Who knows where we could go? In German-speaking Switzerland the weather is perfect, so we aim for a big classic. Bad omens start first thing in the morning, with Lucio’s alarm clock acting up, but then everything seems to go smoothly. We arrive in Realp, where the thermometer reads -20°C. Good thing the forecast had said a minimum of -5, and I only have light gloves and no long underwear. The same goes for Lucio. On the other hand, the expectations raised by what we had read on various websites are fully met: skis from the car to the summit and back, fantastic snow—hard underneath with a good fifteen centimetres of light, soft powder on top! If only snow were always like this! Lucio said it: it felt more like Canada than Switzerland, and yet… The thermometer on the car stubbornly contradicts the forecast with a solid -12°C. On the way back, drama strikes: the car breaks down on the motorway… in Switzerland, of all places… As the tow truck driver will later comment—while still insisting we had filled up with petrol instead of diesel (he even asked for the receipt!)—“What do you mean? It’s an Audi! Do Audis break down too?” And so a long return trip on a Swiss train (which, however, in Italy practically doesn’t stop) takes us from Bellinzona back to Milan.