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.