According to my original plans I would have caught the 7:25 am train to Tirano. But when I first arrived at the Orange House and began discussing breakfast times with my hostess, I decided it was silly to leave that early and changed to the 8:25 train. It was an easy change to make, since this is a regional train with no seat reservations. All I had to do was change the trains in my Eurail app.
My pass did not always give me this flexibility. Six of my trains on this trip were high speed and required seat reservations. It was recommended for a seventh. Seat reservations for pass holders are limited and so that I had to buy my seats weeks in advance.
I was at breakfast exactly at 7:30 am. It was another great one, delicious but not especially healthy. The only difference was western pancakes in place of the crepes.
My short walk to the station was quite pleasant with a bit of sun peeking through the clouds, a nice change from all the rain during my stay.
There were two trains with the same departure time, mine going north to Tirano and one going south to Milan. There were many people waiting. I talked to a couple who were so sick of the rain that they were leaving early. The southbound train arrived first and the couple and virtually everyone else boarded. I resisted the urge to jump on the departing train. This time I knew exactly which direction I was going. I was not going to do a repeat of Lake Bled.
My train arrived a few minutes late. There was lots of space, but the seats were not especially comfortable.
It was a scenic ride as we first passed the northern part of Lake Como and then entered the foothills of the Italian Alps.
We arrived in Tirano. I tried to do a quick walk, pulling my suitcase behind me, but did not go far. The little wheels on my bag were not wanting to turn, a problem that plagued me for the rest of the trip. I had no choice but to pull the bag between stations and hotels, but I was not going to fight it for a walk.
I had my last cappuccino in Italy.
It was time to go to the station. I checked the departure board but saw no mention of my train to Switzerland. I had a moment of confusion before I saw a sign for the Bernina Express that led me to a separate building.
My train was waiting.
I found the first-class compartment which had a two and one configuration with an upper and lower area. I went to the upper section. My lone fellow passenger sat in the lower section and appeared to sleep the entire time. I guess he had ridden this train before.
This was the first of my 15 Swiss trains over the next seven days, including several narrow-gauge trains through the Alps. I did not have reservations for any of them. Switzerland promotes its tourist trains that feature giant windows and gourmet food. These trains require reservations. The first class seats get sold out, and the food comes with a hefty price tag.
The best advice I found during my research was that I could and absolutely should avoid those trains. Regular trains use the same tracks. I used the Swiss Federal Railways website for my planning. The fancy trains were clearly marked, and I picked the trains that were just before or after. My trains were not crowded. I usually had only one or two fellow passengers in the first-class compartments. Sometimes I was all by myself.
Riding the Swiss trains was like taking buses in a city, only a bit more spread out. I would simply walk onto the platforms and board. There are “request stops” in the mountains. I once pushed a button to get off and then pushed a button at the station to get picked up.
Although I could have easily taken the train much farther along the line, my first Swiss train ride was a short one, only 36 minutes to the lovely little town of Poschiavo.
We left the station and passed through Tirano. People along the route were recording the train. Although this was not one of the tourist trains, it was taking the route of the historic Bernina line.
My car was just behind the engine. Even though the electric motor made no sound, it was a noisy ride with a constant piercing train whistle. There were announcements in German, Italian, and English about the stops and interesting information about the Bernina line.
I settled into a seat on the left side, knowing that we would quickly arrive at one of the highlights of the Bernina line, the Brusio circular viaduct. The viaduct was built in 1908 and contains nine stone arches that were built mostly from local materials. It was done to limit the railway’s gradient to a maximum of 7%.
We pulled to the side for the tourist train. It was quite full.
My train was taking me through the Val Poschiavo, an Italian speaking area of Switzerland. We passed Lake Poschiavo.
I was busy with my camera for the entire time. It was great to have the whole section to myself so that I could be stand or move from side to side. It had been a fantastic beginning. My brief ride had confirmed that I was going to love Swiss trains and the mountains that they climb.
I arrived in the small town of Poschiavo,
Poschiavo has a population of about 3,500 and is known for its Renaissance 19th century architecture.
It was a short walk to my hotel, the Albergo Croce Bianca, where I was given a nice welcome.
My plan was for a bike ride, and I had identified a local bicycle rental business. I showed the website to the receptionist who told me that the business was up in the mountains. She suggested that I should use one of their bicycles instead which were free unless I wanted an e-bike. Then there would be a 60 Swiss Franc charge, almost $100 Canadian. I said I would likely use a free one.
I went up to my room.
I went back to the reception and told them that I wanted to use a bicycle. A concierge took me across to their storage room and pulled out a mountain bike first and then a hybrid or what he called a street bike. He told me that he only wanted me to be happy. I took the street bike.
I was soon out of the little town and fighting to get up a hill. I was not getting any help from the gears. The shifter did not seem to change anything. It was one thing to not have an electric motor helping, another not to have normal bike gears. Then the chain fell off. I put it back on.
Even if the bike ride was not going well, I could enjoy the Swiss scenery.
A lady came by with her dog. She was picking wildflowers. I tried to converse, but she did not speak English. I did not speak Italian. We tried a bit in French. “Très jolie,“ she said. “Oui,” I replied. Yes, it was very pretty.
It was downhill to Lake Poschiavo. I knew that I could easily go down but that I would not be able to ride back up with this bike. I returned to the hotel and asked my friend for a different one.
He gave me the mountain bike. I fumbled as I tried to adjust the seat. I guess it did not provide him with great confidence. As I rode away, he called out, “I am really worried!” I laughed and shouted back that I would be fine.
I went back up the hill and then down a steep hill into Le Prese, the little town next to the lake. Even though I now had a better bike, I wondered if I could make it back up.
I reached the lake where stern looking signs with pictures showed what was allowed along the path. I could not understand if bikes were included so I wondered if I should continue. There was a cold wind coming off the lake.
I turned around and peddled to the little Le Prese train station. I had seen that bikes were allowed on the trains so thought that I might just hop on and save myself the ride up the hill. But then the train website suggested that I might need to book in advance. Meanwhile there were ominous looking clouds above the lake. I decided to be strong and ride back.
The two e-bikes that I had ridden on this trip were quite comfortable. This one was not. It had no rear suspension and as a result my butt really hurt. I decided to stay left to avoid the steep hill. That worked. I was soon back in Poschiavo and went straight to the hotel. I was quite relieved to give the bike back to my friend. He was relieved to see that I had survived.
It was time to switch to walking. The town is lovely with its old palazzi or grand residences. They were built by local people who had made their fortune in Spain and returned home.
I stopped at a café on the square and had a cappuccino and a gelato.
The houses on one street were especially beautiful with their gardens across the street.
I noted the flood poster. The river was quite beautiful, but I could see that a large snow melt combined with heavy rains could result in disaster.
The hotel had a fine restaurant, the Albergo Ristorante Croce Bianca. I was told by the receptionist that I would have to reserve if I wanted to dine there, so I had stopped after my bike ride. I would not have gotten a table if I had not been a resident, even then I did not get into the main dining room. I was given a table that was in the adjoining room, near the bar. I was all by myself. The other diners had white tablecloths. I was given a white plastic mat.
This was a common theme during my trip. If I wasn’t just denied a place, I was given a time limit, put into a separate room or at a shared table, or at the bar. I was always fine with it. The only time I refused was the outdoor table in wet and cold Varenna.
The menu was in German and Italian. I understood why there was no English menu but was surprised at the lack of a French one. The first two waiters could not help, but finally a English speaking waiter came by to provide guidance.
I had a local house wine and a very good barley soup. For my main course I wanted a local dish and went with “capunet con misolta”, spinach dumplings with cheese. It was accompanied by a local salami which I later read might have been horse meat.
My waiter friend had given me a special seasoning. Then another waiter grabbed it and took it into the main dining area; just like that it was in the big peoples’ room. My waiter got me another one.
My pasta, which of course I had seasoned as instructed with the special stuff, was at the “oh my god this is good” level.
I asked to see the menu again so that I could read the description. As I did, I managed to knock over my wine glass. I was relieved that I had a plastic mat instead of a white tablecloth. The staff were quick to clean it up. My waiter asked if I wanted another wine. I was too embarrassed to say yes, but the waitress just gave me a big top up. The service and food were outstanding.
I went back to my room where I hoped for some sleep. My evenings were proving difficult as I was fighting my cold. I was okay during the daytimes but struggled at night.
I was expecting great things on my morning train ride as my train on the Bernina Line would be climbing the Alps.
This featured blog entry was written by Bob Brink from the blog Searching for Magical Moments.
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