Posted On 2020-07-31
The roadway found scant footing in the upper ranges, and burrowed its way through several tunnels. 长沙桑拿会所爽记 High above one of them a glacier sent down a roaring torrent sheer over the route, and through an opening in the outer wall of the sub-torrential gallery one 长沙桑拿洗浴按摩论坛 could reach out and touch the foaming stream as it plunged into the abyss far below.
Light clouds, that had obscured the sterile peaks during the last hours of the ascent, all but caused me to pass unnoticed the hospice of St. Bernard that marks the summit. I stepped inside to write a postal to the world below, and turned out again into a drizzling rain that soon became a steady downpour. But the kilometers that had been so long in the morning fairly raced by on the downward journey, and a few hours brought me to the frontier.
As if fearful of losing sovereignty over a foot of her territory, Italy has set a guard-house exactly over the boundary line, amid wild rocks and gorges. A watchful soldier stepped out into the storm and hailed me while several yards of Switzerland still lay between us:
“Any tobacco or cigars?”
I fished 长沙桑拿体验 out a half-used package of Swiss tobacco, wet and mushy. The officer waved a deprecatory hand.
“What’s this?” he demanded, tapping the pocket that held my kodak.
42“A picture machine,” I explained, showing an edge of the apparatus.
“Bene, buona sera,” cried the officer, as he ran for his shelter.
At nightfall I splashed into the scraggy village of Iselle. From a yawning hole in the mountainside poured forth a regiment of laborers who scurried towards a long row of improvised shanties, hanging, on the edge of nothing, over a rushing mountain river. Having once been a “mud-mucker” in my own land, I followed after, and struck up several acquaintanceships over the evening macaroni. The band was
engaged in boring a tunnel, thirteen miles in length, from Brieg to Iselle. With its completion the Simplon tourist will avoid the 长沙桑拿价格多少钱 splendid scenery of the pass; the stage-coaches will be consigned to the scrap-heaps they should long since have adorned; and an hour, robbed of sunshine and pure 长沙桑拿水会 air, will separate Italy from the valley of the Rh?ne. Then will the transalpine voyager degenerate into the subalpine passenger.
CHAPTER III TRAMPING IN ITALY
There was next morning nothing to recall the dismal weather of the day before except the deep mud of the highway and my garments, still dripping wet when I drew them on. The vine-covered hillsides and rolling plains below, the lizards basking on every rock and ledge, peasant women plodding barefooted along the route gave to the land an aspect far different from that of the valley of the Rh?ne. It was hard to realize that the open fields and chilling night winds of Switzerland were not hundreds of miles away, but just 长沙桑拿论坛交流 behind the flanking range.
The French and German that had so long served me must now give place to my none too fluent Italian. In the grey old town of Domo 长沙桑拿场子 d’Ossola I halted at a booth to buy a box of matches.
“Avete allumette?” I demanded of the brown-visaged matron in charge.
I have always had an unconquerable feeling that the French “allumette” ought really to be an Italian word; but my attempt to introduce it into that language failed dismally.
“Cose sono allumette?” croaked the daughter of Italy, with such overdrawn sarcasm that it was all too evident that she understood the term, but did not propose to admit any knowledge of the despised francese tongue.
“Fiammiferi, voglio dire,” I replied, recalling the correct word.