You know your life has turned out OK when, on the morning of the day you're due to fly away on a week-long holiday you kind of feel like you don't really want to go.
This is how I felt yesterday as I pottered about my garden, barefoot and in my jimjams, harvesting the odd aubergine here and squishing the odd bug there, whilst reeling off instructions to Grace about plant watering regimes and animal feeding routines. My enthusiasm was further dampened by the weather app on my phone which forecast that my destination was going to be a good few degrees cooler than my home. WTF? Why would I want to drag myself away from three quarters of the bosom of my fambly and do that whole hideous airport thing, just to mope about on my own by a cold and soggy Italian lake? I bet you feel really sorry for me.
Back in the spring Rich had declared that in September he was going to the Algarve to meet up with a load of old cronies from Wales, and spend a week trying to hit a ball into a small hole, so I saw an opportunity for a little jolly of my own (I love travelling alone) and booked a cheap flight from Lisbon to Milan. This was really a case of SleazyJet dictating where I take my holiday, but it's fortuitous that a trip to the Italian Lakes has always been on my 'to do' list.
But my heart still wasn't really in it until half way over the Pyrenees when, plastic cup of rosé in hand and a gob full of Pringles, I started to get that holiday feeling. I arrived in Milan at about 6pm, from where I needed to get a train to Saronno and then another train on to Como. Turns out that Italians don't really understand a Welsh person speaking very poor Portuguese at them (force of habit), and I had a job trying to ascertain if I was on the right train. It also turns out that you have to pronounce Italian place names with an Italian accent, otherwise they won't understand you. Saronno is pronounced SarOOHHnno and Varenna (my ultimate destination) is pronounced VarAAYYnna. I find the Italian accent hilarious. It sounds to me like they're taking the piss out of themselves. But I probably need to stop laughing when they speak or I'm going to get in trouble.
Anyway, it turned out I was on the right train and eventually I arrived in Como after dark. I found the hotel I'd booked into in the very attractive old town, dumped my stuff and headed out for a pizza under the the imposing and floodlit gothic/renaissance (bit of both) Duomo, which I washed down (the pizza, that is, not the Duomo) with a nice glass of Chianti.
*makes Hannibal Lecter 'sccchhhllll sccchhhlll' noises*
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| Como from the lake |
I love arriving at places after dark, because you have no idea where you are when you wake up the next morning. Como old town is beautiful at night time but spectacular in the daytime. It has a lovely waterfront and is flanked by steep mountains. I bought a ticket for the 'slow boat' to take me north up the western limb of Lake Como to a little village called Varenna on the eastern edge of the central part of the lake.
I can't describe how beautiful Lake Como is, and neither do my pictures do it justice. It's breathtakingly spectacular. I sat, literally awe-struck, for the entire 2 hour journey. Its deepest bit is 420 metres deep you know. FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY METRES. Ugh. That creeps me out. I hate deep water.
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| Beautiful Lake Como |
There are some fantastic houses - we passed the place where Volta lived (invented electricity), the place where Winston Churchill stayed after the war, the place Mussolini got murdered, Richard Bransom's new gaff, Versace's gaff before he was murdered, George Cloony's gaff and the place where they filmed James Bond. Like everywhere else in the world, most of the best houses - originally the summerhouses of Italian noblemen - are now owned by Russian multi-millionaires.
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| Where Casino Royale was filmed |
Eventually, after stopping at about fifteen villages en route, I arrived at Varenna. What a gorgeous place - all steep cobbled alleys and lapping water edges. I found my way from the boat jetty around the cliff-hugging walkway to the main part of the village and clambered up cobbled steps to the main square, where I killed the hour and a half before my accommodation was ready by enjoying a long and delicious lunch of prawn salad followed by strawberries and ice-cream. Absolutely fabulous, darling.
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| Varenna |
I'm staying in a studio apartment in the tower of a renovated villa and everything is lovely lovely lovely. Except for Mr and Mrs Snotty Englishers and their snivelling baby, that is, who are also staying somewhere in this villa. I met them in the hall when I checked in. I say 'met' - what actually happened is that I smiled at them and said hello and helped them with their ridiculous number of bags which included helium balloons for some reason, and they both completely blanked me. English, obviously. Very. He's a bit dim and ruddy and looks harassed. She's got her nose in the air and a face like a smacked arse. I 'met' them again half an hour later in one of the only two grocery stores and smiled and they blanked me again. Then I met them again an hour later in the other grocery store and did a sort of laugh/smile/we-must-stop-meeting-like-this thing and they bloody blanked me again. Now I'm bearing a grudge.
Tomorrow I'm going to ask them who won the rugby. Heh heh.
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| Varenna |
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| Varenna |
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| View from my apartment |
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