Weihnachten in Berlin

Last year I spent most of December exploring tropical islands and living off Thai green curries which was wonderful, of course, but not exactly Christmassy. This year, therefore, I was determined to do Christmas 'properly' and where better to kick it all off than at the original German Christmas markets in Berlin?

The moment we stepped onto the plane, I felt the festive spirit take hold. There were Christmas tunes jingling away in my ears and a man rocking an all-in-one Santa suit sat in the aisle next to me. The blistering cold that met us on the other side was the final touch to the wintery weekend set-up.

Despite using the short flight to scrub up on my old German skills, I was thankful to find that most of the locals speak brilliant English. My limited conversation of ‘I’m twelve, live in Winkfield and own a guinea pig’ is neither helpful nor true these days, and certainly wouldn’t have got us to our hotel on the other side of town. Fortunately, the people of Berlin were incredibly friendly and guided us pretty much to the door. I made a mental note there and then to add ‘be kinder to tourists’ to my list of resolutions for 2015.

Anyway, after checking in at the Adina we headed straight to our first ‘Markt’ in Alexanderplatz. There appeared to be an infinite number of stalls displaying intricate Christmas decorations and beautiful gifts but the ones which really drew our attention were those selling food. The steam rising from the small wooden huts held the rich aroma of German sausages and spiced Gluwein. For our first taste of Berlin, we opted for a strange looking flat bread which neither of us caught the name of but it tasted great.

We’d have liked to have stopped for longer to let our food go down but the fear of freezing over forced us to move on quickly. It really was ‘sehr, sehr kalte’ and even beneath hundreds of thick layers, I could feel my insides literally shuddering. Rather tactfully, we spent most of our time browsing the stalls which had log fires burning but admitted defeat pretty quickly, heading back instead to the big old fireplace in our hotel reception.

Later that evening, we felt ready to brave the cold again and ventured out for dinner. In a residential part of town, we found a German tapas restaurant called Die Schule which was highly recommended on Trip Advisor and lived up to the hype! It was the perfect way to try all the various German dishes at once which was ideal considering we had just three short days to cram it all in. It also meant that I was able to try the infamous ‘Currywurst’ without committing to an entire plateful. Considering my complete phobia of ketchup, it went down pretty well but the thought of it still leaves me feeling a little nauseous even now. The other dishes, however, were all brilliant and I could have eaten a full sized portion of each of them (...in one go, yes.)

Back at the hotel, we checked out the spa and planned our next day’s activities from the comfort of the jacuzzi. Sunday began bright and early, on a historical walking tour of the city. The information booklet claimed the tour runs every day of the year, rain or shine, so we figured the arctic conditions wouldn’t deter them either. Sure enough, at 10 o’clock on the dot, a rotund young man with a painfully English accent appeared at the square and introduced himself as our guide.  

Over the course of four hours, Ralph took us to every corner of Berlin, explaining how it has come to be the city we see today. It’s by no means a beautiful place but it holds an incredible history and Ralph’s passion and intrigue for the German identity brought light even to the darkest of areas.  He explained how the gold plaques known as stumble stones, or ‘stolpersteine’ which we see on the pavement (or perhaps would not have seen, had they not been pointed out) mark the life of Jews who were prosecuted during the war. Whilst some hold the belief that their memories should remain in their place of death, i.e. in concentration camps outside of the city walls, others argue that they should live on where they once thrived; outside their homes or workplaces which are still very much a part of Berlin.  

One of the most interesting parts for me was what appeared at first glance, to be a mere car park. However, this historical spot marks Hitler’s bunker, the hiding place where he is thought to have spent his final few hours. Of course, we also passed the remnants of the Berlin wall and the mesmerising memorial of the murdered Jews which is thus named to not skirt around the fact that this was a brutal massacre, not a sacrifice as the word ‘holocaust’ would once have suggested. There’s much speculation over what the concrete blocks are supposed to signify but to Ralph, they are simply random because there’s no sense behind the events that occurred throughout that period.

Sadly, I have to admit that another highlight for me was in fact Starbucks; not because I’m incredibly uncultured but because I was just so bloody cold! Though thoroughly interested in everything Ralph had to say, I had to continually remind myself to keep on listening because my body had switched into auto-survival-mode, focusing every bit of energy on simply keeping warm. We were jogging between sites and performing jumping jacks whilst he spoke but I was still shivering like mad with blue lips, ringing ears and fingers frozen into a claw – a claw, which thankfully fit perfectly around a giant mug of hot chocolate during our midway break. At the end of the four hours I was truly pleased to have learnt so much but equally thankful not to have lost any limbs to frostbite. The jacuzzi was calling and it was time to head back.

On our last evening in the city, we visited the most popular Christmas Market at the beautiful Charlottenburg Schloss. The grand castle can be seen from miles beyond as brightly coloured spotlights are cast over its grounds whilst tiny fairy lights surround the area like fallen stars caught in the hedges. It was here that we finally got our hands on a traditional German sausage, followed by a traditional German waffle, followed by a traditional German crepe, followed by a traditional German gluwein. It suddenly dawned on us that we had very little time left and it seemed absolutely imperative to squeeze it all in at once.  

Aside from the intense cold, Berlin was both very cool and very cultured. Whilst I can't think of a better city to visit at Christmas, I'd love to return one day to see it in the sunshine and check out the infamous nightlife as the streets transform after hours. Until then though, Frohe Weihnachten Berlin and auf wiedersehen!

Short but Sweeeet Spanish Retreat

Better late than never, I finally arrived in Spain! Whilst my original flight would have taken me straight to Girona, my second booking was to Barcelona so I had to catch a bus, train and shuttle in order to end up in the right place. Having recently navigated myself around the world, I shouldn't have been too worried about a three hour journey through Spain but it was the first time I'd ever gone it alone. I was certainly glad to see my travel buds there waiting for me at the other end. 

And not just them, but the Sydney boys too who we last saw back in Fiji! It's been a whole six months since we were altogether last, but within six minutes it was as though we'd never left. With heaps to catch up on, there was a massive backlog of stories to tell and by the time we pulled up outside the villa, my cheeks already ached.

The villa was about forty minutes outside of Girona in a little town called Tamariu which consists of just a couple of shops and restaurants along the sea front. Fortunately, we had a car so we were able to venture elsewhere but in complete honesty, I could have locked myself in the villa for three days and still been content. It was absolutely beautiful; a three storey stone house complete with turrets, a rooftop terrace, a private pool and most importantly, amazing company.

Whilst the others had popped out to collect me, Kate and Erica had stayed behind to prepare dinner and so we came home to an incredible spread of lamb, aubergine, salad and potatoes laid out on the table outside. It was all very civilised but as the boys began to start serving drinks by the bowl, I had a sneaky suspicion it wouldn't stay that way for long. It's difficult to say how much we drank but it was enough so that by the end of the evening, we couldn't detect/didn't care that Will had accidentally added milk to our vodka punch. 

The next morning, I woke up early determined to make the most of my short few days. To get my bearings, I decided to go along with the boys who were popping into town to pick up 'dos baguettes' (insert Essex accent) fresh from the bakery for breakfast. For me, this holiday was far more about the people than the place and so I'd done very little research on the area. Besides, I'd been to Spain plenty of times in the past and had never been particularly blown away.

Imagine my surprise then when I caught my first glimpse of the gorgeous Costa Brava. The early morning sunshine cast a brilliant light over the golden sand which is tucked away in a small bay and surrounded by beautiful turquoise waters. It looked more like Croatia than anywhere else I've been to in Spain and quickly changed my attitude to wanting to explore the country further. Eager to spend more of our morning at this beautiful spot, we raced back to the villa to round up the others and returned soon after.

Sadly, however, we weren't the only ones. By the time we got back, the beach was overrun with people who presumably all held the same appreciation for this amazing place. It somewhat disturbed the peace of our pretty little bay but it was nevertheless a glorious view. Whilst we girls positioned ourselves horizontally on the sand, the boys disappeared off onto the rocks with their fishing rod and squirmy bait.

From our sunbathing set up, we could just about make out their silhouettes against the sun and assumed from the lack of triumphant waving that it wasn't going awfully well. After an hour or so Hana and I went to investigate with the intention, of course, of taking the piss. However, we must have been their lucky charms because as soon as we showed up they caught their first fish! Still, it was hardly enough to make a meal for seven so we walked back up to the villa to prepare a proper lunch.

Our food had barely gone down and we were already devising various pool games and plotting against one another to throw each other in (for future reference, sun tanning oil is by far the best defence.) A combination of the sunshine, water and being surrounded by friends transformed us all back into big kids.

In the evening we gave our resident chef a break and drove into Begur, a quaint little town with old stone buildings and a beautiful square. We ended up splitting into two groups for dinner; 'the fish eaters and non' as the first were keen to try out the area's traditional paella dish. However, judging by the state of them after their meal, you could reasonably assume we'd split into 'alcoholics and non.'

Amie, Erica and Kate were hilariously drunk and giggled the whole way home which inspired the rest of us to pour a couple too. Once back at the villa, the games soon commenced, our favourite being Mafia which involved a God, a police officer, a serial killer and some rather confused civilians. It all proved a little too complicated for Amie (understandably, after her third bottle of wine) and so we eventually switched to team charades which lasted until Hana's award winning Shrek impression put us all to shame. Knowing they could never top it, the fish eating alcoholics stripped off and jumped into the pool for a midnight swim.

In the meantime the rest of us got down to discussing our plans for the next year and working out when on earth we'd all be on the same side of the world again. So far our group holidays have been rather spontaneous and the conversations were swaying towards another spur of the moment splurge. Had we had access to the internet that evening, I've no doubt that we would have ended up with seven tickets to Thailand booked on Daddy Wise's card. I'm still undecided as to whether this was unfortunate or the opposite.

Thursday morning came around far too quickly and we were all gutted that it was our final day. Hana and I were keen to buy treats to take home so the boys drove us to the local shop which had an overwhelmingly large (and amazingly cheap!) chocolate selection. Between us, we cleared out the shelves and Stuart took whatever was left to conduct a treasure hunt back at the villa later that evening!

Rather than heading straight back, the four of us took a slight detour to Calella; another beautiful town just a little way down the road. It was way past cocktail o'clock by this point so we stopped off for a caipirinha and re-lived our Brazil days whilst reminiscing about Fiji. I genuinely could have stayed there all day but when Hana fell off her chair and attracted the attention of the entire bar, we decided it was probably time to leave. Making one final pitstop at the lighthouse on top of the hill, we finally drove back to join the others.

We found the girls exactly where we'd left them, though perhaps shifted ever so slightly to follow the last few rays of sunshine. The scene was one of peace and content but it was very short lived; the sugary cocktails had switched us into mischief mode and we made it our mission to get everyone in the pool just one last time. The boys proved the hardest to wrestle and so we settled for dressing up in their clothes and jumping in ourselves instead. Unfortunately they then adopted the same tactic and not only got our airport clothes soaking wet, but showed us up massively by working our outfits better than us. No boys should look that comfortable in a bra and leggings.

Our last evening consisted of a family outing to the nearby crazy golf course. Unsurprisingly, nobody had significantly up-skilled since Fiji though there were a couple of holes in ones on a few questionable courses. With a smug Stuart in tow (shock) we returned to the house for our final supper. It was our full intention to have an early night as we needed to be up at a ridiculous hour to head to the airport but we were far too distracted with the excitement of Mafia and running around the garden in the dark hunting for Milka.

By the time we actually climbed into bed, we set our alarms for just two hours later. As a result, the flight home was kind of a blur but I was pretty pleased because the goodbyes seemed far less real. I've no idea when we'll all be together again but I do know that it will be worth the wait and in the meantime, I can give my cheeks a well deserved rest.

Lake Life: The Extended Version

For the first time in my life I missed a flight. Whilst I should have left with the girls last Friday, I didn't feel ready to swap to Spanish skies and so skipped that plane and booked another. 

As I waved them off I felt a pang of jealousy that I wasn't going with them (my ever present FOMO going crazy at me from the inside.) There was no doubt in my mind that I needed the extra time here but sacrificing three days with my friends wasn't easy. I drove back to the house, wishing for the millionth time this year that I could split myself in two and be in both places at once. 

The following morning though I felt much better. The sun was shining the brightest it has all week, the lake glistening as though it had something to prove; see, you made the right decision. With the air so still, it was the perfect weather to head out on the canoe so we spent all morning gliding through the water, admiring the villas along the shore. It really was the most beautiful day with a sky so blue, it made the lake look green. 

As we paddled onwards towards the rocks, a flock of herons took flight from the bushes. Closer in, we spotted a tiny wag tail, a yellow spectacle shimmying above its reflection. Immersed in the nature out on the lake, I felt completely relaxed and experienced a strange sensation that we were supposed to be there. Just call me pochahontas! Every now and again we'd stop to appreciate the setting and it occurred to me how nice it is that even my dad, after all these years, can still see how wonderful it is. 

After a quick lunch at Fabio's we went to check out the guitar festival being held in the next village. It was organised by a Brazilian woman and therefore had a South American twist. The first musician we listened to originated from Peru and played many songs in Spanish that I wasn't consciously familiar with, but found myself singing along to! I guess that's what four months in South America will do to you.

The later act was a duet who together performed a rather bizarre set. Technically, what they were doing was genius but it was a little too progressive for the audience on the night. Whilst the guitarist caressed the wooden edges of his guitar, the singer strutted around the stage, clucking her tongue and making guttural sounds. In true South American style, she was loving life but I'm not convinced anyone else was. Using the excuse that we had to be up early the next morning, we escaped before the final performance began. 

And it wasn't a lie! We left the house at seven am on Sunday to begin our trek to Pizzo de Trei Signori, one of Lake Como's larger mountains. We abandoned the car at 1,400 metres where the air was fresh but the skies clear. As soon as the sun came up, it would be another scorcher. 

The walk was immediately steep but I was distracted from the difficulty by the beautiful landscapes on either side. The higher we climbed, the more we could see of the forests below and the Swiss alps with their snowy peaks appearing above distant clouds. Though the view stretched for miles, we couldn't spot another soul. It was incredibly peaceful and the only sounds were those of faint running water and animal bells, tinkling like wind chimes blowing in time with the breeze. 

Though it had been pretty all along, nothing could have prepared me for what we found at Lake Torno. Emerging from the trees, we came to an open clearing with the most amazing lake, perfectly reflecting the mountains surrounding it. From then on I felt as though I was seeing the world through a filter; the colours and contrasts too strong to be real. A little further on we came to a second lake, this one larger and unbelievably blue. The water was so clear that even as we climbed higher, we could still make out fish swimming beneath the surface. 

The steepness never stopped and where the ground was grassy, it was pretty slippery. In one particularly spectacular manoeuvre I missed my footing and came tumbling down the mountain side, bashing every limb along the way. I fortunately wasn't hurt but my knees were bloodied and shoulders bruised: Pizzo 1 - Chiara 0. 

Four hours later we reached the final summit and clambered on all fours to the 2,554 metre top. Once again, we'd been chased by a cloud so our view from the peak was pretty minimal. Though a little disappointing, I didn't really mind for we'd had clear skies almost the entire way and in that morning alone, I'd seen enough beautiful landscapes to last me a lifetime. 

The way down should have been much quicker but we stopped at a rifugio for a carb loaded plate of polenta which is traditional to the area. The stubborn cloud was refusing to lift and without the sun, it was rather cool so we knocked back a grappa each before heading back out. It more than warmed me up, it burnt my insides! 

Unsurprisingly, I woke up on Monday with jelly legs and so rather than our usual morning jog, we took the bikes up the mountain instead. Starting in the next village, there's a route we followed which was once a railway but is now a great little cycle path. At least it was until the storms this summer caused half of it to collapse! We were about twenty minutes in when we came to the first part blocked off by metal fencing. My Italian isn't perfect but I'm pretty sure the signs read 'Danger: Do Not Enter.' Nevertheless, we clambered through the netting, carrying our bikes past the gaping hole in the ground. 

The uphill ride was harder than I'd expected and after yesterday's climb, we'd earned an afternoon of rest. Sadly it was also my final day so I took my last opportunity to lie by the lake, reading my Murakami and breathing in the fresh alpine air. 

Even with the extension of another four days, I still don't feel ready to leave Italy. In fact I get the feeling that the longer I stay, the harder it will be to ever tear myself away. Lake life has been so easy to adapt to, particularly as I've had my amazing family around me to make it feel like home. 

Now, however, it's time to move and find out what antics I've been missing out on in the last few days in Spain. It's going to be a rather short and sweet trip but I can't wait to spend it frolicking in the sunshine, drinking sangria and laughing until my cheeks hurt with the people I love. 

Ciao for now Italia, until next time! 

Long Live Lake Life: Week Three on Lake Como

Monday morning we had a special delivery: our fifth bellissima had arrived in Milan! Whilst I collected Stephanie from the airport, the other girls prepared lunch in the garden where we then spent most of the afternoon, lapping up the glorious sunshine. Our most strenuous activity (aside from catching up on gossip) was walking into the next village for an ice-cream and a glass of Italian Prosecco. 

In the evening, however, there was lots to be done. Or more accurately, perhaps, lots to be drunk! Whilst Italians are famous for producing excellent wine, Stephanie is well known for her excellence in consuming it, and so we’d planned a wine tasting session to welcome her in. Hidden within the cobbled lanes of Tremezzo Old Town, we found the quaint little winery which is situated in the cellar of an old stone house. The decor was beautiful with dark wooden furniture and barrels galore which exhaled the scent of rich red wine.

The waiter led us out to a table on the terrace where grapes hung down from overhead. Under the guidance of my dad and his girlfriend we ordered four reds each and a glass of champagne. I’d assumed that these would just be small tasters but Italians don’t do anything by halves; throwing in an additional white wine each, they served a total of thirty six glasses, every one of them full (though of course they didn’t stay full for long.) It was a large table but it had quite literally disappeared under a sea of wine and had we not ordered food, I think I would have disappeared beneath it too.

Of the six of us, four could be described as wine fanatics (/alcoholics) and they discussed in depth the varying tastes of each. As interesting as it was to learn more about the wine, I kept forgetting to actually drink it, distracted instead by the incredible platters that had been brought to the table. Between sips I was taking giant bites out of all kinds of cheeses, salamis, breads and crackers. I’m definitely more of a food fanatic.

That said, by the end I could certainly detect the difference between the wines and concluded that I must have expensive taste. We drank them in order of quality, from the least costly to the most, which in hindsight was perhaps a bad idea. After six glasses of wine, I’d probably have agreed to liking anything the best.

The following morning we woke up surprisingly chirpy, helped no doubt by the scorching sunshine outside. Keen to top up our tans, we spent the day at the Lido in Cadenabbia, flitting between the lake and the pool to dip our toes. That’s as far as we went though as unfortunately, the water is still freezing cold. Usually it would have had the whole summer to warm up but until now, the lake has suffered the worst weather conditions on record. We felt pretty lucky to have arrived in time with the sun. 

That evening we ate at our favourite pizzeria where I’m always faced with the same dilemma; there are far too many dishes I want to try! On this occasion, however, I had the bellissimas with me and so we made the most of our numbers and ordered a mixture of dishes. With a table full of pizzas, pastas, salad and gnocchi, we’d created an Italian tapas - the best of all worlds.

Ever since the girls set eyes on the lake, they couldn’t stop commenting on how beautiful it is but there’s a place I know which shows it in an even better light. From my dad’s farm up on the hill you can gaze down from above and take it all in at once; the lake, the mountains, and the settlements embedded within. Therefore, on Stephanie’s final full day we walked up to the spot for a picnic with a panoramic view. We were joined by the little kittens who played around our ankles whilst we indulged in a caprese covered in oil.

Stephanie was yet to experience a true Italian’s homemade cooking so on her last evening, Stefy prepared dinner for us at home. Pizzocheri is a traditional dish from Northern Italy and consists of dark tagliatelle-like pasta with Swiss chard, potatoes, garlic, sage, special cheese, parmesan and a whole load of butter. Each mouthful contains more calories than I’d consume on a normal day but it tastes far too good to care. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was a second course! The pizzocheri was followed by a vegetarian quiche using home grown vegetables from our very own garden. Following a similar theme, us girls had picked apples from the tree in the courtyard earlier and used them to bake a traditional English crumble. When Italians do dinner and English do dessert, the result is truly something special. I think there may even be a restaurant idea in that. 

Over dinner, Stefy mentioned the Festival of Madonna which was due to begin the next morning and lasts for three days. It’s a celebration of the birth of Mary and to mark it, villagers will rise in the early hours of the morning to attend a special mass which begins at six am. To reach the church, they must climb a steep hill passing by various chapels which tell the story of Christ. Once it was customary for people to crawl on their knees but nowadays, most will simply walk.

Nobody in my family is particularly religious but it’s an age old tradition which Stefania attends every year. And guess who attended this year? As we left the house in darkness and joined a hundred or so elderly Italians clutching rosary beads, I had to ask myself what on earth I was doing. Though a little intrigued, I would never have mustered the energy to wake up at four thirty had it not been for the fact that the girls were keen.

That said, I’m glad we did! It was undeniably bizarre at times (chanting prayers is not something I am comfortable with) but it was quite the experience which we not only witnessed but were actually a part of. The church at the top was absolutely beautiful and the old priest spoke so slowly that I could follow quite well. When the rest of the congregation rose for communion, I escaped outside to watch the sunrise. My own thoughts were all that could be heard as the first rays of light beamed from behind the mountain. It was one of those moments I’ll remember forever.

Back at the house, we climbed back into bed and woke again at a far more reasonable hour. Sadly, it was then time to wave Stephanie off so we head into Lugano for her to catch her bus. The following day, it was Kate and Erica’s turn, and I too should have been going with them. However, I didn’t feel quite ready to leave the lake behind and so have extended my stay for a few more days. I’m gutted to lose my bellissimas so soon but will catch up with them again in Spain on Tuesday. Until then I can be found lying in the sunshine with a good book in hand, and my feet dangling in the lake (#lakelife.)

The Enchantment of Venice

After a wonderful first week by the lake, the girls and I whisked one another away on a romantic weekend to Venice, the city of love. 

Though our fairytale didn't have the most magical of beginnings (alarms set for five o'clock to catch a six o'clock train) the journey ran very smoothly and we were in Venice within just three hours. We stopped quickly in Mestre to drop our bags at the apartment and then jumped back on the train to the centre of town. 

As we approached the island our eyes were glued to the windows, watching intently as the city faded into focus. Though Venice stands isolated from the rest of Italy, it's separated only by a narrow stretch of sea which takes less than ten minutes to cross by train. However, this small distance represents all kinds of boundaries and as we stepped outside the station, it felt as though we'd entered a new realm entirely. 

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the scene in front of me. The city was absolutely bustling with people but many appeared to be gliding through the crowds whilst others watched on in wonder. These fortunate few were travelling by boat, taking the grand canal to their next destination. Quite possibly, they were going nowhere in particular; when passing through the streets of Venice, the enjoyment is in the journey itself. 

We discovered the same by foot, as we wandered in and out of the narrow alleys, over small bridges and into the squares. Wherever we ventured, we were never too far from the faint echo of a gondola singer serenading those in love. In the back streets, we found some beautiful places which are yet to be overcome by tourists. Though the people were few, we were not alone for the streets are filled with the faces of Venetian masks. Every kind of character exists here, from the hysterical joker, to the distraught damsel, each one brought to life with with incredible expression. Regardless of their emotion, they draw you in with enchanting colours and carnivalesque decorations, a distraction to hide what's behind the eyes. 

Having woken so early we were beginning to waiver and so sought out a cafe for a mid morning pick me up; cake accompanied by a glass of Prosecco! Whilst I'd assumed that Venice would be crazy expensive, it only set us back by a couple of euros. It was whilst we continued to find reasonably priced restaurants that we made the unconscious decision to eat all day. 

It will come as no surprise then, that the next item on our agenda was finding somewhere for lunch. For this, we crossed back over the bridge and into the busier side of town, eventually settling on a typical Italian restaurant just off the main road. I chose a light option to leave more room for later though soon regretted it as the wine went straight to my head. By the time we set off again, I was feeling pretty wobbly; one more glass and those masks may have really come to life. 

Our intention was to head towards San Marco Square but just as we were nearing it, Kate noticed her purse had been stolen. Unfortunately, Venice is known for its pick pockets and so we weren't the least bit surprised but still very sad! We took a small detour to the city's police station, though for insurance purposes only as we knew we'd never get it back. 

For an instant fix, there was only one thing for it; Venetian ice cream and more wine! Holding our bags tight, we meandered back through the streets and found a tavern which served Prosecco by the litre. An hour later, we were all more cheerful and so reattempted San Marco Square. Perhaps it was because the place was a little tainted, or perhaps it was the construction work obstructing our view of the Basilica, but we weren't particularly blown away. The same goes for the Rialto Bridge which is another must-see on the tourist's list. It's been said that in Venice, getting lost is the only place worth going to and I must say I found this to be very true; I was far more fascinated by the quaint little places we stumbled upon by chance. 

Our day in Venice was almost over and after dinner, Amie decided that even we, the least touristy of tourists, could not leave without a souvenir. Whilst we were admiring the boats passing on the canal, lit up now whilst the rest of Venice had fallen into darkness, she snuck off into the glittery shops. When she returned, she was armed with a whole handful of mini masks which she made us promise we'd treasure forever. It's charming but even without this little gem, I would never forget such a wonderful weekend in the bizarre and beautiful city of love. 

Switzerland Dash for Chocolate Stash

Lake Como is just a half hour’s drive from the border of Switzerland and so we decided to add another stamp to our passports and pop over there for the day. I usually visit Lugano every year as it’s one of the first towns on the other side and is where my dad used to work.

As you’d expect, the Italian side of Switzerland is similar to Italy in many ways. For example, they speak the same language, eat the same food, and even have an identical looking lake which could easily be mistaken for Lake Como itself.

However, there are differences too. Firstly, Switzerland are not part of the EU and therefore still use their own currency. Although many shops and restaurants will accept Euros, you’ll always receive your change in Swiss Francs. This usually means we end up with a load of coins which can’t be exchanged back into Euros and therefore, have to be spent in Switzerland.

It’s rather fortunate then, that there is always something worthwhile to spend it on: Swiss chocolate! We spent a good majority of our day in various chocolate shops, picking out our favourites to eat on the spot and packaging up presents to take back home (though there’s no guarantee they’ll make it that far.) One of the best chocolate spots is in a department store which dedicates an entire section to Lindt balls. I never knew there were so many flavours! We got rather carried away creating our own pick’n’mix bags and I ended up having to pay with my credit card anyway.

At midday we found an Italian run restaurant in the main square which served pasta dishes in various sizes. It seemed perfect as we were planning a large dinner and needed to leave room for all of our chocolates. Though we fully intended to order the smallest portion, when it came to it we completely forgot to specify size. Of course they didn’t ask and instead just defaulted to the biggest dish! Two mouthfuls in, however, I was secretly happy and finished every single bit.

Even just across the border, Switzerland is noticeably more expensive than Italy. That said, once we’d headed out of the main square we managed to find a number of bars and gelaterias which were far more affordable. Determined to spend the last of the change in my pocket, we sat down to a glass of red wine each which cost us only two Swiss Francs; an absolute bargain in any country. 

Lugano is a lovely town but for a true taste of Switzerland, you need to veture further in. Aside from the excessive (and often extortionately priced) chocolate shops, you could feel as though you were still in Como.

Benvenuto Bellissimas: Week Two on Lake Como

Amie and Erica were the first of the girls to arrive to the beautiful, sunny Lake Como! Whilst my Dad and I did the airport run, his girlfriend prepared a delicious lunch spread which was ready for us in the garden upon our return. We were completely spoilt with a wide selection of cheese, salami, bread and salad, of course accompanied with a bottle of red wine. Welcome to Italy.

Having not seen the girls for almost a week we had lots to catch up on but we wasted no time in getting out onto the lake. Usually in August the water is warm enough to swim in but as the weather has been terrible for most of the summer, it’s still freezing cold. Therefore, rather than dive in we jumped into the boats and threw our feet overboard whenever it got too hot. My performance had improved significantly since my last attempt but this time it was Erica paddling in circles. Nevertheless, we eventually made it to the ‘James Bond Villa’ in the next village to sneak a peek of the gardens in which Casino Royale was filmed.  

After all of our hard work, we felt we deserved a drink so drove to a bar in the mountain with a beautiful view of the castle on the lake. My Dad explained that it’s tradition in Italy to precede a meal with an alcoholic beverage. Italians call it an aperitivo which in English translates to apperitif (or ‘posh pre-lash' according to Amie Horne.) Anyway, we stuck with the Italian theme and ordered an Aperol Spriz each before heading down for dinner. There we learnt that an aperitivo is followed by a digestivo, a drink consumed after meals to help with digestion. It seems Italians have a drink to suit every hour of the day.

The following morning, we travelled across the border and into Switzerland. A new country deserves a new post so you can read all about our Swiss adventures here. By the evening, however, we were back in Italy but cooking Thai for my dad and Stefania (keeping it international!) Usually I would hate to waste an Italian meal by choosing a different cuisine but I said I’d cook and didn't want to embarrass myself by trying to compete with Stefania’s skills. At least with Thai there was a chance they wouldn’t know what it was supposed to taste like! In fact, they both insisted they thoroughly enjoyed it but we did go through a lot of wine.

The week was already flying by far too quickly and we hadn’t yet addressed Amie’s adversity to ice cream. Though she’s always claimed to not be bothered by it, I was convinced Italian gelato could change her mind. Whilst exploring the market in Lenno on Wednesday we needed refueling and therefore, found the perfect excuse to give it a try. We all opted for pistaccio which of course we all absolutely loved! Unlike ice cream back home which is often rather watery, Italian gelato is deliciously creamy and genuinely tastes like the flavour it represents. 

In the afternoon it clouded over and so it felt cool enough to venture off on a bike ride. The three of us cycled along to Menaggio where we stopped for a drink (a mid-afternoon-ivo?) and then challenged one another to a round of crazy golf. I’ve been playing on this same course ever since I can remember but even experience couldn’t help me that day. I was so terrible in fact, that there were moments when I almost lost the ball to the lake! All this daytime drinking must be taking its toll. 

In the evening, Stefy rustled up an incredible pasta dish with mushrooms which they’d picked from the mountains that morning. In Northern Italy, mushroom picking is practically a sport and they’ll wake up in the early hours of the morning to beat one another to the best finds. One day I would love to join them but I need to know a little more about mushrooms first; the wrong ones can do some serious damage! 

After dinner we walked up into the village for a drink at the bar. The rest of the evening involved many amarettos, a Colombian bar lady who spoke a bizarre language which was neither Italian nor Spanish, and a man claiming that we’d seen him naked in the lake. When my teeth felt furry, it was time to go home.

With the beautiful sunshine back out in full force, the next few days involved a lot of sunbathing. Before we knew it, it was time to pick up Kate, our bellissima number four! We took her straight from the airport to the pizzeria and then back to the house to try our limoncello cheesecake creation for dessert. It sounded like heaven but looked like shit and tasted somewhere between the two. It turns out missing out an essential ingredient is not okay, even in Italy.

Luckily for Kate, that wasn’t her only surprise. The next morning we were planning a trip up the Legnone! Though we had to wake up at six o’clock (a terrible way to start a should-be relaxing holiday), we knew the end result would be worth the struggle. When I say we, I mean Kate, Erica and I who have done plenty of treks throughout our travels in the past year. Amie, on the other hand, was not so sure.

In all honesty, my own faith began to waiver as we climbed for two hours and saw very little; though the weather was stunning down by the lake, a thousand metres up, we were fighting through fog. It was a nice climb but it wasn’t easy and without the reward of a fabulous view, I was worried it may be anti-climactic. Still, we trudged on and just as we reached the steep, rocky terrain, the mist finally began to clear and the peaks of the Swiss alps reared their heads above the cloud. 

The final stretch to the summit was almost vertical and required some pretty epic rock climbing. Though we initially clung onto the wire which has been installed, we soon realised it had snapped in multiple places and that we'd be far safer to rely on our own strength. Whilst we concentrated hard on keeping our footing, the beauty crept up around us. We were just a few a metres from the peak when we stopped and realised that we were completely surrounded by stunning views. From above the clouds, it felt as though we were gazing down on another world entirely. However, even from this height it all looked familiar; the tiny houses of the settlements in the mountains and the vast lake now glistening in the sun. It was indescribably beautiful. Even Amie 'Are-We-There-Yet?' Horne was lost for words!

By the time we reached the very top, we'd all found our voices (though 'woooo' was all we could manage at first.) For some of the girls, it was the highest they've ever been and in their words exactly it felt 'fantastico!' We literally were on top of the world. 

To our surprise though, we weren't the only ones! We were met by a dozen or so mountain goats who were delighted to see us. However, as soon as they realised we had no food they took to licking our skin instead, presumably soaking up the salt. They quickly concluded that my dad was the gourmet option which was unfortunate for him but hilarious for us. As if he wasn't exhausted enough, he then had to fend off an entire herd whilst we very helpfully took a thousand photographs. 

Eight hours after we'd initially set off, we climbed into the car and slept the whole way home. Back in the village we were still weary but triumphant and ready for a gigantic pizza as a well deserved prize. Dinners in Italy are always a grand affair but we kept this one relatively quiet as we were leaving for Venice at five o'clock the next morning to start the next section of the  Italian adventure.