Campervan Therapy

We border hop to our last stop in Italy, starting at Lake Lugano in Italy and crossing to Switzerland half-way round it. I thank the universe for SatNav as it guides us through Switzerland’s Locarno, onto the tiny mountain road to the border at Camedo so that we can return again to Italy at Re.

What a road it is, the rock face centimetres from Seán’s wingmirror and the mountain falls sheer away on my side. The pastel village houses are wooden balconied and festooned with blooms, as if they’re auditioning for a Swiss postcard. There’s adverts for caves as big as cathedrals all the way up to the pass too. Now this is majestic mountain country.

As we cross the border back into Italy, we come to a halt at a church’s massive domes at the entrance to an unspoilt Alpine village. We have to see this church as its spectacular, dwarfing the stone houses clustered below it.

It is called the Madonna del Sangue – the Madonna of the Blood. There’s two churches joined together here, a 16^th Century church built on the site of a much older church and a 20^th Century modernist one.  How the sanctuary got its name is a great story.

Back in the 16^th Century a man lost a gambling game in the inn next door. He was so angry he threw a stone at a painting of the Madonna, only for the Madonna to start bleeding. The blood is kept in a vial in the sanctuary. The 20^th Century stained glass windows fill the sanctuary with colour, while the 16^th Century gilded altar and dark interior take us back in time. 

At Domodossola, we turn up into Val Antigorio, towards Baceno, to a free camper stop, Ristorante Pizzeria Campania, recommended to us by a young Welsh man we met in Bergamo. Seán is in technical heaven as we pass the 19^th Century Palazzo styled Hydro-electric plant.

Nose against the chainmail fence, Seán points out the different turbines, explaining the intricacies of how each works. Up on a hill there’s another hydro-electric mini-palazzo, lit up at night.  Seán stares up in reverence. “It’s like a church in praise of water,” he says, uncharacteristically poetic.

Parking outside the restaurant, we watch the donkeys and goats as they amble around the campers.

We follow the mountain walking trail up an ancient cobbled pathway, by chickens rooting in the earth, over a stone arched bridge, the river sparkling below, through the woods, to Baceno’s stunning San Gaudenzio church.

The Church soars heavenward from its volcanic plug, its 360-degree views of glaciers, craggy peaks, meadows and forests awe inspiring. But inside I’m in awe at the frescoes adorning every arch, ceiling, column and wall.

The night ends with a slap-up meal in the pizzeria’s barn, complete with fairy lights, children playing table football, teenagers playing pool and tables of people feasting.

Our last night in the Italian Alps couldn’t be better. This Alpine tour has offered us up poetry, art, majestic mountains, rushing rivers, ramparts, castles, unusual churches, wonderful food and generous hospitality. We’ll be back.