Lake Como in the rain
After literally running all over Milan, waking up in Perledo was magic. Light rain patted the red tile roofs while the locals started their day, walking to work and making deliveries. The mountains were so misty they looked nearly transparent, photoshopped into the picture to give it depth. Church bells rang on the hour, which was nothing special to locals, but my rural Kentucky heart rang out with the beauty of it.
I had a (mis)adventure with the espresso machine in our kitchen that somehow ended up with a drinkable caffe doppio (double shot) despite my inexperience. Our friends are former baristas so they gave me a proper tutorial when they woke up. We took the morning slow to recover from the rush (positive and negative connotations both intended) of the day before, and ventured out for the day.
A SLIP-N-SLIDE TO LUNCH
When I woke up, our host Claudia had sent me her own personal travel guide to Perledo and Varenna, including the numbers of two taxi drivers. Naturally, once we decided where to go for lunch, we called them up. Naturally, Italy had other plans for us. Lorenza, who had driven us from the train station to the apartment the previous night, told us it was impossible, she was already booked for the entire day. Stefano didn’t answer. We had a boat tour of Lake Como booked at 2:30pm, so we needed to get down to Varenna as soon as possible if we were to eat first.
Google Maps declared it a 21 minute walk, and as it was downhill, we decided to just hoof it. I want to make a “it was all downhill from there” joke, but my legs are too sore and it wouldn’t be accurate anyway. It was more of a hike than a walk. Google did not know about the slightly dangerous combination of ancient cobblestones and moss on the pedestrian trail down to the town center along the lakeshore. It had been drizzling all morning, so the path was wet and primed to become the least-fun slip-n-slide. We made it to the bottom with aching knees, sweaty backs, and only minimal injuries, however. And each time we stopped, the view was gorgeous: the gray-blue of overcast Lake Como peeking between old houses and stone walls worn by time and weather.
At the bottom, we found our way to Alberto del Sole Ristorante & Pizzeria, where I explained that we were short on time; we had to walk so slowly that it took nearly twice as long as Google Maps had predicted to reach the harbor. They found us a table right away, and we were very quickly treated to some of the best pizza I had ever had. I had the Bufalina, which had tomato sauce, buffalo mozzarella, and basil that tasted so much more basil-y than any I had grown at home.
LIGHT RAIN WITH A 100% CHANCE OF ANOTHER ACCIDENTAL HIKE
Recovered and full, we headed down to the waterfront for our tour with Varenna Water Taxi. Luca met us in his wooden boat, which thankfully had a canvas tarp, heaters, and even phone chargers in the seating area. The rain had picked up, but Lake Como was still beautiful despite it. Luca pointed out various villas and other historic buildings in the little towns on the shore as we passed on the way to Villa del Balbianello.
At the Villa, we were dropped off at a dock that was little more than a step on the side of a cliff and told to be back in an hour and a half. Our tour guide for the villa met us and guided us through the throngs of people; FAI, the Italian agency responsible for caring for certain historical sites, had managed to book double the amount of tours typically set for our time slot. The “walk” to the highest point of the villa was steep and easily winded us. When we caught up to our guide, she tartly thanked us for joining her, then proceeded to give an excellent tour of the property.
The advantage of starting with the hardest part of the tour was that the rest was easy walking. We started at a terrace overlooking the garden where Daniel Craig as James Bond recovered from his injuries in Casino Royale and where Anakin and Padme had their secret wedding. The Villa itself was fascinating, built in the late 1700s and renovated by wealthy American mountaineer Guido Monzino and left to the FAI for preservation as a museum for his collections. The renovations were done in the 1970s and 80s, but the underlying structure still nods to its centuries-old roots, including coved ceilings and floor murals where an old church was incorporated. Perhaps the most fascinating part, other than the beauty of the grounds, was the museum Mr. Monzino made in his lifetime to honor the efforts of his team members in their adventures, including expedition photos from climbing Mount Everest and the wooden dog sled he used to arrive at the North Pole.
WOULD YOU LIKE A COFFEE? A PROSECCO?
On the boat ride back to Varenna, we traded travel tips with the two other members of our tour group, both Americans. They were following a similar route to ours, but going in the opposite direction. We chatted so long with them that the boat had docked and Luca popped his head back in with a very European teasing-but-also-not, “I’m glad you’re enjoying my boat. Can I offer you a coffee? A prosecco?” to remind us that our tour was over and it was time to go. In Italian culture, you will never be rushed out from a restaurant table, but anyone else has no problem hurrying you along, especially taxi drivers and tour guides, it seems.
Coffee and Prosecco were not on the menu (yet), but a lovely little gelato shop near the dock had caught our eye. It was little more than a cold case set into a wall, so we stood nearby to eat our cones. The rain was light drizzle, but it was the least of our concerns as we savored our gelato. As a first foray into that classic Italian treat, we couldn’t have chosen a better place. I had mirtillo (blueberry) which tasted so wildly different and wonderful that I didn’t even recognize the flavor until I found out the translation; all I knew was that I wanted more of whatever flavor I had sampled. Italian blueberry tastes much more tart and bright than any I have had in the United States.
MORE HELPFUL ITALIANS AND A DINNER “FOR THE MEMORIES”
Sated with gelato, we set out to find a ride back up the mountain to Perledo. As our taxi boat had arrived back at the port, we were able to take in just how far we had climbed down to Varenna and had zero desire to attempt a trek back up the slippery cobbles. I called both of the phone numbers Claudia had provided for taxi drivers and got a “no, but thanks for checking” and a “no, I’m very sorry” (which was paired with a successful booking to take us to the train in the morning, so not a waste of time). Signs around town listed a couple of other numbers, which offered no answer and my favorite response, which was “HA! IMPOSSIBLE!” a quick end of the call. Apparently there are no more than four taxis in Varenna and Perledo, and they are all incredibly overbooked; if you go, make sure to know your arrival/departure times for all of your adventures so you can book ahead.
Taxiless, we wandered up to the train station, where the apologetic taxi driver Stefano had suggested we might have some luck. The sign by the taxi stop there only listed the numbers that we had already tried, and there were several more groups waiting for pickups. We noticed a bus stop in the parking lot, however. When a bus appeared a few minutes later, I approached the driver to ask where he was going.
The bus driver was the opposite of the taxi drivers (excluding Stefano, of course, who was genuinely nice). I mangled my Italian so badly that a kindly lady asked me in Spanish, “Dear, are you speaking Spanish? I can help.” The three of us carried on our conversation in a blend of the three languages and determined that, yes, the bus went where we wanted to go, and even better, the bus driver was willing to wait for us to run back and purchase tickets.
After a brief interlude where various passengers and the drivers tried to ascertain whether they knew our AirBNB host (they did, but by name only, it turned out), I went to collect the rest of our party and purchase tickets. Evidently, the bus driver was very concerned about the ability of the woman who could barely navigate Italian transit systems (in my defense, I was very tired and my Italian had gotten worse as the day went on), and followed me to the tourist office to make sure I purchased the right tickets.
Once on the bus, we climbed the steep road to Perledo in a way that made our calves MUCH happier. We recognized our apartment and a passenger that had let me know he knew which building we needed to go to gestured for us to get off after him. We chatted a little while walking the same way, and asked about the two restaurants Claudia had recommended in Perledo. He confessed that even though Bar Milano was owned by friends, La Fonte was a better choice if you wanted “to make the memory” while in Perledo.
We parted ways and went back to the apartment to hang the laundry we had washed out to dry (with the assistance of a hair dryer for thicker items), and I was able to acquire a reservation for us at La Fonte for 7:00 pm.
The man in the orange jacket was right. La Fonte was indeed a great restaurant “for the memories.” We walked 15 minutes up the hill to get there (it was only two corners away but the switchback roads are almost as steep as the pedestrian trail) and arrived early for our reservation. The hostess informed us that we were welcome to go ahead and sit at our table and order aperitivos (pre-dinner drinks), and she would be back around at our actual reservation time to give us the menu.
You might assume that was just a grammatical error, as I did, but you would be wrong. The menu at La Fonte, which you will see if you Google images of the restaurant, is a large chalkboard sign that they prop on a chair near the table that is next in line to order. It is very helpfully written in English on one side, although some words are transliterated; frutta di mare for example was translated word-for-word Sea Fruits, rather than seafood. Not uncommon, but it occasionally takes a little imagination or questioning the waitress to understand exactly what the dishes contain.
The man in the orange jacket was right. La Fonte really was a great choice “to make the memory” in Perledo. We tried a variety of dishes, including pizzochere, a local “black” pasta (which was really gray) with potatoes, cabbage, butter, and cheese, reflecting Perledo’s regional proximity to Germany and Switzerland. The best by far was the rabbit stew, which was cooked to tenderness in a red sauce with some sort of wine in it and came served with fried slices of polenta reminiscent of a patty of Thanksgiving dressing. Dessert, a slice of apple tart, was also wonderful.
We walked back down the street to our apartment, grateful to be going downhill in the cool night air. We needed to get up very early the next morning to catch our train to Venice for our two half-days in the city. I made sure to stretch my sore legs plenty before bed after a very hot shower so I didn’t end up walking like a wind-up monkey in the morning.
Favorite thing of the day: mirtelli gelato
Least favorite thing of the day: the continuing shortage of taxi drivers in Italy, or our bad luck in obtaining them
Distance walked: 4.2 miles
Steps: 10,471
Flights climbed: 21 (ouch)
