the icebuckle up, this one’s a wild ride…
Ever had one of those days where it seems like everything that could go wrong, did go wrong? This was a weekend of that. And yet, it was one of the best things to happen to me this year.
Like the start of any good story, it was a dark and stormy February night when I landed in Bergamo Airport. I was already fretting over how late things were running; my hotel was supposed to be closing imminently but some poor soul had arranged to stay late to allow for my after-hours check-in. Loath to make them wait even longer, I hurried through the airport to collect my rental car and snow chains.
Having never driven left-hand drive before, conditions weren’t ideal. Pitch black sky, torrential rain, an unfamiliar country and no useable phone signal. Add onto that the immense guilt for my ETA being an hour and a half away, and you have the recipe for a pretty sketchy drive. I consider it one of my greatest driving feats to make it to the end in one piece.
It was still bucketing and nearing midnight when I arrived at Verceia, just past the north end of Lake Como. My last communication with the hotel was instructions to head to the restaurant to collect my key, so you can imagine the pit in my stomach to find a darkened and locked door. It was mercifully short-lived as a few minutes later I discovered the main entrance had been left open – only when I connected to the wi-fi did the message come through with the change in plans. Oh well, all’s well that ends well.
thursday
friday
Bleary eyed and wrapped in my best polar expedition gear, I began the drive to St Moritz. The rain hadn’t eased from the night before, turning to white as I approached Chiavenna. By the time I reached the Swiss border a thick snowy blanket was already covering any unsalted ground. One of the border officials curtly told me to put on my snow chains (no arguments there), and I put my many YouTube tutorials to the test.
After wrestling with the chains for half an hour, I begrudgingly asked the official to call the mechanic as he had earlier suggested. Another half hour and 40 francs later, the front tyres of my Fiat 500 were equipped with a very snug set of chains and the journey resumed.
Only a mile later I began questioning whether the clattering I could hear now was the same tone of clattering as when the chains first went on. In a moment of “Better safe than sorry” thinking, I pulled into a local petrol station. Good job I did – the left chain had worked its way off half the tyre. Another visit from the same mechanic as before, and I continued on my way at a pace that would give even pensioners road rage.
I was nearing the end of the first (and lesser) of two mountain passes when I heard the right chain snap.
“F*CK!”
With nowhere safe to stop or turn around, I limped the car to the nearest settlement.
Casaccia is a charming little hamlet, consisting of a handful of houses, a B&B and a bus stop. My first hour there was somewhat enjoyable, exploring my winter wonderland surroundings as I awaited rescue. In the second hour I got a call telling me that the recovery truck was stuck further up the mountain, on the opposite side of a closed Maloja pass. Frustrating, but the route south was still open so it was only a matter of time before someone arrived from there, right? Two more hours passed, and I was still very much alone. Communication with the rental company was challenging at best, and getting very expensive now I was on a Swiss phone network. The owner of the B&B emerged to shovel the path past their building, and I asked if I could shelter inside for a bit. He very kindly brought me into their kitchen area, set me up with their wifi and offered unlimited cups of tea - the man was an absolute godsend.
6 hours total I waited, and enough was enough. Faced with the risk of being stranded overnight, I abandoned the car in Casaccia and had my first taste of the famous Swiss public transport network to get back to my hotel. I then had a taste of some incredibly delicious pizza at their restaurant, all the more savoury considering all I’d had that day was a couple of breakfast bars.
saturday
Having found out the night before that the second day of The ICE had also been cancelled (I was already stranded when I got the news about the first day), I woke up slightly less early that morning. I had travelled all this way to go to St Moritz (and at considerable expense), so I’d be damned if I didn’t try my hardest to see it. Once more I ventured out and got the train to Chiavenna, content that if the buses weren’t running up the pass that I had done everything I could. To my delight they were, and I set off a second time for the mountain resort, passing a still-stranded Fiat on the drive past. Determined to shake my misfortunes of the previous day, I got my cameras out and started shooting.
The place was like a dream – crisp white snow perched atop ornate spires, glittering riches behind crystal clear shop windows, people clothed in the most pristine alpine attire – and a feeling somewhere in the back of your mind that things weren’t quite as real as appeared. It was a joy to capture it all from behind my lens, but I was quite happy to have the camera as a degree of separation from this strange and idyllic world.
I ventured down into the depths of Suvretta House’s garage, where the event organisers had valiantly arranged to have a selection of the cars displayed there. I commend them wholeheartedly for making the best of what was not a great situation, and even after it all I still very much look forward to seeing the full show next year.
After a successful few hours playing car-spotter, I made my way back to the bus station 30mins early – I was NOT going to miss my return that afternoon. As we set off, a wave of relief washed over me. In a couple of hours I’d be back at the hotel, probably eating more pizza and editing the photos from the day.
The bus had just gotten out of St Moritz when the lightest of flakes began to fall. The closer we got to Maloja, the heavier and heavier it became. At Maloja itself we were greeted by blizzard conditions and a long queue of cars. My only thought was “This can’t be happening, not again.” I didn’t even have it in me to add expletives. We waited, and waited, and waited. The driver occasionally came through and conversed with some of the other passengers. I understood nothing of what was said, but anyone could tell from their body language things weren’t looking good. Police cars began to arrive and turn the traffic around, and back towards St Moritz we went. Frantically, I called every hotel or form of accommodation I could find en route – travelling alone, and as a woman, I was not keen to try and chance crashing somewhere. By the 7th or 8th call I found a room for the night – to the soul crushing tune of £400. No thank you, I’m VERY certain I don’t want to upgrade to the deluxe room. Adding insult to injury was discovering that the bath barely even worked.
sunday
At 7am on the dot I walked into the buffet breakfast, and you can bet I stuffed my face and smuggled away armfuls from it. The first bus back to Chiavenna was at 8:05am and I was going to get my butt on it come hell or high water. More messages to my original hotel confirmed that my belongings weren’t going to get binned and I could check out whatever time I got there. As I was checking out of my unplanned stay, I asked the receptionist if he could knew if Maloja pass was open.
“Let me check. … No, you’re going to have to go by Tirano.”
You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me.
9 different buses and trains later, with a relieved stop to pick up by bags in Verceia, I arrived back in Bergamo Airport. I was 3 hours early for my flight back to Birmingham and couldn’t bloody wait to get back. It was a tense wait as I dreaded my series of unfortunate events would only continue; thankfully they didn’t and I made it back to my flat in the small hours of Monday morning.
As soppy as it may be, I want to express my most heartfelt gratitude to the staff of Saligari Hotel and Steve from BNB Cad’Stampa, along with the many many well wishers who followed my nightmare of a trip through my Instagram. Your kindness towards me helped more than you can imagine.
“But wait, what happened to the Fiat?” you may ask. It sat on the driveway of my B&B saviour for a full week, is what.