It’s 5.44am on a summer’s Sunday morning on platform 3 of Pesaro’s railway station. A thrilling sight comes into view – a seemingly late-running Treno Notte, thundering off north to Bologna. A few minutes later my train – the first, fast Fresciarossa or ‘Red Arrow’ – pulls in. I leave behind the work appointment that brought me to the Italian seaside on a warm, humid weekend and settle down for the journey north to Milan and beyond.
Six hours earlier, unable to get a taxi to take me back to the hilltop hotel I’d been provided with, I’d puffed my way up the long incline from Pesaro itself, using my phone as a makeshift warning light to oncoming cars appearing in the dark. At 4.30am I’d jumped out of bed before a silent dawn broke, and was slightly surprised when this time a taxi did arrive. As pleasant as Pesaro had been, I was happy to get on, planning on using this day to get north to Zurich, both to take a cheaper flight home and ride a few trains I’d been itching to get on since last summer.
FR 8802 showed none of my sluggishness for so early on a Sunday. The buffet car was dishing up toasties and espresso doppo to not-home-yet clubbers and, as is compulsory on Italian trains, small groups of small nuns. As the nephew of not one but two nuns I always appreciate this enduring part of Italian life. Though I did appreciate the coffee more. For the first two hours of the journey we sped north along the littoral, first passing Rimini, still asleep after a party-hearty night, then crossing flat plains with the Adriatic on one side and the Apennines on the other. Mostly distant, occasionally handsome hilltowns of Emilia Romagna flashed by, too fast to properly work out which ones they were. At Bologna it felt like we entered northern Italy, platforms more crowded as Sunday morning advanced, and moving on to pass through Modena, Reggio Emilia, Picenza. I loved this train for the ground it covered, and how it didn’t dally even while running ahead of schedule.
Despite the busier feel of the train it was a further jolt awake to arrive in Milano Centrale. First, it was hot, and busy with the first non-Italians I’d seen all day. Secondly, having assumed that if I made it here the next train – heading into Switzerland, the land of clockwork running – would be punctual. In fact, while this regional service was jointly run with SBB/CFF/FFS (Swiss Railways) and Trenord, Lombardia’s train service, it was mostly an FFS kind of service. No-one knew which platform it was leaving from, a 10 minute delay crept up to 15, and it was completely jammed with Milanese heading to Como for a day out by the lake. Once we’d reached there, the crowds thinned out, but on entering Switzerland we came to a halt in Chiasso and it seemed disinclined to go any further. My spare hour in Locarno got halved. I ceased to like this train.
‘A-ha!’ the smart-arse with the SBB app thought – look across to neighbouring platform six! Here was an SBB service to Locarno, leaving in ten minutes. I jumped. Two minutes later lots of other passengers drifted over too. Then – you may have guessed the punchline – our original train, without warning, closed its doors and pulled out. Never mind. This new train ended up being a few minutes late, but it’s hard to be overly annoyed if you get a slower look at the extraordinarily beautiful green scenery between Chiasso and Lugano.The last section to Locarno feels optional. Nice, but unless you’re going to hang out in Locarno – I’d still like to one day, but I don’t think it’d be my first pick in the area – that’d be the small villages opposite Lugano hugging the hillside above Lake Maggiore. Go to Bellinzona from Milan and change there for onward trains if not taking faster services (note for future self in case I forget).
Back on time, the day’s headline attraction rolled into Locarno. The Treno Gottardo, a lovely bronze beast of a train, is a recent addition to Swiss timetables, and is a suitably democratic offering from this vote-happy nation. Running over much of the same tracks as the Gotthard Panorama Express (a pricey tourist-aimed experience with large windows and a boat across Lake Lucerne thrown in for good measure), this is a regular scheduled hourly service from Locarno to either Zurich or Basel. It’s a great alternative to the tourist train. The windows are still large, but it’s used by Swiss to get around, with lots of travellers riding to access hiking trailheads or hop on connections to more distant parts. You can do all this, or just sit and enjoy the view from the still pretty large windows. To stretch legs, there is a vending machine area of the train offering snacks, hot drinks, and, for the first time I’ve ever seen it, risotto with Ticino mushrooms. I’m not sure where the necessary hydration comes from for the risotto. No matter.
The Treno Gottardo gallops along the same route as faster services to Zurich for the first part of the journey. Then, once north of Bellinzona, veers on to the classic Gotthard line, travelling more slowly up towards the summit of one of Europe’s great crossroads. On the way it goes up and over itself on several jaw-dropping sections of track, weaving under and over vast road bridges carrying traffic (jams) doing the same. It is simply stunning. There are waterfalls, fast-flowing Alpine rivers, and the sort of high Swiss villages you’ve probably seen in a dream where you wake up as Heidi. Or Peter. Or both. Once over the other side the trick is repeated, twisting and turning, with wonderful views and steep drops. I wish to come back and hike the Gotthard Trail between Göschenen and Altdorf, connecting the history of the line. Then again, I wish for many more visits to Switzerland, to be lucky enough to see more of this beautiful place.
To see more, by all means, but flying out of Zurich is a cloak of convenience by which to visit one of my favourite places in Europe. This is the third year on the trot I’ve found a way to jump into the Limmat River, now becoming a familiar path from Hauptbanhof, left over the bridge and along the waterside path to the pontoon by the fast-flowing, clear blue water. This day was a hot and sunny summer’s afternoon, and the atmosphere was a little rave-like, with music, dancing and lots of sunbathers. I got changed near a group of grinding guys in small briefs, which made both them and I laugh. Getting away from most people was pretty easy as it just involved getting in the water, even if jumping in required leaving a bag unattended and at times out of my sight. But it’s a risk worth taking, as was walking further downstream to one of several lovely garden bars, informal and inviting, for a sundown beer. Mein deutsch may be better, it’s still nicht sehr gut, but it held up ok.
The evening was a walk through Zurich to the lake, which I’ve never done, and will never bother doing again. The lake isn’t even as nice as Geneva’s, and the Old Town such as it is was home to the tourist dumps I’d managed to avoid on every previous visit. Still, any guilt about my dinner was removed when I saw the size of the rosti portions most men were eating silently with their mute partners. There was time for one last don’t-know-when-I’ll-be-back swim before heading back to the cheap and cheerful (not often you hear that in Switzerland) Hotel Arlette, close to the river and the Hauptbanhof, and apart from wifi completely unreconstructed. I had visions of getting up early enough for a dawn swim before heading to the airport and probably could have, but it was a little murky at the start of the day, and there was one last train, which I got told off on for travelling on given I had a ticket for another one.
Zurich Airport is really confusing and has bad signage, and I don’t like flying when I could train, but I couldn’t on this occasion. The pilot did land at City, which was one up on the last flight I took there. And then back into London, where people may be less glamorous than in Zurich and carry less pizzazz than in Pesaro, but we all look real and mean it and are serious, so welcome home, it was great, I’m very lucky.
Tom Hall: travel, London, other things 