Buonjourno!... don`t think I even wrote that correctly

Well, it's evident how bad I am at communication. It would be a wonder if anyone is still looking at this. But in the case that they are, I`ll try to regurgitate a few events. It'll be pretty watered down.
Hof Louisgarde seems far behind now. I am currently in Bellinzona in the south of Switzerland. I enjoy ending up in places with almost no planning. Last week I got a ride into Bern with a Lebanese couple who seemed to think that making money and filling up empty space with lots of people was a pretty good idea, so I found an empty space on a park bench beside the roaring Aare for the night and met up with Matthias in the morning. We had enough time for coffee before we ran into the train station and headed for Zweisimmen. There we met up with a friend of Julia's who we planned on leaching mountain information off of. Joscha works the winter on the ski slopes on first aid. Because of his job he naturally has a pretty good conection with the helicopters and their pilots. He wanted to take us to see the company anniversary celebration. He said it was more like a little town gossip meeting on the airfield gawking at the millions of dallars that go whipping around the air picking up injured tourists. In the middle of the event about 6 paragliders could be seen decending from the mountains. Circling through the clouds and excecuting perfect landings right on the field beside. This truelly is a different place. Everything is governed by the mountains. The low houses all built with beautiful care. Everything wood, from the elaborate trim and shudders to the exactly six foot cielings to the cheese racks in the basement.
We headed up for a night in a hut that Joscha new. The switchback path up the mountain was just one trip too many for his subaru. Part way up the engine overheated. We gathered water from a streem and waited for the steam to clear. But no luck in starting it again. We rolled it off to the side so Joscha could roll with it back down the mountain to his house the next morning. We hadn't been walking for 5 minutes when a farmer picked us up. He was taking wood up to make a deck on his hut. I have been struggling with the swiss german accent, but that's only when they speek high german, when I heard Joscha and the farmer talk to each other in dialect... no chance of understanding.
Anyhow, we entered a new world for me up there in the clouds. I'm sure it's a stunning view when the sun is shining, but there was definately another magic about climbing over rocks and bolders, hearing the occasional bird and the bells of the cows on the hills below, and then from the cloud jumps a mountain goat and bounds across our path and leaps into the unknown on the other side.
We had planned on heading out from there for our hiking trip, but Joscha said we must go south, to Tissin, the Italian province. Withing a few hours we were on a train, enterred a long tunnel, and then popped out on the other side. In another world. It was Italy. Palm trees and medeteranian archecture. The wood huts were replaced with stone. Stone everything. The rooves are no longer spruce shingles but granite slabs blending into the mountains behind. We took a bus from Locarno to Brione and headed north up the valley until we came upon the perfect little hut. Surrounded by mountains on all sides and the roar of the river at it's source. The hut was equiped with everything from beds, wood stove, beer and wine, to an extra guitar. This was good thing because the weather was fowl. We spent a good deal of time relaxing in the hut. On one occasion we bit the bullet and headed into the rain for a hike none-the-less. I won't tell this whole story, pretty rediculous really. Lets just say we made a couple bad decisions and survived the most frightening hour and a half of our lives. The rice tasted mighty good that evening. Anyhow, that is a very watered down version, I'll just let you know I'm heading up to a little village a bit north of Locarno to work making hay on a farm for a while. Hopefully I'll make a bit of money.
Money and possessions are really taking their tole on my mind. I've got a one-way wallet in toursit country, dangerous. It was only in a youth hostel where I roomed with a wandering carpenter apprentice that my expensive way of travel really hit home. Germany still has quite a respect for the traditions of the tradeworkers. They nail their emblems on the birch may pole and wear their traditional clothing to work. The carpenters clothes are a white shirt with puffy sleeves, a heavy black vest with large silver buttons, a large rimmed black felt hat and black corderoy bellbottom carpenters pants. They travel only with three small bundles in handkerchiefs perched on their stick. One has a change of the traditional clothing, another a small sleeping bag, and the other their tools. Working their way from town to town. With my huge pack and guitar strapped to the outside, I felt embarassed and capitalistic.
I should really head out. Till next time,

Grüsse,

Stephan