The mountains went past with the speed of an old-fashioned slide projector. For the first 45 minutes, the train did little but climb. As we left the Italian town of Domodossola behind, it seemed to rise to meet the snow-dusted mountains, although we were well below the snow line.
On a plane journey, you know roughly what you’ll get – even though the leg room, quality of snacks and luggage allowance can vary wildly. This was my seventh train in half as many days. On the last (Milan to Domodossola), my view was obscured by a large spray-painting of an Angry Bird across the window. The train’s worn, blue seats were pockmarked with mysterious stains that looked like rust marks on a car bonnet. This was a significant upgrade.
Around 200,000 people ride the Glacier Express across the Swiss Alps from Zermatt to St Moritz every year, an eight-hour bucket list journey regularly namechecked as one of the finest in Europe. It costs €159 (£135) one-way for the 291km (180 miles) journey – around the same distance as London to York, though far higher.
But there’s an alternative. The century-old, narrow-gauge Vigezzina-Centovalli railway – between Domodossola and Locarno in Switzerland – costs just €20. This route offers epic views for a fraction of the price of the Glacier Express. It’s much shorter (50km and around two hours), but the flight-free travel company Byway assured me it was far less touristy. So far, they weren’t wrong. I had the whole carriage to myself.
Rather than squinting to see the outlines of Milanese tower blocks through paint strokes, my view was clear. The Italian Vigezzo Vision train’s windows were so transparent they could have been on a glass cleaning advertisement, and around twice the size of regular train windows. Swiss Centovalli Express trains also run on this route, and have been recently upgraded.
We passed over viaducts (the line crosses 83 bridges), past the spindly spires of mountain churches, and through countless little tunnels. They never lasted more than a few seconds but each time a chill wind rushed through the train and its whistle hooted feebly in response.
The Centovalli stopped in the middle of the line, and I walked over the tracks of Santa Maria Maggiore station, as the sound of cow bells and church bells mingled. The Alpine town, in the Vigezzo Valley, is home to a fine art school, the Rossetti Valentini. The historic buildings are covered in frescoes of pastoral scenes, vying for attention with the real-life landscapes behind.
All life was at the piazza – the young, the elderly, groups of friends, men smoking alone. Almost everyone had a dog, almost everyone had an Aperol spritz (served with an aperitivo platter large enough to be a meal).
You could spend months hiking the trails that radiate from Santa Maria Maggiore. To one side, the Val Grande National Park, home to chamois and golden eagles. To the other, the Alps rise higher still as they meet the Swiss border. Spoilt for choice, and with the threat of storms blowing in during the afternoon, I opted for a five-hour round trip to Lago Panelatte. According to the photos on my navigation app, the lake would be mirror-like, framed by stencil-clear rocks, reflecting the odd, puffy cloud.
I arrived at a skating rink, and the snow arrived minutes later, so there was little time to appreciate the patchwork of white ice, forest green and bare rock face before beating a hasty retreat. I could count the other hikers I crossed on one hand, and their dogs on the other, but even once back in town, it was a cacophony of Italian voices that dominated the piazza.
The Centovalli celebrated its centenary last year, and although the trains have been updated, the carriages are little bigger than the rickety little original train carriage on display at Santa Maria Maggiore station. I hopped back on board the next train, and the line plateaued, running through the valley. The metal dome of the Madonna del Sangue Sanctuary was a striking contrast to the toothpick church spires elsewhere. A motorbike easily overtook our little train – speed was not of the essence.
Shortly after crossing the invisible Swiss border, the train began its descent to the banks of Lake Maggiore through the Hundred Valleys of Ticino from which the train takes its name. Each stop offers its own reason to alight – Verscio, with its Teatro Dimitri, founded more than 50 years by a clown and his wife and still going strong today. Turquoise rivers snaked through the landscape, and Belle Epoque houses and restaurants that started to appear along the railway line gave the impression that I’d arrived in a different age, not just a different country.
Locarno, on the shore of Lake Maggiore, is where the Centovalli terminates. This mild, Italian-speaking Swiss town assembles a curious mix of mediaeval convents and churches, handsome pastel-shaded townhouses, and a sprawl of grey apartment blocks.
Hotel guests in the region receive free transport within Ticino, with buses and trains included, and while the funicular was free I opted to walk up to the monastery, Madonna del Sasso, which looms over the lake. From here I could see the mountains I’d travelled through, so serene just hours earlier, in almost artificial clarity through the train windows, now shrouded with clouds the colour of bruises.
How to do it
The writer was a guest of Byway Travel, which offers bespoke, flight-free trips around Europe. A seven-day trip, leaving from London and including the Centovalli Railway, starts from £1,073pp.
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