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. 

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. 

Lake Life: Lago di Como

It’s true that there really is no place like home and I'm fortunate enough to have two of them. Whilst I've lived most of my life on the outskirts of London, my dad was born and raised on the Lake Como and has now retired back to the village in which he grew up. When I say 'on the lake' I mean it literally. The family house is less than a few steps from the water's edge and each time I wake up to that beautiful view, I wonder how on earth I've resisted relocating myself. 

When I was younger we'd spend entire summers on the lake and so this place holds hundreds of happy memories for me. However it's only in more recent years that I've come to truly appreciate its beauty. Whilst as a child I’d judged the place purely based on its potential for activity, I now find that admiring the stunning scenery has become a full time activity in itself. 

It was late when we stepped off the train from Rome but even through the darkness I could sense we were home. The evening air was refreshingly cool and the scent of the lake was brought to me through the breeze. Breathing in deeply, I felt my chest slowly rise and a calming smile spread across my cheeks. Lago di Como; home. 

Whilst the rest of the world accelerates forwards, life on Lake Como maintains its slow pace. From the cracked paint of the terracotta houses, to the ice-cream flavours sold at the only gelateria in town; nothing here ever changes. It’s been a whole year since I visited last but I don’t expect any surprises. Fabio will still be conjuring his magic in the stone oven pizzeria; Franco will still be serving limoncellos at the bar. (It’s for this reason these establishments aren’t known as their real names. They’re not Creme Caramel or Zanzibar; they’re Fabio’s and Franco’s.)

Perhaps if things were different I wouldn’t feel so at home. Certainly, when I left London for a year I returned as an alien but I’m confident that with Lake Como, even after a decade I’d slot straight back in. There’s a real comfort in knowing there’s somewhere you’ll always belong. 

The next morning I couldn't wait to draw back the curtains and take my first look at the lake glistening in the sunshine. The mountains which surround it are just as beautiful, standing grandly like a fortress which protects the hamlets within. Though fearsome to some, they're familiar to me and I love to stare up at them, wondering all the time who may be gazing back. 

To my horror, it was raining! My dad had warned me that they'd had the worst summer on record but my mind had refused to make the connection between this place and rain. However, whether it was my persistent positive thinking or simply a stroke of luck, it had cleared by lunch time and the forecast had changed to show a warm few days ahead. Thank goodness; the whole world is a lot prettier with a little bit of sunshine. 

Making the most of the improvement in weather, we marched straight outside and walked up to Campo, my dad's small farm up in the mountain. Each year I visit, there seem to be new animals around and this time it was two tiny kittens which came bounding down the hillside like bunny rabbits as soon as they saw us at the gates. They're abnormally small but absolutely gorgeous and I immediately abandoned all ideas of helping my dad, to stop and play with my new friends for an hour. 

From high up on the hillside, the view from Campo is simply stunning. There's a house up there which is currently uninhabitable but is another item on the Pelizzari project list. One day when the road reaches our patch of land, I would love to open a B&B. In reality it will require a lot of hard work but at the moment I have the perfect vision; serving breakfast on the terrace overlooking the lake, with fresh fruit from the garden, eggs from the chickens and strong Italian coffee to start every day. 

Back down at lake level (and with my head out the clouds), we took the kayaks out for a spin. Unfortunately, I spun far more than I intended! Even when the lake is calm, it’s difficult to keep the boats straight and I found a special talent for turning around. Eventually, however, I seemed to grasp the hang of it and we paddled all the way into the next village. Though a bit of work out, it was still incredibly relaxing as we stopped regularly to admire the beautiful villas along the lake front.

That evening we realised that I’d been in Italy for five days and had not yet had a pizza; such shameful behaviour had to be fixed! Fortunately for us, the best pizza in the whole of Italy (all biases aside) can be found at the restaurant two minutes from our house.  This guy really is something else. The pizzas he serves are the largest I’ve ever seen and yet we still always come away wanting more. They’re so, so delicious and a fraction of the price of good pizza in London (if such a thing even really exists.)

One of the most wonderful things about Italy is that I can justify eating three massive meals a day, not only because the food is too good not to, but also because it can be easily counteracted with a beautiful walk, cycle, swim or row in the great outdoors! This week we chose to climb Mount Grona which is a relatively easy hike to the 1,736 metre peak.

Even from midway up, it offers breathtaking views out across the lake and the villages below. Through our binoculars, we could make out the road above our house and even see people (which we presumably know) sitting outside at the bar. Fortunately we took a few photographs at this level because by the time we reached the top we’d become completely engulfed within a cloud. Though we should have been able to see for miles around, we were faced with nothing but a wall of white. Nevertheless, we were pleased to have made it and cracked out the hip flask for a celebratory swig.

My first few days on Lake Como have been amazing and I’m so thankful to have another two weeks left to go. It’s the first time in a long time that I’ll have spent more than a few days here and I’m looking forward to settling properly into life on the lake. To make it even more exciting, some of the girls are flying out to join me and I can’t wait to share this loveliness with them!