Eugi Gufo's siteEugi Gufo

As my readers know well, one does not need to be wealthy in order to travel. Those who lack the funds for an intercontinental flight may perfectly well take the train, the bus, a bicycle, a scooter or a car and visit the nearest city. This is one of the ideas I have always wished to convey through my photographic accounts. And it is an idea that does not apply solely to one’s country of residence: for many people, travelling abroad is equally undemanding. I, for instance, once decided to undertake a low-cost journey to Switzerland.

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Chiasso, a tiny Swiss town on the Italian border, is probably one of the ideal places in which to free one’s mind from certain stereotypes about Switzerland. For example, many inexperienced travellers might expect to find vast financial districts…

… or buildings in a quaint «mountain chalet» style…

Whereas in reality even a Swiss town — in our case, Chiasso — consists of a mixture of highly varied architectural styles.

There is no shortage of period buildings which one might encounter, without difficulty or surprise, in almost any European city.

The largest church in town (San Vitale) — I am not entirely certain I may call it a cathedral — would not look out of place in many Italian localities.

Examples of modern architecture are simple yet elegant. At last architects have remembered that buildings with cornices are considerably more attractive than plain concrete parallelepipeds.

Far less comprehensible (and therefore all the more interesting) is the Swiss system of counting rooms. How, in practice, does one construct half a room? Is it the one missing two of its four walls? If so, how am I to recognise it as a room (that is, ½)? I remain baffled.

Architecture from the 1970s is depressing here, as in almost the entire world.

Yet in many cases modern buildings coexist harmoniously with older ones.

Olé — a splendid example from the 1920s!

Another interesting example of modern architecture is this four-storey shopping centre.

Strangely, however, the only functioning activity inside is the salon of two hairdressers. Everything else appears to be in a state of abandonment.

The city’s classical monuments, by contrast, are not abandoned.

On that very day, walking beneath the blazing early-August sun, I found myself wondering why no artist has ever invented an ecologically useful monument. A monument made of solar panels. A few minutes later, I saw one:

This, on the other hand, may be a car park rather than a monument (creating an object that resembles another object which ought to serve a purpose is often a sign of a designer’s impotence):

The classic parking racks for private bicycles contain nothing of particular interest (apart from the absence of paint).

The parking facility near the railway station, however, is original.

Many road signs have frames made from bent tubing and display images of rare elegance (in Italy I have seen something similar only in Crema and Gardone Riviera).

Pedestrian routes for tourists are marked by small arrows which are nonetheless clearly visible thanks to their colour. What is lacking are indications of how to proceed from one arrow to the next (they are hundreds of metres apart and arranged without any evident logic).

Bus stops are safe (being raised) but often uncovered. Their true peculiarity, however, is the presence of automatic ticket machines: users are left with fewer excuses for attempting to travel free of charge.

Parking meters are extremely compact and accept payment by telephone.

To access the defibrillator it is not necessary to smash a plastic panel, merely to open the door. I am unsure whether this is an optimal technical choice from a psychological perspective.

One of the sports fields I encountered in Chiasso initially struck me as adaptable for hockey.

Behind the aforementioned sports field lies a delightful playground. Until that moment, however, I had seen this particular reuse of old tyres only in Russia.

The municipal library is attractive, well frequented and generous: its freely accessible Wi-Fi functions even at a distance of some twenty metres.

Beside many kiosks and bus stops one finds stands distributing free newspapers.

The postmen of Chiasso travel by tricycle, each equipped with at least one trailer.

Mail collection boxes vary in size, yet their façade is always easily recognisable.

Residential letterboxes are almost always placed in clear view outside, even on the street side.

One easily encounters beautiful ceramic house numbers.

The streets are exceptionally clean, thanks in part to the use of technologies of varying degrees of sophistication.

But also because there is no fear of installing ashtrays in public places.

Waste containers are highly varied, sometimes even rather primitive.

Many litter bins also function as dispensers for dog-waste bags.

The most widespread bench model is reasonably comfortable.

The hydrant fittings are highly original.

Equally interesting is the great variety of manhole covers.

In Chiasso too the fashion for using old pallets to create bar furniture is widespread (they ought to be uncomfortable, as they leave no room for one’s legs). The most important observation, however, is the absence of sugar sachets on café tables — unlike in Italy, where they are invariably present.

Throughout the town public toilets are widespread: free, clean and structurally sound. Their mere existence is a significant sign of civilisation, for it allows people to remain civilised.

I conclude my account of Chiasso with an exceedingly banal photograph which I simply could not resist taking. My apologies — I could not help myself.