Our introduction to Italy was not auspicious. The drive down from the Col de Magdelene was marred by road construction and although the lunch of gorganzola-stuffed ravioli was excellent, the cost of beer had taken a 50 % leap as had the food prices. The autopista leveled out to roll across the plains but the experience continued to go downhill. Once out of the mountains, there was nothing to look at except great swaths of industrial develpment interspersed occasionally with corn fields, the only green in the otherwise drab landscape. The truck traffic was awesome and although we made it through Torino without slowing down too much, by the time we reached Milano, traffic was crawling at best. I had not expected that this part of Italy would be one continuous urban area, at least as viewed from the autopista, from west of Torino to where we turned off the autopista near the south end of Lago Garda. The worst part is that the route was under construction and narrowed down to one lane frequently, except at the toll plazas where tolls were collected as if we were driving on a real superhighway.

Traffic up the west side of the lake was as unremitting as on the autopista, but now we were down to one lane in each direction. We desperately wanted to stop for the night, but stuck in this endless parade, it was hard to interpret signs and figure out where we should turn off. The towns are all strung along a narrow swath and the couple of times we left the main road to follow hotel signs were fruitless ventures. Finally we stopped at one on the main road, but it was full. We didn't like the looks of the three and four star establishments. Even though it was mid-week and 'not the season', the area seemed to be swarming with tourists. What to do? Finally, Al spotted a B&B sign in English, again right on the main road which wasn't great but we were desperate. Yes, they had a room. We could choose from one with a window opening onto the main road or one with an interior courtyard (i.e., no view) but with, unbelievably, a portable air-conditioning unit. The temperature was about 37 C, so you know we opted for the inside room. Refreshed, we wandered out to look for dinner and our host directed us to a narrow lane down the hill. After a couple of wrong turns, we broke out onto a small lakeside plaza with a tiny marina full of one-design sail-boats. There was some kind of arts-crafts sale set up in the middle of the square and there was a pizzaria with outdoor seating along one edge. Wonderful dinner including a salad with real Balsamic vinegar. Oh heaven. Things were looking up. And the coffee really is different in Italy.

In the morning, we ate breakfast on the terrace of the B&B, finishing just before the skies opened up. First it thundered, then it poured, then the hail came down. The car ended up with little dents in the top, although not as bad as on our previous trip. Who knew that this was as bad a problem in Europe as it is in the American midwest?

We drove up to the north end of the lake to Riva del Garda which was also really busy and was not the 'laid back' town described by the guidebook at all. However, Arco, just a couple of kilometers off the lake filled the bill. We found a hotel room just outside the city wall. The town is dominated by a steep hill which looms over it with several medieval monasgtery or abbey-type structures, looking like a painting by an early Italian master. The town was full of eating establishments of all varieties of which we sampled only two, a pizzaria (where we had a seafood and spaghetti combination) and a pannini shop where we enjoyed the best pannini I've ever had. Of course. We followed up with gelato. Of course.

We hated to leave Arco and we really would have liked to have gone south, toward Modena, but the temperatures were unbearable. We were seeing 37 and 38 on the car thermometer and had reports of 42 at Parma. There is nothing I need to see anywhere in that kind of heat in a land with no air conditioning. So on toward the Alps.

We drove northward on the road toward the Brenner Pass and turned off just north of Bolzano on the tiny road that goes toward Cortina. At first the traffic was almost nonexistent, but that rapidly changed. The scenery was unsurpassed in my experience. The Dolomite Alps are great slabs of gray limestone rising abruptly from lush foothills and I cannot even begin to describe how lovely they are. We drove over three passes to get to Cortina and the views just kept getting better and better.

The traffic, however, was also hard to describe. First, you have to understand that Europeans are fanatic bicyclists. Then you have to understand that for a European cyclist, there is no challenge like conquering a mountain pass in the Alps. Furthermore, you have to realize that these cyclists come in literally by the tour bus load to challenge those passes. Now remember that in all of Europe, the cyclist must be treated with respect. If you come up behind on while he is grinding away up that 10% grade and there is a blind curve ahead, you must wait until the view ahead is clear before you pass him. Unlike in America, you must not run him off the road. Of course, the cyclists take full advantage of this by riding in the middle of the road and perhaps two or three abreast.

Now you must remember that what goes up must come down but at a much greater speed. So when you finally get a clear view of the road ahead, there may be no oncoming autos but there may very well be cyclists coming down at 50-60 kmh, also two and three abreast, using the entire road.

As if that were not enough, add motorcycles into the mix. Motos regard the mountains as a challenge as much as the cyclists but of course they go uphill much faster than autos. They also have their own rules, which pretty much consist of doing as they please. Motos pass literally whenever they want to, on blind curves, with on-coming traffic, when you are passing another car or cyclist, whenever. They seem to think that if they drive on the venter line, they are invincible. What is it about driving a moto that makes a person immortal?

Anyway, you get the idea that the thrills on the route are not confined to the sharp curves and the steep drop-offs with no guardrails. At the top of each pass, there is the obligatory bar-restaurant and the cyclists will be strewn all over the shoulders and into the road, resting up for the ride down. Any free parking will be taken by the motos who are stopping for a cigarette, which means that they will have to re-pass everyone they passed on the way up.

I forgot to mention the tourbuses. The only near-incident that we saw was when an inattentive auto driver forgot that the tour bus will take up the entire road on a curve and ended up temporarily running the bus into a shallow ditch. Somehow it works.

Cortina was something of a disappointment. We had a nice hotel with a killer view, but the town isn't much. Many things were closed because this is a town that caters to the high-rollers of the ski season and not the cheapskates of summer. No sandwich shops and dinner prices were high as might be expected.

We moved on to a little valley outside Brunico where the country might be Italy but the primary language and the food are both German. This area is a lower-key ski area in the winter time and despite the fact that the hills seemed to be crawling with tourists, there were only three other guests at our pension. The five course meal was marvelous as was the German-style breakfast in the morning.

The next day, we headed into Germany, with regrets. Al had resisted going to Italy at all, but once we got the hang of things, he decided it was OK and that we should pursue a closer relationship with the country. Next time we will come earlier in the season.