Soglio

A week ago, we flew into Zurich, rested up a couple of days, drove to Chur and on to Andeer.

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Andeer is a beautiful village and the source of the Rhine; it’s but a trickle here. It was warm the day we visited: every other block along the cobblestone streets, I would scoop up a handful of cold, pure water from an open-air fountains. Andeer has been a stopping place for people crossing the Alps since Roman times. Tourist season has yet to begun, so it was just us and the locals wandering among the graffiti-covered houses along cobble-stone streets.

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Alpine wildflowers are in bloom, making for a colorful drive from Splugen to Chiavenna on mountain roads so obscure that I can’t find them in Google Maps.

In late afternoon, we arrived at our resting spot for the next four days: the tiny village of Soglio. An hour’s walk from Italy, Soglio is perched on a hill above groves of chestnut trees. Fewer than 200 people live here. Cars are not permitted; most of the streets are only five or six feet wide. Houses and barns are typically constructed of stacks of local rock. People have lived here since 1350. The internet has yet to arrive.

Walking paths overlooking the valley is the primary activity here, so when heavy rain made the Panoramaweg impassible, we drove down to Italy for lunch

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Twenty-two years ago, Uta and I happened upon a delightful restaurant high up a hill in Tremezzo, overlooking Lake Como and Bellagio. A favorite family photo shows three-year old Austin at the table to the left as Uta writes postcards. Al Veluu is still picture-perfect. The food was simple, fresh, colorful, and delicious. There was only one other patron, so we had the place to ourselves.

The fried zuchini that accompanied my grilled lavarello was so tasty, we ordered a platter. I cannot remember a tastier, more delightful lunch.

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The Giacometti family hails from Stampa, a village several miles to the north of Soglio.

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Yesterday we drove the length of the Engadine Valley, from Maloja to St. Moritz, Zernez, and Scuols, and thence to Innsbruck and finally Salzberg, where we’ll be for a few days.

My freshman year at Paris-American High School, our general science teacher told us that several times a month he would forgo drinking orange juice with breakfast. He didn’t want to habituate to it. I’ve been off the grid for five days. It’s pleasant to skip sorting through dozens of meaningless emails every morning. I don’t need newspapers and websites to give me the same daily news again and again: politicians are corrupt, military dictators violate human rights, Mother Nature causes catastrophes, the health advice you’ve heard since childhood was wrong, Democrats hate Republicans, Republicans hate Democrats, the Middle East faces thorny problems, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I’ve been drawing pictures for a story I’m developing: My Life as a Node.

But for now, we’ve got sites to see. Auf wiedersehen.