The weather is a bit hit and miss - within the space of a few days we seem to have gone from summer to winter and from high season to low season with a couple of days of autumn and confusion in between. I keep finding myself inappropriately dressed.
I looked out if the window on Wednesday morning to see blue skies and sunshine twinkling on the lake, so I dressed appropriately, I thought, for my planned stroll to Fumiolatte, the shortest river in Europe and a centuries old enigma. The river bursts out of the mountain just south of Varenna in May, and then just as abruptly stops completely in October, which is odd when you think about it. And a lot of people have thought about it. Including Leonardo Da Vinci and numerous more recent scientists.
Anyway, I understood it was a short stroll away, so I felt a bit foolish an hour later scrambling through a densely wooded and slippery path on the precipitous mountain side wearing flip flops. It occurred me that if I slipped and mortally injured myself no-one would know, and no-one would even know I was missing for at least two days. I was very careful where I put my feet. (Note to FB chums: if I don't post anything for more than 24 hours, call the police. ;-))
The river maybe short (250metres long) but it's impressively fierce.
Afterwards I made my way back to Varenna where I got on a boat to Managgio, a lovely, well-kept and rather grand town on the other side of the lake. I wandered all around the cobbled lanes, following the old castle walls, finishing at the Hotel du Lac where I had an Aperol Spritz, before getting the car ferry back to Varenna. Every village and town here has a 'Hotel du Lac' and for the sake if completeness I've been re-reading Anita Brookner's 'Hotel Du Lac', because I thought it would be apt and atmospheric, which it was. (Although her Hotel du Lac was on Lake Geneva, and based in 1984, which seems even more odd now than it did in 1984.)
Pasta and ice cream for supper (can feel my arse expanding by the minute) and an early night.
Yesterday morning I packed up and left my apartment, and got on the slow boat to Como. I spent most of the journey in the lovely wood-clad bar drinking coffee and getting cross with people for repeatedly leaving the door to the deck open (inappropriately dressed again).
Checked into hotel in Como then spent the afternoon wandering about sussing out likely restaurants to have dinner. Had a look inside the Duomo, which was magnificent and where people were queuing up to kneel in front of a man in a wooden booth and confess their sins, which made me snort, then went to have a look at the Casa de ?, inside of which a European Cardiology Society 'Thrombosis Conference' was in progress and outside of which was a gaggle of conference delegates smoking their heads off, which made me snort a second time. Chickened out of going up the funicular because it was too high and steep and I thought I might freak out, which would be particularly awkward with no-one there to call me an idiot.
Last night I had a delicious meal, served by the rudest waiter in Italy, or possibly the world. It was very entertaining. He was quite young and I wondered whether he was trying to get the sack. He was certainly going the right way about it. Having reluctantly permitted me to sit down and look at the menu, he took my order then decided to pick on another lone female who had dared to sit, uninvited, on a table for four (the restaurant was outdoors and empty). He marched up to her and barked 'This table's for four people!'
She, a swivel-eyed large-boned I-don't-take-shit-off-waiters American, barked back 'Well where do you want me to sit?!' at which he threw his arm towards some smaller tables and stomped off. She clearly wasn't going anywhere unless he asked her nicely and he clearly was going to steadfastly ignore her until she moved, no matter how much eye-swivelling she did and in the end she got up and left, metaphorically slamming the door behind her.
An effusively polite group of five Chinese people arrived and were also bewildered by his bad-temper, caused by him having to add a place setting to a table of four to accommodate them.
Half way through my meal I realised he hadn't brought me my side salad, and when I asked him for it he snapped 'It's THERE!' pointing to a table over by the till, as though I'd left it there or something. He fetched it for me and slammed it down on my table like a petulant teenager. Then, when I was three quarters through my meal, knife and fork poised as I peered over my shoulder at the Australians behind me (I'm very nosey) he picked up my plate and tried to take it away and I had to shout 'WOAH!' to stop him and rather than apologise he rolled his eyes and tutted at me.
As I left, and perhaps because I didn't leave a tip, he accused me of being a lesbian, which I've written of elsewhere and which I wouldn't mind at all other than the fact that if I were it would be none of his business.
It was the best evening of the holiday and I chuckled all the way back to my hotel.
As I write this I'm on the plane back to Lisbon. I'm not a nervous flier but we've just been through forty minutes of the worst turbulence I've ever experienced. It was terrifying. And went on for forty minutes. Drinks were spilled. People were crying. Cabin crew definitely looked a bit worried.
I've had a lovely week and I'm very much looking forward to landing safely and seeing my family again, please dear God, who I love so much. I'm so very sorry I snorted in the Duomo.
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