The croissant was warm and crisp, and the air was slightly cooler than usual. I’d miss this town. When I was done, I said farewell to the Cinque Terre and jumped a train back down to La Spezia, then a taxi to my car in Portovenere, and then began my long drive north toward the Italian Alps. The weather was turning. Ever since I had arrived in Italy on September 25, the weather had been basically “glorious.” Now it seemed to be ready to turn the tables. I checked to make sure I knew how to flip on the windshield wipers and found my way to the highway to Parma (the land of the world-famous Parma “ham” called prosciutto). There I merged into the northbound superhighway of Italy, the A-1, bound for Varese north of Milan.
The rain was intermittent, never a real deluge, but I could see dark skies in the north that said someone was getting it in buckets. My cell phone rang, and it was Simone, the ex-foreign exchange student I would be sight-seeing with over the weekend. Simone asked me if it was raining where I was, and said that Varese was getting heavy rain. He was concerned because he didn’t know how that might affect our plans to see the local lakes and to go up into Switzerland to see Lake Lugano. I just told him, “We’ll see … don’t worry, maybe I’ll bring the sunshine with me from the south!”
By the time I reached Varese (pronounced “var-REH-zeh”) it was still raining, but the storm had passed and all we were getting at that point was the “left overs.”
My GPS got me to the right street and block easily enough -- which is saying a lot, because Varese, like most Italian cities, has few street signs and a good deal of traffic, leaving you with the impression that you are the only one in the city who doesn’t know where he is or where he’s supposed to end up. I was looking for the street address Simone had given me. His family knows the owners of a great “bed and breakfast” near Simone’s office, and Simone had arranged for me to stay there during my visit. The address was on Viale Borri. The only problem was that I had found street and block easily enough, but where the bed and breakfast should have been there was nothing but a large vacant lot. Thinking I might have written the street number down incorrectly, I started exploring in both directions, up and down the street, even getting out and walking with an umbrella at one point, but I couldn’t see anything that contained the B&B's name or street number, nor anything that remotely resembled a personal home that might be used for a B&B.
Fortunately, I found a quiet alley near where the B&B should have been, and I called Simone on my cell phone. He said he knew what the problem was and told me to wait for him on the sidewalk (under my umbrella) so he could pick me up in his car. That all worked out. The address I had was correct, but the house was “out of place” down the street and had no sign out front except for a small plaque which said “B&B.” Anyway, I was soon being welcomed by Carmelo and Rosa, the owners of a grand old house on Luigi Borri, where I would be staying. My room was spacious and beautifully appointed with antiques and a great balcony.
This photo is with Carmelo and Rosa, and their daughter-in-law on the left. Maybe it was just because I knew the Piccini’s, but they certainly made me feel like part of the family -- and they spoke only Italian, which kept me on my toes. They were always greeting me with questions about which restaurant I had eaten in, how I liked it, what I ordered, how did it compare to food in Texas. I loved chatting with them (food is an easier subject to discuss in a foreigh language than a good number of others).I unpacked my bags, settled in, and in awhile Simone picked me up to take me out to dinner with his girlfriend (who was up from Milan to say hello and have dinner with us). The three of us walked the streets of the central city until our table was ready at the Albergo Bologna, and then we sat down to yet another feast. It was still a bit damp outside, but inside I enjoyed the lively conversation and laughter with these two young English-speaking Italians from the great city of Milan.
On Saturday, the weather had done a complete turnaround, and was once again crisp, clear and glorious. At last I could actually see this seldom-visited city in the far north of Italy. 
Simone and I walked around the town center (where he took this photo -- showing Varese as the sport-biking capital of Italy) and then jumped into my rental car and headed to the Swiss border, which is just a few miles away, to spend the day in Lugano and Lake Lugano. I thought it was interesting that the Swiss border guards spoke only Italian, as did all the people we ran into that day. I was expecting German. 
Once safely parked, we covered the scenic part of downtown next to Lake Lugano. I was fascinated by this bronze colossus head in one of the lakeside parks. Was it of a Roman emperor? Why the head wrap? I discovered that it was created by a famous Polish sculptor named Igor Mitoraj, and it is called "Eros Bendato" (Eros blindfolded). Since the banding affects both the eyes and mouth, it is said to symbolize that passionate love ("Eros") is often blind, and even unspoken. We walked the town, ate at a sidewalk café, 
and then after lunch caught a boat to a lakeside village called Gandria -- yet another ancient town for us to explore. We even visited the Lugano Casino (twice), and were entertained by watching other people loose their money to electronic gaming machines. What trust these guys (mostly) have in the fairness of the computer programs that are telling them whether they have won or lost each electronic “spin of the wheel.” What I don’t understand is the need for all the showmanship of the machines, with outlandish themes and artwork. If a gambler is willing to let a computer decide his fate, why not just drop all the bells and whistles, have one big keypad with 100 buttons, and have the digital voice tell the visitor, “Insert your credit card in the slot and press any one of the red buttons. We will then let you know if you have won or lost.” 
That evening Simone’s father arrived in town from Milan to spend the rest of the weekend with us. It was a great joy to see Claudio again. We had met in 2008 when I was visiting the family in Milan for a couple of days along with my friend Linda Young. They are a charming, intelligent, generous and fun-loving family. Claudio is now retired from a large oil & gas company based in Milan, and has shifted his energies to a small computer company venture with his brother. As we spent time together for the next day and a half, we had many great conversations about the impact of the recessed economy on start-up businesses. He’s still optimistic about the future, though. Our Sunday excursions were ambitious. 
We drove up to the top of the Sacra Monte of Varese, which contains a great church at the top, and descending the mountain from there, a long pathway for pilgrims to climb, linking from one rotunda to the next as they ascend, each one containing on the inside a life-size “diorama” of the events of the crucifixion, resurrection and ascension of Christ - - not to mention a grand view of the Varese valley below and the Swiss and Italian Alps in the distance.
Simone feels fortunate to have a permanent job after graduating from Bocconi University in Milan. I know his family is very proud of him. Apparently, not all of his classmates have been so lucky in finding good employment after university. Simone works in sales for a manufacturer of advanced tools for the construction industry. He has a great loyalty to Italy, and to family, but he is also toying with the idea of going to the U.S. and building a career there. Any company, in Italy or in the U.S., would be lucky to have him ... bright, articulate, and ambitious, with a great ability to relate to people in all walks of life. I think he will do great wherever he goes. I think that is one of the touching things about the modern Italian. This irony was bouncing around in my head for several days, and then,
on Sunday, as Simone, Claudio and I walked the streets of Varese, I happened to see, and photograph, this random shot that expresses it visually. It is of a modern Italian woman sitting behind a street-market table which proudly displayed a bust of Benito Mussolini. They both seemed to stare into the distance … What were they contemplating? One, the Italian of today - - the other, an Italian of the past, who devastated Italy in his brutal drive to bring this nation back to its former greatness. Italians are conscious of their own grand history of conquest, domination, achievement, cultural advancement, and honor among nations, but they worry that this might not be enough any more. For many centuries, they ruled Europe, and, at the same time, lead the way for other nations to rise and achieve greatness in their own right. Italy was once the single great “superpower” of the Western world. Today its citizens constantly find themselves just trying to stay up with Germany, France, Great Britain, and now even Spain - - not to mention the industrialized nations of the Americas - - and also not to mention the emerging powerhouses of the Far East. How is this relatively tiny country (roughly the size of Arizona) to find its way to recognition for new achievement, new breakthroughs, new contributions in a competitive, and ever flatter, world? No one wants this amazing country to become little more than a historical amusement park for tourists (although today most Italians do want tourists to continue coming to Italy -- the money they leave behind is simply too critical to the economic viability of the nation). The question will be whether Italy can continue to share with the world its past and its extraordinary natural beauty, and at the same time find the hard-earned leadership position I believe it yearns for within the community of nations. Perhaps that is what these two were pondering in the fading sun of this quiet afternoon in the town of Varese.
Well, the next leg of my journey is on tomorrow's American Airlines flight home to the good ol' USA. What uncommon hours I've spent here. I have to say, though, I'll be glad to get back. Like I wrote at the beginning of this journal, I’m lucky to have loved ones to go home to. So I'll end with that wonderfully, let's say, reassuring Italian farewell: "Ci vediamo" ... “We’ll see each other again.”
Ciao!
