Day 7 - Lugano/Lucerne

"Bon Jono!" Mr C yelped on Day 7. "Please check your passports before we leave Milan. Today we will drive 80 km to Lugano and 168 km to Lucerne. We will stop at the border so those of you with tax claims, please check to see that your forms are properly filled. At Lugano, we will visit the FoxTown Factory Stores. No lunch had been arranged for today, but you can grab a bite at any of the food outlet at FoxTown."

We drove past sleepy lake towns along the highway and what a wonderful sight to behold. No annoying bumper to bumper scenarios. Fresh air and a cool tranquility. The silence of complacence. (Not that I could hear the silence from inside the coach but - you know what I mean.) I thought this was a Haiku moment so...

a little white boat
in the middle of the lake
drifting lazily

o' sleepy lake-town

rolling hills, quiet waters
green pasture, beyond

me on board the boat

a book, a sandwich, an oar

no phones, no message

the moment, the thought
brought a smile upon my lips
fever forgotten

and with the passing
of the moment, of the thought
a vision appeared

small lake-town housewives
cackling chickens in the coop
exchanging gossips

two years down the road
the book, the sandwich, the oar
abandoned, ignored

another chicken
tongue wagging feverishly
joins the symphony

And with this unsavory thought, I pulled myself out of the reverie to marvel at my sick habit of ending pleasant thoughts with lurid ones.

LUGANO

Lake Lugano

Drinking fountain

The coach dropped us at Lake Lugano so we could stretch our legs. Souvenir (cow bells) were sold at a lakeside kiosk so I bought one which now hung over my front door. We walked towards some fruit stalls on the other side of the road. These fruits were not to be touched as was the practice here. You point at a particular fruit and the seller gathered them into a proper bag.

After a short break, we were taken to the FoxTown Factory Stores where the ladies disappeared into nooks and crevices. After what seemed like eternity, we were ushered back into the coach for the drive to Lucerne. And by the way, Lucerne kept reminding me of  LUCILLE by Kenny Rogers.

Rolling hills and green pasture, a farmhouse here, another there. Cows idling in green meadows, a picturesque view.

We were in the mountainous region so long tunnels were expected. These tunnels stretched endlessly and for a long while, there were no daylight at the end of the tunnel. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic so I stared at the LED display above the driver's head.

It told me the time and temperature which was 16°C. This temperature rose slowly but steadily one degree at a time until it peaked at 34°C. It was several minutes before the temperature slowly descended to 16°C which meant that we were about to exit the tunnel. And, dear me. I was beginning to imagine how distraught I'll be should we be assailed by a landslide at both ends of the tunnel. (Yes. Both ends of the tunnel. It always had to be the worst case scenario for the best dramatic effect.)

The sun was setting by the time we reached Lucerne.

We checked in at an ancient hotel. The reception was a tiny little cubicle accessed through a short flight of stairs. Those with extra large luggage who were sniffing condescendingly at our small ones struggled to lift them up the short stairs (my chortling moment, actually...) and in less time than it took to complete a chortle, the lobby was packed with tired travelers from at least another two coaches.

Mr C was annoyed. There was a problem with the late check-out arrangement previously confirmed through a booking agent. 

"I will have to see your manager please, to express my anger and whatever..." snapped Mr C irritably while the two receptionist held their expressionless countenance.

It would have been dramatic if a bitter fight had ensued leaving everyone in bandages and bruises more brutal than words could express, certainly something to write home about, but alas, Mr C was a gentleman and civility was the order of the day.

Dinner was served at the hotel by culinary interns, one of whom came from our parts of the world. That did not make the meal more palatable.