A Trip to Eataly

The moment I passed my probation at my new workplace, I stepped straight out of the office and onto a plane. Having not been allowed to take holiday for my first three months, I couldn't want to break the cabin fever and travel again. I also couldn't wait for a rest so it seemed sensible to make my first stop Lake Como, which conveniently happens to be both my dad's home and the most relaxing place on Earth. 

That is, when you're not setting an alarm for 4am to go mushroom picking. 

This ever-so-unrelaxing activity wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my first day of holiday but having recently developed an intrigue in the Italian side of my family's fascination with mushrooms, I appreciated the invite to tagalong. 

For the twenty-five years which preceded this curiosity, I'd pretty much just written them off as insane and as we clambered up the steep mountain terrain, fighting through the brambles in complete darkness, I was quite sure I'd been right all along. Surely I'll never find any if I can't see? Or even worse, I'll pick one that's poisonous! 

When I did, however, find my first porcini it was nothing short of momentous. Never have I ever experienced such parental pride from my dad; my university graduation, multiple championship wins, even my very entry into this world, all of which he was there to witness, felt overwhelmingly insignificant in comparison. The enormity of the mushroom just about matched the size of the smile on his face and my own sense of achievement as I ripped it from the ground and held it up to the sky. 

I was one hundred percent hooked and my enthusiasm only grew in the hours that followed (and we were there for hours.) I suddenly felt like the mad one for not jumping on this craze years ago. Who wouldn't enjoy this? It's essentially a treasure hunt for adults and a lot of fun!

Only once we found our baskets, backpacks and every available body part overflowing with mushrooms did we finally call it a day. Back at the house, Dad and Stefy got straight to work cleaning and slicing our winnings whilst, I on the other hand, went straight back to bed. Hours later, my rumbling stomach woke me and the strong fumes of the drying fungi filled my nostrils. Tip-toeing over and around the dozens of racks which now filled every corner of the house, I went to find my dad, Stefy and their friend Claudio who was staying with us for a few days. 

The four of us decided to toast our success at Cantina Follie, a beautiful wine bar in Tremezzo which specialises in cheese and meat boards. I devoured far too much before realising that this was only the aperitivo and we still had pizza on the menu for later in Santa Maria. Having been to Italy more times than I can count, you'd think I'd have learnt by now but perhaps it's a subconscious decision not to. Contented in my food coma, I retired to bed relatively early that evening, soothed by the sound of the waves lapping outside my window. Bliss. 

A far less welcoming sound woke me the next morning; the cat, scratching persistently on my bedroom door. She wanted to be let out and despite virtually every window in the house being open, insisted she leave in a more dignified manner suited to the absolute princess that she is. It was 5am and as far as I was concerned, we were no longer friends. Unfortunately, the feeling wasn't mutual (or perhaps it was?) but either way, she came clambering back at 6am, this time clawing against another closed window to crawl back into bed with me. I was destined never to have a lie in. 

Wide awake, I suggested a long walk through the mountains to fill our now rather extended morning. It was a cloudy start to the day though, so rather than climbing too high we instead meandered through the hamlets above our own village, covering a long distance but ascending slowly. 

Despite the lack of sleep, I felt entirely relaxed. There's something about this place which is almost enchanting in the way it draws you into its slow pace of life and makes you appreciate the moment for what it is. There are few occasions in life that I can vividly remember being able to simply stop and breathe but the majority all seem to be here. 

By the time we reached San Martino, the skies had cleared and we were awarded our view after all. We enjoyed a late lunch and a well-deserved carafe of red wine before making our way back down. As it was Claudio's last night with us, there was no question of where we'd be taking him; Fabio's, of course. Without so much as glancing at the menu I ordered a melanzane pizza and left the drinks  order to my dad (which is always a safe bet.) 

We drank enough at the restaurant to know that we'd be continuing back home and the four of us (plus the cat) stayed up way into the early hours putting the world to right over whiskey and Nutella. We spoke of love and war and everything in-between, and when we'd exhausted conversation, we sung of it instead. Claudio, a psychiatrist by day but musician by night, whipped out his guitar and treated us to an entire set of Italian classics before taking requests. I was pleased to be able to then singalong in my mother tongue. 

For my final full day, we'd booked tickets to the World Expo which is held in a different city every four years and focuses on a current affair. This year, it was held in Milan and the theme was food! Absolute win. 

Considering I fly to Milan so regularly, I've spent very little time in the city so we made the most of the trip and travelled in early to explore. The metro took us to the main square which is home to the grand cathedral. It looked stunning with the backdrop of the bright blue sky and kept our attention for quite some time before moving on into the heart of the capital. 

Surrounded by Milan locals, I suddenly felt incredibly under-dressed. Every street is a catwalk runway with perfectly styled mannequins poised in the front row. The shop windows scream expensive but the in the classiest of whispers behind the marble stone frames. 

I could easily have stood for hours in the midst of Milan simple people watching, but it was time to head to the expo. The first room we entered introduced the concept of food from around the world; where it comes from, how it's processed and what's produced in each region. There was a strong focus on World Hunger and the fact that there's sufficient food to feed the entire population if only it were distributed more evenly. We now produce 17% more food per person than we did 30 years ago and yet close to 1 billion go to bed hungry every night. 

With that in mind, what followed felt a tad oxymoronic. The rest of the park was filled with exhibitions from every country in the world from America, to Burma, to Iran and Papa New Guinea. Each nation had been allocated a plot of land to represent their cuisine however they pleased and the results were quite astounding. The UK had chosen to focus on their production of honey and constructed a giant beehive from honeycomb laced fairy lights. In Malaysia we found an interactive rainforest, in China an impressive fountain display, in Brazil an assault course, and in the USA a grand entrance of glittering stars and lights. Of course Italy had the largest space of all to play with and had a mini village called 'Eataly' filled with all the best restaurants and an epic Nutella bar. 

With so much on offer, we were cautious not to commit to any one cuisine so picked up little bits from as many countries as we could. It was all divine and whilst it was served with a twinge of guilt on the side, all profits were at least donated to charity to help fight World Hunger. 

As always, it was a fantastic trip and I was very sad to leave.  For me, I suppose Italy is a break without the hectic planning of a real holiday and a home without the responsibilities of real life; for me, it's perfect. 

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. 

Skiing, Sadness & Smiles - 2015

My number one new year’s resolution was to prioritise travel so it only felt appropriate to start 2015 on foreign soil. Therefore, January  1^st 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

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.)

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.