Cogne: Alpine Italy

Cogne: Alpine Italy

Journal Entry: 24 Luglio

The bus just left Aosta, heading back to Milano. I have been visiting my friends, Ewa and Piotr, in Cogne for two days where the “uniform” is hiking shorts and boots, muscular, suntanned legs, and walking sticks. The street signs are in French [and Italian] and at any time I can hear a half dozen languages.

The buildings have fish-scale, slate rooftops, with an undulating alignment. They all look the part of a Hobbit’s house with stone, scroll-cut wood, lichen patches and shutters.

I like this old couple. I wonder how long they’ve lived in Cogne.
He’s not afraid of cherry red pants!


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I have had to remind myself that this, too, is Italy.

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Cogne draws tourists from all over Europe, especially those interested in the many miles of mountain trails and climbing routes ranging from easy-to-difficult. The town is at the start of a valley that leads to the Parco Nazionale di Gran Paradiso, the National Park of “Great Paradise” Mountain.

Attend the Italian School of Skiing here in Cogne.

The town center is a hub of cafés, food stores, services and gift shops. Aosta’s regional bus company, Savda, makes its loop in the area at villages along the valley between Aosta and Cogne. (It also runs to and from Milano.)

Looking north down the valley from our rented house, the view shows the one main road that passes through the few blocks of town. Parking is almost absent in the town center, bowing to the heavy pedestrian traffic, so a lower lot is available for cars and motor homes.

Not surprisingly, the shoe stores in town sell hiking boots and sturdy walking shoes.

The date on the clock on the wall of the Casa dell’Orologio – Clock House – says “1806”.
And someone has an incredible salad garden going!

Here’s the backside of the clock building.

Though visitors fill the town, the locals seem to go right on with their daily lives in this mountain village, chatting with friends, sipping a caffé normale – a simple shot of espresso – or making their passeggiata – daily, walking stroll.

Two women were chatting outside of the small, local fruit and vegetable seller’s shop. They appeared to be locals and long-time friends.

There’s plenty of lodging available, in the center of town and around its edges.

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Though the town of Cogne is pristine and quaint, that doesn’t seem to be a show put on just for the tourists.  I got the impression it’s always looked about like this. It’s not that Cogne is reminiscent of Leavenworth (WA), Leavenworth is reminiscent of Cogne (and other European regions).

This older home is just up the valley in the village of Lillaz, gateway to local waterfalls.

I have seen more sundials in the last year than in all of my life combined. Whether this is really from 1903 or not, it’s quite beautiful wearing its patina.

Ewa and I stopped into the local macelleria – the meat shop – to buy some meat for goulash. (She’s Polish.) The butcher scooped up a spoonful of ground, raw meat, much like a “steak tartare” and presented it to us for sampling. I reached out and grabbed a wad with my hands. It was delicious.

We also asked about the near-black meat in the center, (below), next to the wrapped tongue. The butcher gave us a sample, including a piece for Ewa’s 4-year-old grandson, Filippo. We LOVED it. The meat is raw, yet “processed” by being covered in hot salt. (I had wondered how it compares to Bresaola.) We bought a half dozen slices and Filippo and I fought over them as we ate the meat walking through town, licking our fingers.

I appreciate that a “Certificate of Provenance” for the meat is prominently displayed on the counter. It tells the ID number for the animal; when and where it was born and raised; and when and where it was butchered! The next day I wanted to go back for more of the “salt-cooked” meat.

Into Mountainous Valle d’Aosta

Into Mountainous Valle d’Aosta

On Thursday, the bus pulled away from a 95 degree day in Milano and headed into increasingly blustery skies in the Valle d’Aosta at the far northwest of Italy. (Find it on the map here.) I shot a few crude images through the dirty, tinted bus window as we rolled along, watching the scenery and the weather change. We went from the corn fields surrounding Milano, to castles and mountainside vineyards.

Today, two days later, on my return trip home from Cogne, the weather had changed and I sat on the north side of the bus to be out of the heat of the sun.

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Some notes from my journal entries to-and-from:

22 Luglio, 1:00

Milano – Lampugnano. (One of the metro stops on the red line and a major bus transfer point).
Heading west to Aosta and Cogne to spend a couple of days with Ewa and Piotr. They were my first new friends
here and I will say my goodbyes to them as they’re spending this month in the mountains.

The bus has just pulled away from the station.

From Aosta, I could throw a rock north into Switzerland or west into France. I could pitch it to the top of Mont Blanc. Great to have this opportunity to see another spot in Italy, one of its mountainous regions. This is part of my “Say Yes!” program: say “yes” to what presents itself.

(Late in the ride, this is the closest I got to a view of Mont Blanc, obscured by clouds.)

2:30
As we head deeper into the Valle d’Aosta, the proximity to Switzerland is apparent. The architecture has changed. Rooftops bear flat, gray slate instead of red tile.

(This very old rooftop has lost its distinctive fish-scale pattern as the slate has broken up.)

The mountains are steep at both north and south. Vineyards face southwest on steep slopes.

Castles sit atop high promontories. Lettering has changed to old gothic. I’m sure the language is different, too. The rivers are gray-green and opaque. (Language is the “secret, magic decoder ring” to other worlds.)

Aosta 3:15
Switch buses and then continue on to Cogne, (pronounced CONE-nyay) 50 minutes south, into the mountains. Signs are in Italian and/or French. Houses look like Americans’ stereotypical view of Swiss chalets, complete with decorations of gnomes and trolls. This is a different italy. Imagine how UNlike it is to Napoli and Sicilia!

This is a deep, narrow valley. Houses and farm fields climb the slopes to the north and south of town. An alpine community, certainly.

I think of their having united as one Republic less than 100 years ago (1946). About like binding New York City with Montana: separate worlds without commonality.

(“This way to beds in Europe.” Are Holiday Inns everywhere?)