Over the Passes to Genoa

With breakfast at the Ibis Styles, I geared up for day two. The spread of fresh fruit, yoghurt and croissants was fine, but the cooked option of boiled carrots, green beans, peas, and mini croquette potatoes left me puzzled, and wasn’t the English fry-up I’d been craving—was this a Swiss quirk or just the hotel’s own twist? The coffee, at least, was spot on, fuelling my early 7.30am start. I hit the road under a beautifully clear sky, as the morning sun cast a golden sheen over Basel, and within a few minutes, the scenery soon became picturesque as I cleared the suburbs. A bug-infested windscreen soon obscured the views though—nature’s toll on a long drive, I guess.

My route headed for the Grimsel Pass, a historic mountain crossing in the Bernese Alps, first documented in the 14th century as a trade route between northern and southern Europe. By 1397, a trade agreement had secured its mule tracks for goods such as cheese and wine, with the route thriving until the Gotthard Railway opened in 1882. Today, its 2,164-metre summit connects Bern and Valais via twisting hairpin bends, which are flanked by lakes, trees, and rivers. There was little traffic, and the roads were top-notch, ideal for soaking in the charming towns and villages dotted along the way. As I climbed, the air grew cool and crisp; it was a perfect alpine day.

The impressive sight of the huge Grimselsee dam loomed before the pass. Its 114-metre arch, built in 1932 as part of Switzerland’s hydroelectric push, holds back the vast Grimsel Lake and stands as a testament to monumental engineering amid the mountains. My ears popped as I reached the summit, and my trusty Nissan Qashqai’s power dipped with the altitude. I was surprised to find no trees here, just a stark, rugged landscape at the top, so I paused to take in the views and give the Qashqai a rest. Descending from the summit and cruising along the valley floor towards Brig, the first sight of a snowy peak came into view, its white caps far off in the distance offering a striking contrast to the lush valleys below. I found I preferred these green valleys to the treeless heights; their beauty was much more my cup of tea.

At Fiesch, 646 miles into the journey, I fuelled up again, but at 1.86 CHF per litre, the cheap fuel of Luxembourg was long gone. This also seemed like an ideal moment to grab a snack, and I opted for a Swiss-style cheese breadstick that caught my eye; it went down a treat, but I was holding out for an Italian lunch to fully satisfy my hunger. With both the car and me refuelled, I continued on to the Simplon Pass, a sweeping drive with gentler curves than Grimsel’s hairpins, all framed by pine-clad hills. Opened in 1805 under Napoleon’s orders to link France and Italy, this 2,005-metre pass was once a military route but is now a scenic gem. The summit still boasted trees, which was a welcome change, and the day remained stunningly beautiful.

Five hours after leaving Basel, and 688 miles from home, a buzz of excitement surged as I entered Italy, the country I’d been aiming for ever since I’d first started poring over maps all those months ago.

My first Italian stop was a MyChef services at Bormida Ovest, where a coffee and panini hit the spot. I’d been hoping for an Autogrill, famous for superb, cheap food, and a place where I’d spent many a happy lunch break over the years, but every service station so far had been a different brand, so that delight would have to wait. The autostrada E62 from Domodossola past Gravellona Toce, where it skirts Lake Maggiore, was a stretch of road I’d loved before; this long run through the foothills of the Alps had always struck me as breathtaking, and it didn’t disappoint on this occasion either.

My first Italian toll booth loomed at 3.30pm as I turned off the autostrada at Gavi, and this time without the luxury of a toll badge, as I’d been unable to organise one for Italy before I’d left. I chose this exit to enjoy more scenic roads into Genoa and to explore one of Piedmont's wine regions. Approaching the ticket booth, I awkwardly leaned across the passenger seat, stretching to reach the machine with the central armrest making a handy perch; My main concern though, was knocking the car into gear while leaning out of the window! It was all pretty stressful—next time, I’ll make sure I get the badge.

The drive through Gavi’s vineyards was a treat as it’s a favourite white wine of mine, and the break from the autostrada made a welcome change. The rolling hills, lined with neat rows of vines, were beautiful, but the vines themselves must have been recently harvested, as I couldn’t detect much fruit. Further along, the views I’d hoped for were too thickly forested to be rewarding, and the country roads were rough, making it slow going, but I eventually crossed the mountain ridge that brought me into the province of Genoa at 4.24pm, gaining my first views of the Mediterranean. Just twenty minutes later, I’d descended into the suburbs as the narrow lanes of the SS1 grew busy with traffic and scooters as I headed towards the port.

Sally, whom I’d christened the satnav, struggled with the final run into Genoa; she could be proud of the work she’d done so far though, she hadn’t missed a beat all the way, but this last chaotic stretch was just a journey too far, as she kept sending me in circles. A quick switch to Google Maps resolved the issue and eased the final stressful ten minutes to the Airbnb I’d booked.

Adjacent to the impressive Ponte Monumentale bridge on Via XX Settembre, the £607.49 I’d paid for six nights was good value for this great apartment in such a central location, which also came with parking. I collected the keys from the lockbox, unpacked, then grabbed some essentials from a local supermarket to whip up my famous spaghetti alla carbonara for a quick, tasty dinner. The only thing left was the passeggiata down to Porto Antico, where the glow of the port lights and a large beer provided a fitting end to a rewarding 858-mile journey through seven countries… and counting!

To continue reading, head to: Chapter 3: Genoa Memories