Lago di Como

 

“This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty”

-Percy Shelley


We couldn’t get out of France soon enough…the French workers were in the midst of a strike, and driving into the city of Lyon we saw the aftermath of a angry riot: fist-sized rocks, broken glass, barricades and local police in riot gear.
We managed to get online long enough to secure a tiny house in Lake Como for a few nights. But rather than drive straight to Italy, Jeff proposed “an exciting detour” through the French Alps, to see “L’Alpe d’Huez”, apparently a famous mountain stage in the Tour de France. It’s important to keep everyone happy when travelling, and Jeff was beside himself with excitement (about a ROAD).
Even though it took us nearly 2 hours longer, it was a good detour. First we meandered along a river valley, and then climbed up slowly through a magnificent mountain range with jagged snowy peaks and charming little villages. The mountain pastures and alpine chalets looked like something straight out of Heidi. I think we heard yodeling.
Hours later, when we finally crossed the border back into Italy, I gave an inner sigh of relief. Finally, we could communicate in a language we understood, sort of.
We arrived at Lake Como in the late afternoon, as the sun was just fading behind the mountains. It was a sight to behold.
From the town of Como, the lake stretches out far to the north, like a long wide river surrounded by towering mountains on either side. Como itself is a lovely mid-sized town, with a duomo and shops and lots of hideaway piazzas. Como is chic and cosmopolitan compared to most of the neighboring villages on the lake, many accessible only by boat.
The villages are clustered here and there on the mountainsides, some perched high and some down low, lake-side. Beautiful, enormous old villas with wide columns and sweeping verandas dot the landscape, lending an air of sophistication and wealth. Gardens spill over the hillsides, with cypress and palm trees thriving in the mild, Mediterranean-like climate. George Clooney actually has a house here, but he must’ve been out of town because somehow we never crossed paths.
No matter where you go--along the lakeshore, driving the twisty roads or hiking up into the mountains--the lake is the focal point, the thing your gaze always comes back to. It has a mesmerizing, centering presence like staring into a campfire. The color of the water changes with the sky, sometimes deep blue, sometimes steel-gray. The water seems to have a calming effect on the surrounding landscape.
To reach the house, we drove along the twisty narrow road that runs from Como to Bellagio. Jeff was excited to be back amongst Italian drivers, “threading the needle” at ridiculous speeds as he passed the oncoming cars on the left, and avoided parked cars on the right. We sped through 3 tunnels, and then took a quick hairpin right turn. After 3 more hairpin turns, we found the house, perched on a steep hillside, 2 levels that required walking up about 50 narrow steps to the front door. We had a tiny view of the lake from an upstairs window and also from the small balcony downstairs, but it was too cold to spend much time on the balcony.
I was happy to finally buy groceries and have a kitchen to cook in, after the steady diet of restaurant food over the past few weeks. Jenna was happy to finally spread out all her Barbies, change their outfits, and play. And Jeff was happy to finally get back on his bike.
A famous bike race, the “Giro di Lombardia” (Tour of Lombardy) had coincidentally just passed through Lake Como the week before, so Jeff hopped on his bike the next day to ride part of the route, which included a thigh-burning climb up to the famous bicycle shrine, the “Madonna del Ghisallo”.
Jenna and I drove to meet him in Bellagio for a picnic lunch, but I was so nervous about driving along the narrow road, that I would slow to a stop and cringe whenever I passed another car coming toward us, sure we would scrape. And whenever I saw a car approaching behind me in the rearview mirror, I pulled over to let them pass. Jenna made fun of my driving, and rightly so.
On our last day, we convinced Jenna to go on a hike with us--an easy, traverse trail reported to have an excellent view of the lake. We drove over to the west side of the lake, then up a steep, twisty road, stopping once for goats blocking our way. The trail began near a “refugio” that was closed for the season. Refugios are mountain huts, usually strung along hiking routes, where hikers can seek “refuge”—food, sometimes overnight lodging. We walked the trail for nearly an hour, but the lake view was obstructed with the thick dark clouds of an approaching storm.
By the time we got back to the house, the sunny weather we’d enjoyed for days quickly turned rainy and cold. Clouds shrouded the mountains and the wind turned up whitecaps on the steel gray lake.
We didn’t mind. We were back in Italy, and it was cozy.

NEXT UP: Venezia