich isn't bigger than a single district of Paris and easy to explore on foot. The city has a number of galleries and about fourteen of Zurich's 50 museums are devoted to art. The Swiss National Museum, situated in a park near the railway station, and Kunsthaus, with its modern art collections and nonstop exhibitions are the most visited.

The river Limmat divides the city’s old town in two contrasting halves. Lindenhof, the oldest part of Zurich, is on the west bank of the river. Its quiet square offers a marvelous panorama over the rooftops. The trendy Niederdorf district is on the east bank of the river. The area is filled with hip clothing shops and antique bookstores. As it gets darker, the restaurants, clubs and bars attract people who dig the energetic nightlife in this part of the city. Zurich has a dynamic club scene with styles to suit every taste, including salsa, hiphop, reggae, R&B, techno and pop.

As a multilingual country, Switzerland takes the best from the German, French and Italian cuisine. Cheese fondue with the traditional ingredients kirsch and a mix of fresh cheeses, typically Emmentaler and Gruyère, is one of the country’s famous specialties. The appetizing dish is best combined with pieces of crusty bread. Walliser Keller is one of many restaurants where you can order the appetizing cheese fondue.

The majority of visitors agree that the Swiss stereotypes are true. Nearly everyone likes skiing, the cows that nourish the grasslands of the Swiss countryside all have bells, you can find cuckoo clocks and Swiss army knives in pretty much every shop, and they do eat a lot of chocolate and cheese.

Erica Johansson is a freelance writer based in Sweden. She blogs about travel on Blissful Travel.

Buying the perfect souvenir is simple – unless it seemingly disappears.

Halfway through my five-day stay in Switzerland, I realize I have to buy a souvenir (Well, something other than a sports magazine – my “souvenir” from my two-day stay in Brussels three months prior). I’ve fallen in love with the Confoederatio Helvetica. Basel – my first stop – is perfect: frequent and free public transportation (thanks to the mobility card visitors are given in the city’s accomodation), lovely architecture, a plethora of museums, great cheese at the market and sports. My last sight of Basel is a snowboarding competition in the city center.

A comfortable two-hour train ride to Bern drops me off on a platform that could be nicknamed “Snowboarder City". But the Swiss capital is not to be a chilly place. Right after my arrival, groovy and colorful street performers entertain an audience in the city’s commercial district. Not far from the hippie-like group, the Bundesplatz, is also in the fun. Bargain hunters have gathered at the market to look at clothes, baskets and Swiss army knifes. Not exactly what I’m looking for.

If all else fails, head in the direction of the tourists. Bern is a city associated with the bear (the city is supposedly named after it), so many visitors leave time for the bear pit on their itinerary. It is another tourist haven where the sound of spoken English jumps out. There’s nothing really worthwhile about the place, you watch bears go in circles.

Next to the pit, though, is a tourist office sporting a shop full of Swiss items: cowbells, stuffed Saint Bernards, Swiss chocolate, Switzerland T-shirts, etc. A blue keychain for the neck stands out. Blue is my favorite color, a keychain isn’t bulky. At first, the keychain doesn’t seem overtly Swiss (weird considering I have an urge to buy a Swiss souvenir), but it looks lovely. It repeatedly features a flower with white hairs and yellow heads. The flower might be the national flower, but I don’t know its name. I tell myself to return to the shop before departing Bern.

Shopping is not on the top of my itinerary in Bern. A trip to the Bundehaus, the Swiss Parliament Building, is. The building is open to free tours from Monday to Friday in French, German and English. I go to the Bundehaus early that Monday (my last day in Switzerland) to find out when the English tour starts. I can plan my day around the tour, starts at 2:00 p.m. After the 45-minute tour of the Bundehaus, my itinerary is empty. Next, souvenir shopping.

Doubt creeps into my mind, nothing to do with shopping, but it has to do with my train ticket. I’m confident I leave at 5:23 p.m. Something tells me though, that I could be departing at 15:23. I return to my hostel (I had already checked out), but my backpack is still behind the front desk. I check my train ticket, I’m leaving Bern at 17:23. Good, I have enough time for souvenir shopping.

Armed with a map I was given at the train station, returning to the tourist office near the bear pit is easy. I just need to get on the Nydeggbrücke (a bridge near the Rathausgasse). Immediately after crossing the bridge and looking down to my right, I’d be at the tourist office.

Instead, I get on the Kornhausbrücke, which is longer than the Nydeggbrücke. It doesn’t hit me that I’m on the wrong bridge until I cross it – nothing touristy in sight – a bunch of office buildings.

I’m not lost, but the city center is a maze and if you can’t locate the street signs (which lie against buildings), the city takes you on a nice ride. Eventually, I find the right street and cross the Nydeggbrücke, reaching the tourist office well before the sun sets.

When I get to the gift shop, I try to open the door, but it stays shut. It’s 4:01 p.m. The gift shop closes at 4:00 p.m. on Monday. I wonder why Swiss shops close so early. Leaving the tourist office, I express my shock at the early closing times to a fifty-something woman of Asian descent who’s also leaving the vicinity. She agrees and adds, “In Manila, the shops don’t close until ten.”

Just across the street from the tourist office is a stand that may sell souvenirs. My hopes rise when I see a lot of cowbells at the stand, but no keychain.

There are numerous shops in the city center where Swiss souvenirs can be found. Two days prior, I found a shop on Kramgasse selling such items as cowbells, pens and mugs. I promised the clerk that I’d return to buy a souvenir. That clerk isn’t present, but I find the 19-franc cowbell I want. Still no keychain. At this point, I have less than an hour before leaving the Swiss capital.

Fortunately, a large train station is more than a place to arrive and depart from. Bern’s train station has four floors. On the top floor, there's a shop from the same chain where I found the perfect souvenir. The good news is there’s a Swiss keychain – red with numerous white crosses from the Swiss flag.

What goes up, must come down. I head down to ground floor where there are numerous food stands. Food’s not on my mind, though. I see several little shops selling a lot of the items I’ve come to expect in Switzerland. One shop has – yes – a blue keychain perfectly suited for the neck that repeatedly features a flower with white hairs and yellow heads.

I have a question as I look at the keychain. Taking advantage of the opportunity to speak French, I launch into the ever-so-basic, “Parlez-vous Français?” The cashier points to her partner. Then I say, “Quelle fleur est-ce que? Not exactly grammatically correct, but the second cashier says, “You can speak English. I think you prefer it.”

The Alps don’t provide the only adventure in Switzerland.

About halfway between Konstanz and Schaffhausen, set among meadows and castles along the most beautiful stretches of the river Rhine, is Stein-am-Rhein, one of the loveliest and best kept medieval villages in Europe.

Stein-am-Rhein is home to 3,000 people. On this Sunday afternoon in September, there were at least twice as many day-trippers from nearby Austria and Germany. About a million people pass through annually. And I hadn’t even heard about it until yesterday, when I happened to leaf through a book about Bodensee, randomly opening it on the Stein-am-Rhein page.

Crossing the river to the medieval village, I noticed old colourful half-timbered houses lining both banks of the Rhine. Boats of every kind were moored along the stone quays. Two elderly women in straw hats deftly manoeuvred a little boat with a small outboard engine along the lively, fast-flowing Rhine. A family of four in a canoe paddled furiously and the two small children seemed to enjoy it immensely. An old wooden barge docked at the quay, tipped precariously on top of a wave.

Luckily, I took a roundabout route into town – taking in the quaint cobblestone alleys and lanes before I saw the Rathausplatz, market square. Afterwards, it would have been hard to appreciate anything else. Stein-am-Rhein’s Rathausplatz is considered to be the most picturesque village square in all of Switzerland. Oriels and magnificent, intricate sixteenth-century frescos adorn the walls around the square. One house is more beautifully decorated than the next.

I walked around staring, mouth open, no doubt looking severely deranged, bumping into others in distraction. Fortunately, everyone else did the same. Soon we were all digging out cameras and some pretty frantic picture-snapping ensued. It was as if George Clooney were looking out an oriel window or something.

All the houses tell stories and it’s worth taking some time to examine the frescos in detail. Focussing on just one building was difficult, but as I was sitting at no 9, Altschweizerische Weinstube Zum Rothen Ochsen – The Red Ox, the oldest tavern in town, enjoying a salad and a tiny decanter of house red, it seemed natural to begin here.

The facades have frescos illustrating the name of the house. Zum Rothen Ochsen has a red ox fresco, as well as various medieval village scenes. In one, a group of women in medieval dress are chatting on the square. One of them is busy conversing with God, who holds up his hands in a gesture of either “I bless you” or “OK, OK, you win”. The woman seems quite determined, so it’s probably the latter.

To the left, a well-rounded woman with long, blond hair dressed in nothing but a gold penchant, carries a piece of white cloth attached to a wooden triangle – as a parasol, perhaps.

Another fresco depicts two women chatting in an everyday sort of way, never mind the fact that

one of them is holding a dagger in one hand and a man’s severed head, tongue protruding, in the other. This might be a snippet of their conversation:

- What’s that in your hands, there, Elsie?

- Oh, nothing really. Just got tired of old Wilhelm never bothering to shave, so I decided to give him a hand. I got the knife, grabbed his head, and whoops… had no idea that thing was so sharp.

– I see. You should be more careful you know. You could have cut yourself.

- Oh, I know. I know.

- Won’t you get rid of it, dear? That congealed blood is beginning to smell. Must be this warm weather we’re having.

– Of course. I’ll just dump it in the river here. Splash.

- So, how are the children, by the way?

Voices fade as they walk away.

On one side of the oriel is Sapientia, a woman all buttoned up, looking serene with a book in her hand, probably the Bible – and the words Soli Deo Gloria next to her. On the other is Melancholia, in skimpier dress, head in hand, looking rather, well, melancholic. It doesn’t seem to be much doubt which one I’m meant to emulate.

Above is another woman with an odd-looking little black hat perched on top of her head, who looks about to stick a dagger right into her chest. Dramatic stuff, this.

Another is of a medieval square, where a knight has just arrived on a rearing horse, raised sword in hand. Everyone looks at him but doesn’t seem overly impressed with his bravado. I must say, though, after a few glasses of wine, he looks kind of cute, armour and all.

Next to Rothen Ochsen is no 7, the high, red gable making it the tallest building on the square. This is Zur Vorderen Kronen, The Foremost Crown, sporting a fresco of a large golden crown, carried by two chubby curly-haired cherubs.

On the other side, at no 11, is Steinerner Trauben, or Stony Grapes. The main fresco on this house is of two grey-haired men in ancient Greek dress, carrying a large and obviously heavy vine of juicy, purple grapes between them. Further along, at no 13 is Hotel Sonne, the oldest hotel in the village. The main feature here is a huge, laughing sun overlooking a man trying to hide in a barrel while being interrogated by soldiers.

At the front of the square is City Hall. With its half-timbered top floor and scenes from Stein-am-Rhein’s history, it’s just as gorgeous as the rest. From the tower, bells chime every hour.

On the opposite side of the square is Hotel Adler (Eagle) and next door, at no 14, Zum Weissen Adler (White Eagle) is considered to be the most beautifully decorated building in town. It’s from 1520 and the centrepiece is a white eagle; a thin one with an evil yellow eye and really long claws.

Above it, a couple of young men in musketeer-type outfits, complete with huge, flowing feathers on their hats, seem to be using an old bearded man with tied hands and feet for archery target practice. The king is looking on sternly, a crown in his hand, probably saying: "Now, now, lads – let’s leave that poor man alone, shall we?"

Below, a scene shows a young man lying prostrate at an odd angle, no doubt dead. An older man on a white horse is talking to a sad young, nubile maiden with long, flowing, brown hair: "Now, daughter, he really wasn’t good enough for you. Some day, you’ll thank me for taking him out. Just you wait and see."

Elsewhere, a young naked couple, the woman obviously pregnant, is tied to a pole, perhaps waiting to burn at the stake? They look a bit down at the mouth. Probably being punished for having a bit of unmarried fun, I shouldn’t be surprised.

Below them, a naked woman with long blond hair and a very voluptuous body is holding a chubby child. Endearing scene – until you notice she has hooves and a tail sticking out from her plump bottom.

I had planned on staying in Stein-am-Rhein an hour or so – four hours later, I was still walking around, looking and bumping into people. Sadly, I had a plane to catch. Otherwise, this would have been a wonderful place to spend the night, living behind the façade frescoes of Hotel Adler, hanging at the Red Ox, drinking red wine and making up stories about the frescos. Stein-am-Rhein is bound to be a very atmospheric place at dusk. Actually, I suspect stories would just leap out from the walls by then, and I wouldn’t have to make them up.

Ah, St Moritz. The mere name brought to mind a delightful summer in Torquay. I was 16 and he was tall, blond, a little shy. He had the most beautiful smile. I'll call him Hanspeter. When planning this trip, I considered looking him up but couldn't remember his surname. Then I realized I never knew it. Hey, it was summer, we were young and who cared about such trivialities. So he'll always be just Hanspeter from St. Moritz to me.

My first view of St. Moritz and the Engadin Valley was jagged, alpine peaks kissing the clear sky, larches in golden autumn colours, the sun sparkling off the water in the deep-blue St. Moritzsee. Here and there, a house clinged precariously to a cliff. Only Swiss and Norwegians would choose to live in such splendid isolation.

I could have stayed here on the huge, sunny terrace of Hotel Schweizerhof forever, drinking in that magnificent view; filling my lungs with fresh mountain air. I was surrounded with daisies, violets, lobelias and geraniums in every shade of blue, purple, magenta, red, yellow and white. Perfect. Sadly, I had a meeting to go to (how else would I be staying in the Schweizerhof, after all).

The town is divided in two. Up in the hills is St Moritz-Dorf – everyone's image of this swanky resort – full of chalets, hotels, boutiques and the odd souvenir shop. Down by the lakeshore, St Moritz-Bad is another story – full of ugly concrete blocks of flats and sports halls.

The two parts are connected by a series of escalators through St Moritz Design Gallery. The town must get its fair share of lazy tourists, then – those here for some Prada shopping rather than skiing. Claudia Schiffer and Pierce Brosnan stop by occasionally. I'm sure they're fit enough to walk, though. Lance Armstrong, too.

I rode the escalators down to Bad and ended up on a large concrete terrace overlooking the lake; an excellent location for snapping sunset photos. And just in case the two short stairways down from the terrace are too much, there is a lift to the pavement.

Towards one end of the lake is Bad. I tried not to look, but it was hard to miss, like a pimple on an otherwise flawless face. You just have to view it. What goes on in the minds of architects? Really. I want to know. You're surrounded by beauty – and you're inspired to build this? That's sad.

I focused on the mountains, the hillsides and the hotel, Waldhaus am See. It was easy to picture this quirky old-world hotel on an early autumn day in, say 1906; people clad in Edwardian costume strolling around, picnicing by the lake, chatting happily, resting and taking the baths. Very belle epoque.Going back up through the gallery and looking at posters showing scenes from St Moritz at the turn of the century, I yearned to visit St Moritz of the early 1900s. Where oh where is that time machine? (With it I could also make a quick detour to that English summer, be all grown-up about it and ask his surname).

The Swiss are very competent linguists. Swiss German is the major language heard in St Moritz – in the off-season, that is. Completely different from standard German, it's incomprehensible to Germans. In this canton (state), Rhaeto-Romanic, Italian, Swiss German, standard German and a plethora of dialects are spoken, and in the canton parliament, members speak in their own language. It's assumed everyone understands and no translation is provided.

Hermann Hesse, Thomas Mann and Friedrich Nietzsche used to hang out here, according to the town's official website. Along with a whole host of other famous names, they all "came as travellers and remained as adorers". Big words.

Big words also describe the heavy-duty marketing of this town. St. Moritz is prestigious, world-famous, chic, elegant and exclusive. It's a playground for movie stars and royalty, it has a pronounced cosmopolitan ambience and – my favourite – a champagne climate more tonic than anywhere else.

The emphasis is obviously on attracting big names and big shoppers, even trademarking the name St Moritz. Well, sorry if I hurt anyone's feelings, but this is not a beautiful town. I found it obtrusive, actually. The phrase less is more would likely receive nothing but a sneer here. But what the town lacks in beauty, it makes up in the setting.

Perhaps the most famous building in St Moritz is the super-luxurious Badrutt's Palace hotel. This is where Pierce, Claudia and the rest of the gang stay. I couldn't decide: was this faux castle cool or tacky? The hotel has won tons of awards, but none for architecture, as far as I know. But it was built in 1896. And, somehow, gaudy buildings from 1896 have more charm than gaudy buildings from 1996, so I'll go for kind of cool. What do you think?

I was going to have a look inside. I noticed a poster on the surprisingly unassuming front door telling me it was closed. But I'm happy to know they're looking forward to welcoming me on the fifth of December at noon. Foot the bill and I'll be here wearing bells, ready to fall on my face on the slopes.

In the meantime, the early evening streets were mostly empty. The St. Moritzers must be either indoors or enjoying a fortnight's cruise out of Tenerife on board the AIDA blu for 2 564 francs, the temptation of the day at the local travel kiosk. Me, I entered the Emilio Pucci store, drawn in by a pair of funky trousers and some killer crystal sandals in the window. On seeing the price tags, I gasped and stumbled right back out.

I couldn't help comparing St. Moritz to Zermatt. An unfair comparison, of course. Zermatt has the Matterhorn, after all. That masterpiece of nature, often hiding behind a shroud of clouds – the little tease. Now you see me, now you don't. Mostly you don't. Also, the Glacier Express, breathtaking rail journey of world fame, goes between St Moritz and Zermatt.

May I suggest doing the journey in that order? Begin in St. Moritz, with its stunning setting and brash town – and end in Zermatt, equally stunning setting, a lovely valley village, no cars (apart from the annoying little electric bugs carrying luggage between the station and the hotels), and the Matterhorn. You'll go from gorgeous St. Moritz to über-gorgeous Zermatt in seven and a half hours of uninterrupted scenic splendour.

While you're in St Moritz, fork over 32 francs, take the Bergbahn up to Corviglia and continue in a cable car up to Piz Nair. Then walk to the top. Remember not to run, even if you want to. At 3,057 meters (just over 10,000 feet), the view is grand.

On the way down to the cable car station, I noticed a glass-enclosed pickaxe and went to have a closer look. On the handle of the axe were inscribed the words, Mount Everest 13.5.1999. In addition were a pair of crampons and a photo of a person in mountaineering gear and a Greek flag. Above, the words Constantine S. Niarchos 1962-1999, on a brass plaque.

At first, I thought this was a young woman who had died while climbing in the area. But Fabrizio at the Panorama restaurant told me she was a he; a shipping billionaire and the first Greek to reach the summit of Everest. Niarchos had loved the Engadin valley so much he wanted his memorial here. Also, he had contributed financially to building the Panorama and even had a chambre separée here for some high altitude dining.

The date of his death was just a short while after the Everest triumph. Had he died in the Himalayas, then? This had me curious, so I checked it out. According to an article in the Telegraph dated 8 July 1999, he died of a massive cocaine overdose (enough to kill 25 men!) in his flat in London just two weeks after conquering Everest. So the story didn't have the romantic ending I had imagined. Rather a sad one. I guess being wealthy can be lonely.

I took the cable car back to town since I was in a hurry. Another, probably better, option would have been to walk down, all the way or part of it. At the Panorama, I had bought a little stuffed marmot for my youngest daughter, so I was very happy when I saw live ones – a whole family of marmots, along the mountainside on the way back.

Here's my quick take on St. Moritz: The town – eeeh, the setting – awesome. Worth the trip? Yeah. Would I go back? Sure. I've lots more to see, like the Swiss National Park for some ibex- or bearded vulture spotting, and more of those cute marmots. There's a wide array of hiking trails, several of them wheelchair accessible and it's possible to stay in Swiss Alpine Club huts.

For children, there's a fairy-trail, including Heidi's hut, and the child friendly Hotel Chesa Spuondas.

If you like exercising outdoors and eating superb food, the Bike Gourmet Tour may be just your ticket. Of course, just about any kind of sport is available, summer and winter.

Hard to believe, but St Moritz also has several hostels, including the Jugendherberge Stille.

Grüezi!

Lugano, Ticino, Switzerland

Lugano, the pride of southern Switzerland, conjures up images of beautiful scenery and delightful Mediterranean weather. I was holidaying in Switzerland last May with my family (husband and two kids) and had decided to spend a few days at this distinctly Italian flavored resort in the Ticino region. I had heard that Lugano enjoyed the best of Italian and Swiss culture – the vibrant charm of the Italians and the order and punctuality of the Swiss. I was soon to discover more than just that.

As the quaint villages, rolling green valleys and magnificent mountains whizzed past us on our train ride from Zurich to Lugano, we seemed to lose track of time immersed in the scenes and didn’t mind the three and half hour journey at all. We had booked ourselves at the wonderful hotel Lago Di Lugano located in the suburb of Bissone, a 20 minute drive away from Lugano city. The hotel is designated as a ‘KidsHotel’ – which is a certification offered to hotels that cater especially to families with kids. Though it comes under Bissone, it is actually at the border of the suburb of Campione. We had booked a family apartment and found the rooms to be very spacious – something that is a novelty in most European hotels. Our bedroom had a balcony offering lovely views of the Lago Di Lugano Lake and the looming San Salvatore Mountain.

We left the kids to play for a few hours at the activity centre for kids called the Pinocchio Club while we toured the rest of the property. The hotel gardens were lined with date palms, multicoloured tulips and other stunningly colourful flowers, thereby exuding a very Mediterranean kind of ambience. The in-house restaurant had a small play-area which was an excellent idea to keep pesky kids busy till their meals arrived! After a nice dinner at this restaurant, we retired for the night. I wasn’t prepared for the nasty surprise awaiting me; in the dead of the night my bed suddenly gave way and collapsed! I had to make do the next few uncomfortable hours on the couch. The handsome carpenter who came in next morning to inspect couldn’t give us a convincing explanation about the faulty bed; he simply shrugged his shoulders with a shower of explanations in Italian, which obviously we couldn’t follow!

I decided not to let this minor glitch dampen my spirits and after a sumptuous buffet breakfast, left the hotel to explore Lugano city. We left the kids at the Pinocchio Club and hoped to do some hiking at one of the mountain summits, Mt. Bre. There’s a bus stop right outside the hotel and it took us straight up to the Lugano Central Bus station. I found Lugano to be a bustling city with lovely lakeside promenades lined with flowering trees and squares with gushing fountains. Grandfathers were lounging in the piazzas and chatting with their old pals, while matronly grannies took the kiddos in prams for strolls along the promenade.

The warm sunshine was infectious; we too got caught up in the cheerful ambience, spotted a park bench, sat back and relaxed. With its walkways and lakeside parks, Lugano seemed to be a stroller’s paradise. So many couples, both young and old, were leisurely walking along the streets, window-shopping, lounging at the sidewalk cafes or even smooching, oblivious to people around them. I especially admired the ‘oldies’ holding hands and looking all lovey-dovey and hoped that we would have the enthusiasm to do this when we got old! We spotted loads of modern-looking hotels crowding the lakefront. The residential houses, though, with their earthy-looking walls, green colored Venetian windows and red tiled sloping roofs had an uncanny resemblance to colonial British architecture buildings in my hometown of Calcutta. The city seemed a bit noisy, with cars and buses whizzing past the main road next to the lakefront. I was glad that we had chosen to stay at the quieter Bissone, away from the noise and the hustle and bustle of the city.

We planned to visit Mount Bre first – called the sunniest mountain in Switzerland and with supposedly great views from the top. But when we reached the funicular station at 1 p.m., we found it firmly shut. There was a signboard in Italian and the language again created a problem. We finally understood from some locals who spoke a bit of English that the funicular was closed for siesta. I had heard of the siesta concept in Italy, but hadn’t expected that part of the culture to infiltrate ‘clock-work precision’ Swiss cities as well! We left the place disappointed and headed towards the fishing village of Gandria by bus.

Here too there was some confusion regarding the validity of the Swiss Travel Passes that we had bought and we had a tough time explaining to the driver (who of course didn’t understand English) that the passes were supposed to be valid for bus travel as well. After some gesticulations, the bus driver gave in to our earnest expressions and though I don’t think he was convinced, he was nice enough to allow us to ride up to Gandria. We got down at the fishing village of Gandria after showering the bus driver with a host of smiling ‘Grazies.’

Gandria is the tiniest village I have ever seen – the only walking path in the village takes all of 15 minutes to cover and runs in between tiny houses and restaurants piled next to each other and bordering the lake! The village is famous for its beautiful location and superb food offered at the restaurants dotting the lake. We ducked into all the restaurants to checkout the menu and chose one of them with a good lake view. We were told that one could get amazing fish delicacies at Gandria. Surprisingly, in such a small village, the waiter could speak excellent English and for once we didn’t have to struggle to comprehend the menu card printed in Italian. On his recommendation, I had an excellent grilled sea fish with saffron sauce and baked vegetables and the restaurant lived up to Gandria’s reputation.

Gandria can be reached by foot from Lugano in two hours along a path by the lake called the ‘olive path,’ leading along fields of olive trees and offering a splendid view of the Lake of Lugano. We tried walking along that path and found it going through several villages dotting the lake. We returned back after a while to the pier at Gandria and went back to Lugano by boat, reveling in the sight of ducks and swans bobbing in the spectacular blue lake.

Lugano is only 40 miles from Milan. Hence, close on the heels of its more fashionable neighbour, Lugano too boasts of designer shops and famous brands. Via Nassa is one of the ‘luxury’ streets with fashionable boutiques and world famous brands like Armani, Ermenegildo Zegna, Bucherer, etc., and also lined with cafès, perfumeries etc. We did some window-shopping at Via Nassa and I even managed to buy myself an Armani designer blouse from the Emporio Armani store which was offering a discount sale. After lingering over a heady brew of coffee and sinful pastries at a cake-shop, we left for our hotel by bus.

Our kids seemed a bit tired when we picked them up from the Pinocchio Club at 6 p.m.; methinks, “All play and no work makes Jack a tired boy!” We decided to try out the local restaurants in Campione for dinner and headed towards the Campione pier, about 10 minutes walk away. The road to Campione had posh-looking villas all along and we had a good time admiring their old style architecture.

The lakefront promenade at Campione has quite a few nice restaurants and pizzerias and we chose one recommended by our hotel. Here too the menu card was in Italian, but we managed to communicate our orders to the friendly waitress without too much trouble. The kids treated themselves to massive pizzas while I and hubby had yet another mouthwatering grilled fish preparation.

Back at the hotel, we had a major chore lined up – washing our clothes at the self-service washing machine in the laundry room. A typical trait of we Indians is to save money and we would happily do all the laundering on our own – rather than pay a bomb for giving our clothes to the hotel’s expensive laundry service! We soon found out that operating the washing machine wasn’t all that easy (the price you pay for not spending money!). Since the instructions in the laundry room were all in Italian, we asked for help from their staff. The handsome housekeeping guy (yeah, with their clean-shaven chiseled features and stocky build, all Lugano men are dashing!) also knew only Italian. So with some difficulty, the guy reading the manual in Italian and translating the instructions through gestures, we managed to communicate somehow and got the machine started off. All this pantomime made me quite exhausted at the end!

We decided on a mega-tour the following day and I drew up an ambitious plan to visit 3 places – Mt San Salvatore, Swiss Miniature Park at Melide and the beautiful village of Morcote. The reason this was an ambitious plan was because after poring over the bus and boat timetables, I realized that in order to get connections to all three places, we had to time our sojourns very accurately. It was a sunny day unlike the previous day and so we got a complimentary boat ride from the hotel right up to Lugano Paradiso. The hotel operates its boats for guests only on sunny days; call it practicality or laziness! From Paradiso pier we walked a short distance to reach the Mt San Salvatore funicular stop. Fortunately there was no ’siesta’ concept at this funicular station and we took the funicular ride up to the mountain top.

Mt San Salvatore is 912 m high and offers superb views of the lakes below and mountains all around. There is a church at the top which has a terrace where one can climb up and get stunning panoramic views. We could see at least 2 other smaller lakes from the top, apart from Lake Lugano. We observed that there was a walking path that leads to Corona (Ciona) and then Morcote in 3 hrs. If the kids weren’t with us we might have perhaps ventured doing the hike. We had a quick lunch at the self-service restaurant and the kids later amused themselves at the nearby games park.

Getting back to Paradiso we decided to take the train to Swiss Miniature Park in Melide. This is a park which has models of all monuments and landmarks of Switzerland like the Alps, lakes, castles, farms, cathedrals, etc. There are small trains, funiculars and toy cars whizzing automatically on the roads and tracks laid out. One can see the rotating cable car rising up to Mount Titlis, the funicular chugging up to Jungfraujoch or the toy sailing boats on Lake Zurich. We spent a whole lot of time pouring over the monuments and landscapes and later the children tried their hand at the various games available at the park. As a result of all this we missed the next boat connection to Morcote and had to forego that trip. I was most disappointed as I had read so much about this charming village from the travel brochures and really wanted to see the quaint place. Anyways the children were thrilled at spending so much time at the Miniature Park, so it was well worth it. We went back to the hotel by bus and had a lovely dinner (more grilled fish!) at the hotel’s restaurant.

Next day we had to leave the city for our next destination, Brienz – and we bid adieu to Lugano at the train station. I had found this beautiful city to be a laid-back and cheerful place, with warm locals, their easy-going attitude, superb cuisine and great scenery – not to mention eyeing the handsome Lugano men; even middle aged guys are quite dashing, from the cab driver, to the carpenter, to the housekeeping guy – all with a smile on their faces and trying their best to help you. The Lugano ladies must have been beautiful too, but for that you will have to ask my husband! Mamma Mia, lovely Lugano, we promise to come back again!