My
number one new year’s resolution was to prioritise travel so it only felt
appropriate to start 2015 on foreign soil. Therefore, January 1st this
year was spent journeying across the continent along with my good friend Jorge
and the worst hangover I've ever endured. Resisting the temptation to climb
into J’s board-bag and sleep, we caught a tube, train and plane, eventually
landing in Milan a few hours later.
As
we arrived late that evening, we spent one night at my dad’s house on the lake
before heading off to Bormio, one of Italy’s
best ski resorts. Still feeling the effects of new year I slept most of the
journey, awaking to find myself completely surrounded by the stunning Italian
alps. There was not a cloud in the sky and the mountains were glistening green
in the sunshine. Yes green, not white. The lack of snow was
instantly obvious but nevertheless we
could just about make out a few dozen black dots zigzagging their way down the
mountainside.
Wasting
no time, we dropped our suitcases at the apartment and set off to join them. My
excitement gradually turned to anxiety, however, as we approached the bottom
and I realised I could barely remember the last time I’d skied, let alone how
to actually do it. ‘Please don’t be shit’, says Jorge who just so happens to be
sick at snowboarding, ‘it will be painful for me.’ Oh good, no pressure then.
To
make matters worse, my dad and Stefy decided
to sit out the first day and so I was left to the mercy (or non-mercy) of Jorge
and his snowboard which unintentionally (supposedly) led us down the World Cup
run within our first hour. With no other option, I just launched myself
downwards giving little thought to technique or what might happen if I skied
off a cliff edge. It was really fun but I was still thankful for
the distraction of a load of drunk Italians dancing on tables at a bar halfway
down. We quickly grabbed ourselves a round of drinks and joined in with their
terrible singing for a dozen or so European songs which I’m ashamed to admit I know.
Alcohol
appeared to improve my skiing, or at least my confidence, and before we knew it
we were back at the ski shop where I'd somehow become some sort of celebrity. For
reasons we never worked out (certainly not my ski skills) every
member of staff seemed to know me by name and continued to fuss over us for the
entire week. We didn’t complain.
The
following day, all four of us set off for the top together but my dad and Stefy
soon gave up on the grounds that it was far too icy. Not having the luxury of
living an hour from the Alps all year around, however, Jorge and I soldiered
on. We got a good couple of hours in before stopping for lunch at a beautiful
place midway down. With the mountains as our backdrop, we ate our way through
two gigantic pizzas and I taught Jorge his first Italian phrase of
the week: ‘vino bianco’.
Wine
became a prominent theme for the remainder of the afternoon and once we finally
reached the bottom, I was nothing short of drunk. I can only assume Jorge felt the same as he face-planted twice and fell asleep as soon as we stepped through the
apartment door. Fortunately we both perked up in time for dinner but not before I
smashed him at poker which resulted in a free lunch, the loan of his gloves, a
neck massage and a very angry Jorge. Win, win, win.
Our
penultimate day in Bormio, Dad and Stefy joined us again, this time long enough
to give me some actual lessons. I really felt like I was just getting the hang
of it when we hit a particularly icy patch and I stacked it in the most
spectacular fashion. Crackkk. Where
my skis should probably have popped off, my knee instead popped out and I ended up flat on my back with
my head facing downwards and my legs sticking up in all kinds of directions.
Within
seconds, the other three had skied over to me with their phones in hand ready
to document this epic fail. However, soon realising my initial laughter had
turned to tears, it was time for a rescue mission. I couldn’t ski, or even
really stand up, but there was zero chance of me getting on one of those bloody snow stretchers so instead I slid down one-footed to the nearest stop. Along with lunch and a litre of wine, we ordered a big bag
of ice to stop the swelling of my stupid knee.
Luckily
we’d planned to take the afternoon off skiing anyway to visit one of Bormio’s
famous thermal baths. By far the best is the authentic Roman Spa a little way
out of the centre but they were sadly booked up for the entire week and so we
had to settle for one in the heart of town. Whilst the indoor pools reminded me
a little too much of Coral Reef, it had a lovely outdoor area which was the
perfect setting to watch the sunset behind the mountain. Even so, my highlight
was probably meeting our new Italian friend in the sauna who will forever
remain in my contact list as ‘Fat Sauna Man’ (‘Whatsapp??’)
That
evening we were able to explore Bormio itself which is a beautiful town with
cobbled roads and quaint little squares. Christmas already seemed an age away
but the pine trees and fairy lights strung throughout the streets really brought
it back.
Tuesday,
I woke up to some tragic news from home so it was all a bit of a blur from
there. Not wanting to sit around in my thoughts all day, I attempted to ski but the
combination of my bad knee and teary eyes didn’t make for brilliant skiing. We
called it a day pretty early and drove back to the lake in time to book a table
at Fabio's for dinner. Nothing could have stopped me from crying that day but
the world's best pizza gave it a really good go.
Exhaustion
and emotion hit me straight on and whereas the previous day, I’d been longing
to be at home with my girlfriends who were sharing my grief, I was suddenly very thankful
to be right there on Lake Como; the most calming place on earth.
Mid-morning,
Jorge and I dragged our old canoe boat down to the water and paddled all the
way into the next village, stopping only when we reached the James Bond Villa. Taking
advantage of the winter and nobody being around, we docked up and unpacked our
picnic onto their private pier for lunch. It was incredibly peaceful – the lake
never lets me down.
After
a second lunch (eating our feelings) back at the house, we took the bikes out
to explore the next village on the opposite side. Though we intended to cycle
the regular route to the old castle, at some point I took us down a very wrong
turn and we found ourselves high up in the mountain, unable to make our way
back down to the road. Fortunately, any route along Lake Como is the scenic
route and it was beautiful regardless.
On
our final full day of the holiday, we decided to venture to St Moritz where we’d
heard whispers of real snow. Jorge drove most of the way so I was
able to sit back, relax and admire the picturesque views on either side. Speeding
through the border, we were soon in Switzerland and whilst we did indeed find
snow, we paid the price for it! Everything there from the ski pass, to the soup
dishes, were double the price of Bormio and so we held back on the wine and just
made the most of a full day skiing.
The
wine re-commenced back on the lake though as we went to Fabio’s for the second
time in three days. As it was our last night I asked for a special favour from the chef (Fabio),
ordering the Gnocchi Caruso which is no longer on the menu but really should be.
There has to be some benefits to being my dad’s daughter!
Packing
the next morning was pretty surreal. I’d been so keen to get home earlier that
week but now I was dreading it. Thousands of miles away I’d only really half
faced the reality of Hatti’s death and returning to London would make it hit
all over again, even harder. After an emotional lunch at Fabio’s (why break
tradition?) we returned to the house, stripped down into our swimwear and
plunged ourselves into the lake in literally
arctic conditions. I have no explanation for why; it just felt like the right
thing to do.
With
only a few hours left before our flight, there was still one place I wanted
Jorge to see so we took off on a walk up into the mountains. A little while
later, we arrived at our land or ‘campo’ as my dad calls it. Aside from an incredible
view, I’m never too sure exactly what I’ll find up there but this time we were
met by a tiny kitten, rabbits, chickens and two sheep. Whilst the cute little
kitten clawed at our ankles for attention, Jorge was far more interested in the
two massive sheep, soon naming them as his good friends Richard and Judy
despite them both being female and pregnant.
As
we started our descent the sun began to set, turning the entire sky pink as it
had been every evening since my beautiful friend passed.
Though the second half of the week was undeniably tough, Lake Como is always a pleasure and both Bormio and St Moritz were wonderful too. More than anything, I was so grateful to have
had Jorge, my dad and Stefy out there with me, as well as Hatti
herself who lives on continuously in my thoughts.
Though
Italy will now always remind me of Hats, that’s not a bad thing. As her boyfriend so rightfully said, ‘the things that remind me of you now and upset
me will soon remind me of you and make me smile.’ I look forward to that day,
as I’m sure you do too up there in the sky. Though we can’t guarantee dimples to match yours, we’ll be smiling again for you soon - I absolutely promise <3
