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.)
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