Some places shout for your attention. And then there are places like Ticino, soft-spoken, sun-warmed, steeped in shadows and slow light.
It’s the kind of region that doesn’t need fanfare. Where castles crown quiet hills, lemon trees lean into lake breezes, where you order browned butter ravioli, and the world, for a moment, is perfect.
With the Swiss Travel Pass tucked into my bag, I set out not just to see Ticino, but to feel it. Join me as we traverse the cobblestone streets of Bellinzona, stroll through the picturesque lanes of Morcote, uncover the rustic beauty of Bavona Valley, ascend the breathtaking peaks of Monte Generoso, bask in the vibrant city life of Lugano, and marvel at the cascading waters in Foroglio.
Day 1: Trains, Basel, and the Rhine at Dusk
The journey began in Amsterdam, before the city had fully opened its eyes. After a rejuvenating night’s rest at the Jakarta Hotel in Amsterdam, I boarded a train beneath soft grey skies, coffee warming my palms, the stillness of early morning settling around me like a shawl. As the landscapes rolled by: windmills, vineyards, a blur of green, I thought about how rare it is to arrive slowly. The Swiss Travel Pass became more than a ticket. It was permission. To move with intention. To linger. Seven hours later, I arrived in Basel, where history wears a modern jacket and the river writes its own poetry.
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My stay at Gaia Hotel was gentle on the senses, all sun-softened linens, glass bottles, and a minibar stocked with only kind things. That evening, I slipped onto a wooden boat and floated along the Rhine, the way locals do — no rush, no narration, just the river and the hush of golden hour. I swam. Dried off with a towel that smelled faintly of lavender. Ordered a spritz. And then came the moment I still think about: handmade ravioli, bathed in browned butter, sage clinging to its edges like silk. Sometimes, a trip starts with fireworks. Mine began with butter.
Day 2: Bellinzona’s Stone Romance and Osogna’s Quiet Pools
The train to Bellinzona slipped through valleys softened by mist. As I stepped onto the platform, a breeze greeted me with a lilting Benvenuta. Palm trees swayed beside medieval towers — Italy’s warmth wrapped in Swiss precision.
My hotel sat blush-toned across from the station, quiet and unassuming. Hotel & Spa Internationale — not extravagant, but perched perfectly for wanderers like me. I dropped my bag, pulled on linen, and headed toward the heart of the capital. Lunch was a crisp, wood-fired pizza at Ristorante Croce Federale, where the fungi clung to the dough like a forest secret. The crust charred just enough. The wine soft around the edges. The kind of meal that doesn’t ask for a photo, just your presence.
In the heat of the afternoon, I wandered to Osogna, a town stitched with stone and green, where stucco walls blushed in the sun and vines kissed windowsills. A 20-minute walk led me to something ancient and unexpected: a waterfall tumbling into emerald pools, cradled by carved rock. The water was cold in the best way, a full-body reset. Locals lounged nearby like they’d done it every summer for decades. No one needed to speak. Later, as evening draped the town in rose-gold shadow, I climbed the worn steps to Castelgrande. The castle stood quietly proud above the town, as it had for centuries. From its ramparts, the rooftops stretched into distance, interrupted only by bell towers and the occasional plume of chimney smoke.
In a quiet courtyard, I found a lone chestnut tree, gnarled and generous, watching over the stone like an old friend. The light was falling fast. The three castles of Bellinzona began to glow from within — lit like lanterns against the encroaching night.
Day 3:Morcote in Bloom
Morning light danced on Lugano’s lake as I boarded a boat to Morcote, a village so picturesque it feels almost staged. But it isn’t. Everything here — the pastel shutters, the climbing vines, the church steps weathered by time is effortlessly, undeniably real. I wandered through Parco Scherrer, a terraced garden of lemon trees, Grecian pools, and a tea house perched like a secret. It was hot, and my linen dress, ideal for photos, less so for hiking, clung to my back like a silk apology. But beauty forgives discomfort.
Later, at Tenuta Castello di Morcote, I stood among vines overlooking Lake Lugano, tasting organic wines with names like stories. Bianca Maria was the one I remembered, floral, dry, and bright as late afternoon. Served with focaccia that could’ve been a poem.
Day 4: Foroglio & the Bavona Valley
In Val Bavona, the world feels older. At the base of Foroglio Waterfall, mist rises like breath from the earth. Stone houses, some untouched since the 16th century, line narrow paths without electricity, without urgency. Time stretches differently here.
I wandered slowly. Past oak trees and alpine streams, past shadows that felt familiar.
Everything smelled of moss and summer rain. Everything whispered: stay awhile.
Day 5: Monte Generoso & Lugano’s Last Light
The cogwheel train pulled me into sky.
Monte Generoso rose through clouds and pine, its summit offering a panorama stitched from Italian lakes and snow-laced giants — Matterhorn to Jungfrau, a quiet kind of majesty.
Lunch at Fiore di Pietra came with wide windows and silence that tasted like rosemary. Later, back in Lugano, I wandered the promenade one last time, cannolo in hand, the lake turning gold.
That night, a storm rolled in.
Thunder like applause, as if Ticino was closing its curtain.
*This trip is part of MySwitzerland.nl and (Swisstainable/Hey Honeyguide/#toeaanzwitserland) sponsored program. I received compensation as a thank you for my participation. This post reflects my personal opinion about the experiences provided by the sponsors.
