A Long Weekend on Lake Como

It's never difficult to persuade me to book a holiday but this was truly record-breaking. Within minutes of receiving my dad's picture of our garden with the glittering lake in the background and the tagline 'it's twenty-three degrees outside', I'd checked the flight times from London to Milan and confirmed myself a seat. 

Less than two weeks later, I was sat at Fabio's in my favourite spot devouring a pizza twice the size of my head. Having not seen my dad or Stefy for two months, we had lots to catch up on which inevitably meant we had lots of wine to get through too. A combination of that, the singing crickets, and the lake air seeping in through the shutters all made for a peaceful night's sleep. 

On my first morning we attended a memorial service held a few villages down in Dongo, in the square which they caught Mussolini and consequently ended the Italian war seventy-five years ago. My grandad had been there on that day but is no longer with us so we went along in his memory. 

I'd anticipated it being a little morbid but I was quite wrong. The piazza was filled with Italians from all over the country, greeting one another like old friends. Dozens of small school children eagerly waved their national flags towards elderly ancestors who proudly wore their dusted off uniforms, complete with medals, badges and a feathered hat. 

Later that afternoon, we took our bikes out to explore the beautiful scenes along the lake front. It's been years since I've visited Italy in Spring and I'd forgotten just how wonderful a season it is. Bright pink azaleas decorate each garden and lilac wisteria hang from every terrace, like flowering grapevines faded in the sun. Both these plants only flower for a few days a year so I'm thankful to have timed my trip so perfectly. 

We intended to be out for just a couple of hours but distracted by the scenery and the occasional prosecco, we were gone for almost five. After pedalling along the flat, we decided to climb higher for an even better view out across the lake. Whilst my dad's a pro-cycler, I am definitely not and was exhausted by the time we reached the old convent at Peglio a few hundred metres up. However, I soon perked up as we set eyes upon the view below. I've never seen the fields so vibrantly green, as though glowing between the small settlements scattered across the mountain. It was quite something!

I was hoping for some time to recover but we soon had to race back to the house as we had dinner plans that evening with some friends of my dad. This couple now spend half their time in Cuba and the other half on the lake so needless to say, I was very intrigued to meet them. 

The restaurant, La P'Osteria, is thus called because this particular Osteria was once the town's local Post Office in Argegno. It's a quaint little place which successfully integrates a number of the original artefacts into a modern setting; menus are presented in envelopes, wine bottles fill old cubby holes and the authentic scales are used to decorate shelves above the tables. Shoreditch, eat your heart out. 

Unfortunately, however, they'd put a little less thought into the food. When dining out in Italy, there’s always the choice of Antipasti, Primi, Secondi and Dolci. I opted for an Antipasti and Primi which in theory should be the lightest but I ended up with a mountain of polenta followed by a rather tasteless plate of pasta and a sick feeling which altogether wasn’t really worth it. It’s rare to be disappointed by an Italian meal but this one really didn’t hit the mark. That said, the wine was absolutely divine so I overindulged in that instead and still had a great evening.

The following morning we woke relatively early to get a head start on the Greenway Walk along the lake. The route is approximately ten kilometres, starting in Colonno and ending in Cadenabbia but we took an additional detour to Isola Comacina too. 

This island is the only one on the whole of Lake Como and has an interesting history. Centuries ago it fell under siege and was supposedly cursed by the Bishop of Como who vowed that ‘The bells will not ring any more, no stone will be put upon stone, no one will ever host again someone on the island or he will die a violent death.’ Fortunately (or rather conveniently if you look at it from a cynical tourist perspective,) after the war ended and the island was given to the King of Belgium to once again inhabit, the islanders found a reverse for the curse in the form of a special coffee which they still brew there today and insist everyone who enters drinks (and of course buys) before leaving.  

The whole walk took us a lot longer than it perhaps should have, firstly because we kept stopping to speak to friends that we passed and secondly to take in the beautiful views. Though the day started off cloudy, the sun soon broke through and brightened up the entire greenway. We made it back just in time for dinner which was a well deserved carbicide pasta dish. 

My Monday morning should have been spent snuggled up in bed feeling smug but instead, I went to school! Call me crazy but when Stefy asked if I'd join her in class to help teach a Literature lesson, I couldn't say no. Her year group had just finished reading Twilight and as I'd written my dissertation on Vampire Literature (albeit many moons ago and more Bramstoker than Meyer) it seemed like fate.

In reality, the class were far more interested in my life back in England than my opinion on the Vampire as the 'literary other' and society's evolving attitudes towards them. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed it and it was a good insight into how my life could have been had I grown up in the small Italian province that has instead played the part of my secondary home. I left the classroom with an appreciation for my London life, a new dress as a gift from Stefy and a handful of Facebook requests from Italian teenagers - win. 

As a further reward, we headed to Franco's for a special homemade lunch. Though we were sat down in the bar, he'd laid the tables out like a fancy dining hall with an entire chicken and a gigantic heap of polenta as a centrepiece. Of course it was delicious but the realisation that this particular chicken had previously been one of our pets weirded me out ever so slightly and I once again stuck too hard to the wine.

To help soothe the guilt we later walked up to campo to see the remaining chickens, as well as the sheep, rabbits and over-excited cats who also dwell there. As we looked down over the beautiful lake, it suddenly occurred to me that I've never been to campo and looked up. What is even up there above our land?

Minutes later we were passing through the top gate and off on a hike through the mountain woodland. There's a vague pathway drawn out but it disappears in parts and the edges narrow so much that we were often one wrong foot away from tumbling straight back down to lake level. I can't deny I was a little nervous but the view when we reached our final destination was so epic, it was worth every heartstopping step. It amazes me that after all this time, I'm still coming across new places and incredible views which I've not yet set eyes upon. This one was particularly amazing and we stayed there for a while to gaze out through the mist, just about making out the ripples in the water below. 

On our way back, we stopped briefly at an old mine which had been hand-dug centuries ago but hardly used since. We've no idea what lies in its depths now and never found out as we were forced to turn around long before reaching the end due to water flooding in. I wasn't too disappointed to tell the truth - it was definitely cool but equally creepy.

As always, my last day came around far too quickly and I was sad to find myself packing up again. After dropping Stefy at school, Dad and I walked back along the lake from Menaggio to Acquaseria enjoying the beautiful scenery and scorching sun. With no hint of a breeze, the water was calm so we took the canoe out and rowed to the beach bar in the next village along. It was so soothing and peaceful that it was impossible to comprehend being back in the rat race of London the following day. I pushed it out of my mind and downed two glasses of prosecco. 

On our way to the airport, I was strangely quiet - sad to leave and mesmerised by the sunset which I rarely get to see in Italy due to the surrounding mountains. Towards Milan, it's more visible and absoslutely stunning. 

Goodbyes are never fun but I left this time knowing it would not be long before my return. Flying to Italy for the weekend is as simple as heading to most suburbs in England and with the luxury of a beautiful place to stay, I'd be mad not to make the most of it.