Oh the bliss of being still for a moment. You get so used to being on the road, it’s easy to forget how nice it is to prop in one spot, one very pretty spot for a while.
Part of our reason for stopping are chores. No matter how far you travel, laundry likes to follow. As does dust and the other joys of cleaning. Still, it doesn’t take long for it all to be done and it’s bikes out and off we go.
We start towards Laatsch as a first stop. I can’t work out why my legs are dying, until on the way back I realise I haven’t had to pedal once. It was uphill, all the way. We pass an imposing WWII bunker along the way and row after row of apple trees planted to grow vertically – without lateral branches.
Laatsch presents a sleepy front, so it’s back to Glurns we go.
And i didn’t have to pedal once. Take that, hill.
Yesterday’s busy square has been transformed back into the village hub with restaurants spilling out on to the cobblestones and shops resuming their usual trade.
The morning’s exertions call for a hearty lunch, steak on a bed of rocket with tiny waxed potatoes, sprinkled with grated parmesan. With a good merlot, it hits the spot for us both. It’s a technique I’ll bring home – the sharpness of the rocket works perfectly with steak and the parmesan throws little salt bombs into the mix. Delicious!
After lunch, we tour the village. Bereft of yesterday’s crowd, it’s much more peaceful.
We see the incredibly well preserved city walls with their defensive towers topped with wraparound walkways.
Impressive gates bind the city at three points.
Between these and strategic towers at key points, any invading army would have had a battle royal on their hands to gain access.
We also visit the tiny but exquisite 14th century churh, beautifully finished in its original frescoes.
There’s even a wee sausage dog seeking enlightenment.
Outside of city walls, a walking trail reveals private gardens, a spring fed pool, orchards, ancient olive trees and extensive back yards.
Imagine having these ancient city walls as your garden backdrop. This village is equally pretty, inside and out.
Interestingly, despite being in Italy, they don’t speak Italian here. To my ears, the language is German, no doubt with a Swiss dialect.
Lots of interesting bugs to photograph – Chris had to pull me away from that wasp’s nest, but in fairness, the one in the centre looked like he meant business!
By late afternoon we’re ready to call it a day. But not before a stop at the bakery and the speciality supply store. With apline cheese, bread and cakes in hand, that’s dinner sorted then! A quiet night in awaits.
Miss Baci Travels 