Easter in the Alps

This past weekend’s trip started simply enough – a driving tour through the mountains.
We’d sail through Switzerland, move through Milan, and end up at the world’s tallest fountain.

But the gods of Easter are cruel ones, and attempted to stop us they tried.
But their snow and ice and traffic delays couldn’t keep us from the continental divide.
So with moxie, pluck, and ginger snaps, all three of us got on the road.
And headed south to the Matterhorn we did – or at least in the same zip code.
Our drive was delayed by inches of snow that speedily turned into feet.
And with the help of a train we got up the mountain – me and the car both about to overheat.

But our place was great and the views were fine, especially with two feet of snow.
So we hiked around, played “What’s the Sound?”, and watched Pecos put on quite the show.


The next morning was Zermatt – an hour away – where we’d see the world famous Matterhorn.
And with skies so blue and snow so deep, we expected it to be like mountain porn.
But, while beautiful it was, standing stately and proud, it actually let us down.
There were more tourists than trees and more cars than people – weird, in this “car-free” town.

So we squeezed out of there not a minute too soon, and headed south for pizza and espresso.
Up, up, up we drove, through more ice and snow – here is a shot from an Italian Esso.
Our first stop in this new, warmer country, was to take a much-needed snow break.
So down, down, down we drove, to Lago Maggiore – Italy’s second largest lake.
“I could stay here a week,” Pecos mused lightly. “The water. The mountains. The sun.”
“But we have a schedule to keep,” Kate snubly replied. “And we still have to get to Milan.”

We got a little lost – as is typical in Italy – but got there despite Pecos’s ploys,
Then Kate and I took a walk around the fashion capital – and left Pec to play with his toys.
We accidentally saw all of the city, which wasn’t tough despite the acclaim.
The Duomo, the Teatro alla Scala, and some shopping areas with long Italian names.
The next morning’s drive to Turino had tons of mountains and puffy white clouds.
And waterfalls so high and the fields so green – it was like Switzerland without the crowds.
Although famous for shrouds and Olympics, Turino was not at all overblown.
But the North African men who swarmed the streets made us want to sit out for calzones.

So us road warriors got back in the saddle and drove closer and closer to the slopes.
Until we finally reached our highpoint of the drive: Mont Blanc – the highest mountain in Europe. Fifty bucks and twenty minutes later, we were once again in feet of snow.
What a difference a mountain makes. A new climate, a new country. How apropos!

We played a bit, but knew our driving would prove demanding.
So we left the fun of playing in the snow – Pecos’s desires notwithstanding.

A blizzard and a pee break later, we were walking the streets of Geneva.
“The most beautiful city in all the land,” I sang. And I’m not even a diva.

The town, famous for some lofty convention, truly was breathtaking.
So we walked around ‘till we could walk no more – Kate said her back was aching.

After a good night’s sleep and a six-hour drive through wind and snow and hail,
We make it back to our humble home, with TV and e-mail.

It was a glorious trip for Kate and I – but now that we're safe and sound,
I realize it wasn't me who had the most fun - it was, of course, our beloved hound.