A Pilgrimage to the Lakes
I have a weakness for pretty lakes. When I lived in England, the Lake District was my backyard, accessible by a quick hour train ride and I made my share of visits to it. I was always amazed how much a quiet day of hiking in the Lakes could renew and recharge my batteries.
We debated whether or not there was time to include a little escape to the Italian Lake District on this trip. For me, it was almost a religious pilgrimage. I had seen the deep blue beauty of Lake Como and the cute little towns nestled along its shoreline from a train in 1998 and had been completely entranced ever since.
And so we set off from Venice early in the morning, connecting through Milan and continuing on to Como, the basecamp for the area. After a late night and an early morning, we were all tired and slept on the train ride there.
On Arrival
When we arrived at the train station in Como, everyone split to take care of something. Maria tried to call home. Josh inquired about train times back to Milan on Sunday. I confirmed our accomodations and investigated bus connections. Stepping outside to ask a bus driver where our bus stop was, it began to rain. Minutes later, hail was the theme of mother nature. The change in the weather was striking and I kept trying to tell Josh how nice it had been "last time."
Hail or not, we still needed cash (ATM) and a map from the TI (in town). So with the hail switching to big drops of rain and increasing, we ducked out of the station, walking aggressively through the desserted streets of Como. The streets and sidewalks were flooding fast, with inches accumulated already. I was stupidly -- but thankfully -- wearing my Tevas and quick-dry shorts. Josh and Maria got their shoes wet. We all got our packs wet.
Initial Observations
I once had a school bus driver who must have been from here. The roads are narrow two-lanes that cling to the side of the lake and have as many curves as Hwy 101 does in Northern California along its coast. Blind corners, and lots of them. Such conditions apparently aren't worthy of slowing down, however, only signalling one's presence. The bus proceeded full bore ahead the entire time and only honked a bizarre rapid-fire horn arrangement as it approached each corner. Watching other drivers, this is apparently just fine.
In case the scenery and the honking wasn't quite enough to interest us passengers, the bus also blared pop music as we went. Somewhere else, it might have annoyed me, but in Italy it seemed quite alright. Even thoughtful.
The commuter Vespas so pervasive in southern Italy have been replaced by recreational riders on motorcycles. Mobile phones continue to be answered frequently, and always with "pronto."
Lake Como is set in the foothills of the Alps and the towns have claimed what little buildable land there is along the shoreline. There are lots of golden stucco buildings and red tile roofs. Every town has its own look and charm, though, after passing a few on the bus, they all have identical clock towers, complete with mechanical clocks that just might wake the dead.
The town south of ours has 5 bars and 1 discoteque. Ours is much quieter, but kind of nice. All the hostelers are a few km further up in Menaggio and the Rick Steves crowd in across the lake in Varenna. No one, it would seem, comes to Cadenabbia, our home. It has a handful of houses, a shop or two and a collection of restaurants. The average age seems to be more than twice our own. But the locals are really nice. We enjoyed a leisurely lunch and dessert at a little place where someone in his 50s served us and explained with great pride that Mom would be making our lunch. She must be in her 70s. Neat.
We spent the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing. That was, afterall, the order of the day.
Some Good Luck
We took a ferry across the lake to see Varenna, which is truly the most adorable and picturesque of the midlake villages. Unfortunately, the schedule was such that we did not have enough time to do dinner there and still make it back to our side of the lake that night. We had to connect through Bellagio -- namesake for Steve Wynn's hotel in Las Vegas -- and the last ferry to Menaggio had already left for the day.
But something happened on the way to heaven. (I heard this old Phil Collins song, ok?). We boarded the ferry for Cadenabbia via Bellagio and were more than a little confused when it stopped instead in Menaggio. Still, we counted our blessings and got off to find a lively square full of people, restaurants and bars. Unfortunately, no one was still serving food. Another setback. Seeing us admiring some Tex-Mex cuisine at one bar, the proprieter volunteered that there was still a pizzeria open down the road. We thanked him and headed out into the darkness.
We passed a mini-golf place on the way that Josh and I never got to play. Clay surfaces and oddball bunkers. We were expecting a pizzeria and were rewarded with a proper restaurant. It was a happening place and the food was great, worthy of being The Last Supper for Josh. He ordered a liter of beer, thinking we'd get a pitcher. We were all quite surprised when the server brought him a one liter stein and no extra glasses. Being best friends, I had to follow suit.
The walk home was a pretty one, as moon light danced on the lake's surface. I knew the storm had passed. Sunday morning I woke at daybreak to a clear blue sky and enjoyed the view from our waterfront room. It was georgeous again. Unfortunately, Josh had to leave.
A New Day
We enjoyed a silent breakfast, each appreciating the fresh coffee, OJ, rolls with ham and cheese and bowl of museli. And then the bus came and Josh was off. The lady who served us was especially nice and suggested a hike to a church in the hills for Maria and I to do that day.
We set out on the hike and found it a great challenge to make reality match her directions ("Cross the road, go up the stairs for a while, you'll come to a hospital, go past it and ...."). We never quite found the church, but the climb was fun (though steep) and the view from the hospital area was enough. Looking out across the lake and down over the rooftops of homes and buildings in Menaggio below, it was quite spectacular. There were many sunbathers out and motorboats, kyaks and sailboats dotted the lake.
We took a boat back to Varenna, where we enjoyed some gelato, stumped ourselves with a 'C' Name of a town near Portland (Corbett) and did lunch at Albergo Olivedo's restaurant on the waterfront. We had a lovely soup of zuchini, carrot and potato. If only I could figure out the recipe!
Readying to Say Goodbye to Italia
After a relaxing two days on Lake Como, we returned to Como and prepared for our Milan-Munich overnight train. We settled into a cute little cafe on the plazza in Como and ordered some incredible lasagna. Overwhelmed by the menu, which had 912 items (over 700 of which appeared to be drinks), we decided to each order a fun drink. We randomly flipped pages and pointed. Maria chose the Magia Esotica (#68) and I chose the Sottobosco drink (#70). We had no idea what was in them...and still don't. Apparently we ordered from the one section you can't have on a Sunday evening.
Sitting on the plazza, dogs, bikes, walkers, even an occasional car passed by. No one seems to mind. People talk on their mobile phones while cycling. Chaos is woven into the very fabric that is Italy. And it works just fine. Fantastically, actually. I'm going to miss it.
Final Observations: colour is ok in Italy -- pink pants, men wearing lavender shirts (colour of the moment), women wearing red and black or red and tan (the colour of the moment). We saw a man sporting a full-on orange pant suit in Venice and the Leprechan Man (grass green suit coat, shorts and knee high socks) in Florence. Ah, to be Italian!
Postscript: I highly recommend our B&B in Cadenabbia, La Marianna. We had a waterfront room, our own private bathroom (a nice change from the hostel in Rome) and the folks who took care of us were just wonderful. Email me if you want contact info. for the property.
