We now pass swiftly from my arrival in Milan on September 8 to my arrival at our rental property on Lake Como on September 10. Eliding, thereby, the dispiriting events of September 9 -- already described two posts ago -- which resulted in my spending my remaining 16 days in Italy with only one usable arm.
Dispiriting, I say, but I was not dispirited. I saw myself -- I see myself, now -- as leading my legions from the Lombardy plains to the Como lakeshore, much as one-armed Lord Nelson himself lead his ships into battle. An heroic figure, one might conclude. Even though my arm had been lost not in battle in the Canary Islands, as had Nelson's, but in a bathtub in a Milan hotel.
Week One
Because of changed logistics, we abandoned our original plan, described in earlier posts, of taking the train to Como, a ferry from Como to Menaggio, and a bus thence to our rental. Instead, we hired a taxi to take us directly from our Milan hotel to the lakeshore rental. Less picturesque, but simpler. Or it would have been simpler if the driver had not heard "Menaggio" as "Bellagio." His mistake wasn't appreciated until I noticed that, once past Como city, the lake appeared to be on the left side of the road, rather than the right. Words were exchanged, tempers flared, some euros changed hands, and all ended well.
Our taxi delivered us to the parking area above the winding, pedestrian-only streets of Rezzonico right on time, and we were greeted by the same friendly and helpful manager who had met my sister, my cousin and me one year earlier. Her young helper Michael carried our bags down the multiple flights of steps to our rental house at lake level. The manager, remembering me well from the year before, gave us this time only a quick tour of the house, and -- at our request -- made our Saturday reservations for dinner at the local pizzeria. She left, the members of Week One looked around, making small exclamations of pleasure at what they saw, and we settled in.
The villa became our villa for the following seven days.
The six members of Week One, aside from myself, were all members of the family of the same Jim with whom I'd been hiking in Scotland. Jim, his brother, and his sister are children of a former Dean of the Forestry School at the University of Washington; they seem a close-knit family, with similar instincts and with interests that -- as you might suspect -- center around outdoor activities. Finding things to do at Lake Como that everyone enjoyed was easy.
Some activities are almost obligatory for almost all first time visitors, of course. We took the ferry to the picturesque cross-lake towns of Bellagio (of George Clooney fame) and Varenna, and a long distance ferry ride to Colico, at the far northern end of the lake. We hung out in Menaggio, drinking coffee and eating gelati. Menaggio was also where we did our grocery shopping and found access to local ATM machines.
And we walked. On Tuesday, we did a long walk up into the hills behind Rezzonico, ultimately reaching the tiny village of San Martino -- a tiny village we later found quite noticeable from below, marked by the tall steeple of its church. We met two New Zealand women, former teachers, who were renting a house in San Martino, who entertained us with much needed flasks of cold water, and, learning that one of our group was an educator, discussions of educational philosophy. Later that week, we walked from Rezzonico along the lake shore south to Acquaseria, and then returned home by a high route, passing through agricultural fields and through the streets of small towns. And on Wednesday, three of us walked northward, to the next village of Cremia. None of these walks was overly strenuous; they were all scenic, and they all offered us a good picture of ordinary people, both tourists and local residents, going about their lives.
The gustatory climax of the week was our Thursday dinner at Lauro, an excellent but tiny, informal, and family-owned-and-run restaurant located in Rezzonico itself, a two or three minute walk from our rental home.
Week Two
But Saturday finally arrived, the people of Week One sadly left by bus to the railway station at Como city, and -- while the owner's staff prepared the house for the next group -- I hung around Menaggio waiting for their ferry to arrive. It did, and the people of Week Two emerged, led by my grinning sister. Also disembarking were my eldest nephew and his wife, one of my sister's oldest friends and her wife, and the friend's daughter, and the daughter's husband, and their son (age 4) and daughter (age 1). Overall, a younger group, and somewhat different -- but not completely different -- in interests and attitudes. Actually, I was happy and a bit surprised to find that the entire group loved hiking as much as the Week One group had. And while two pre-school kids, precocious as they seemed, definitely changed the atmosphere at times, their presence didn't curtail their parents' hiking -- the four-year-old was a bundle of non-flagging energy, and his young sister alternated between trying to keep up with him and riding in a carrier on the back of one parent or the other.
We did some of the same things as did the first week's group. The mandatory ferry ride to Bellagio and to Varenna. The long ferry ride northward, although we decided to go only as far as Dongo -- where Mussolini was nabbed, trying to escape to Switzerland -- rather than all the way to Colico. We drank cappuccinos and ate gelati at small lakeside cafés. More so than with the first week's group, much shopping was done and euros changed hands -- definitely not my activity, and all I can tell you is two words -- "silk scarves."
Our hiking was perhaps more ambitious than that of Week One, in distance if not in altitude. We took the bus to Colonno, south of Menaggio, and hiked back northward eight miles along the lake shore to Griante, stopping for a very satisfying lunch in the beautiful town of Lenno. We hiked the five miles from Rezzonico to Menaggio, Menaggio being our "big city" where, usually arriving by bus, we did our grocery shopping and hopped the ferries. And one day, while others were plotting shopping expeditions, I walked northward once more to Cremia, and then onward to Pianello, an exhilarating hike reminding me why I sometimes enjoy walking alone.
Week Two neared the end of their stay on Thursday with the same highly enjoyable group dinner at Lauro as had Week One, and then on Friday with a home-cooked birthday dinner for our one-year-old -- no longer one, but now two. (Did I mention that both she and her four-year-old brother seemed older and more sophisticated than I recall kids at that age being when I was young?)
And so on Saturday morning, after checking out and watching Michael once more haul our bags, this time up the endless steps, we found our selves waiting at the bus stop for the bus to Menaggio, connecting to the ferry to Como, connecting to the train to Milan. An unforgettable two weeks for me, and I suspect for everyone.
But I'm confident it will not be the last time I ever see Lake Como.
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This post may seem excessively detailed as a vacation summary. Please be indulgent. I write it to remind myself of various sequences of events, so that in future years as my memory fades, my endless stacks of photos will make some chronological sense!-------------------------------------
Photo: Isola Comacina, the only island in Lake Como. Week Two walked past this island while we walked the lakeshore from Colonno to Griante.
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