La bella Varenna

[Notes from our short trip to Northern Italy the weekend past.]

May 27, 2011: Varenna, Lake Como, Italy

I'm writing this on a balcony, looking across Lake Como at the town of Bellagio, while classical music that I know, but can't name (Dvořák?), plays in a villa further down the coast. [The Wedding March could be heard a bit later, so I thought the first piece might also be Mendelssohn. Now that I'm home and fiddling, I know it was Bach's Air on the G String, at a point past that distinctive harpsichord.]

I am so happy to be here. So happy the ash cloud moved along. We had some rough weather coming into Malpensa airport, but the torrents didn't even last our whole bus ride to Milan.

Now... Well, now, it's just gorgeous.

Our train, in Varenna

We met a lovely older lady on the train to Varenna. She was very curious about two Canadians traveling there, but unfortunately my Italian wasn't up to the explanation.

This is the best view I've ever had from a hotel room or apartment. Ever. (And we booked it at the last minute at a little more than €200 per night.)

San Giorgio, Varenna

There goes the church bell. I'm almost giddy. [And a bit disjointed. What's with all these new paragraphs?] The sound of the lake lapping at the shore, the birdsong... Where could the locals possibly vacation? [I was reading Beppe Severgnini's La Bella Figura at the time, and he says Italians go abroad simply to reaffirm that they have it the best.]

The sun is filtering through the slowly dissipating clouds, down on the heavily forested mountain face; stunning. We came through so many tunnels on the train journey here. (Jules, Dev would love this place! Mountains in the foreground, snowcapped Alps at the horizon. Sigh.)

The hotel stocks Menabrea 150° Anniversario, "the flagship" of Forst (according to one of my beer books), in the mini-bar; nice touch. There's also a little grocery store across the street. Loving the Royal Victoria so far.

Parts of Milan reminded us both of Naples. Getting Severgnini's perspective on the same route, from Malpensa to Milan, was a treat, particularly when informed by Solly's take on Italians: I finished his book, The Xenophobe's Guide to the Italians, on the flight over.

10:00 p.m.

After the storm

Such an entertaining storm earlier! Stayed in the room, popping out for snaps of the scene, long past supper time. Eventually went out to our little grocery, and then to the pizzeria/hotel across the street, Albergo del Sole. There was a big family ahead of us, but it was well worth the wait. It's clearly a favourite with the locals: they moved a Reserved sign to a different table for one couple; the guy immediately went back to the kitchen to say hello. And it's cheap too: our appetizer, wine and pizzas only came to €32! We left a big tip, in case they made a mistake, as we'll definitely be back.

* * *

May 29, 2011

The view from our balcony

We're taking it easy today, beside the pool. It looks out over the lake to Bellagio. There's barely a cloud in the sky, again.

I was just saying to Tea that, in idle moments, I'm still trying to categorize this place. And failing. The view outside our window, off our balcony, convinces me we're cruising the Mediterranean each morning. This outdoor space reminds me of a resort, if only in my desire to stay on the property and relax -- no resort I've stayed at could hope to replicate these sights and this solace.

Yesterday, we took a slower ferry down to Como; it was about a two-hour journey. (You can take a faster one that will get you there in less than half the time, by paying a supplement.) It was so relaxing. Almost too much so: I nodded off in my seat, a cat in a sunbeam, and burned my thighs and forearms. (I'm writing this in the shade. Tenderly.)

On the ferry to Como

And such sights! We must've passed twenty towns on the way down, stopping at close to a dozen of them. The combination of the brightly painted houses -- just like the outport communities back home in Newfoundland -- the heavily forested mountainsides, the terraced gardens, the single belfry of each community, and the crew chatting in Italian behind us was pure bliss.

We heard a lady behind us comment on the water being too rough for her boat, so she and her husband decided to take the ferry to Cernobbio (two stops before Como) to meet friends for lunch instead. I cannot imagine living here, or how calm the water must typically be if that is considered rough.

We were hungry by the time we docked in Como, and so set about finding a restaurant. Nothing could be simpler in Como. We were soon sat on a shaded patio across from the amazing Duomo (Cathedral). Tea had a delicious bellini with her pizza, while I had a piadina -- unleavened Italian bread folded over like a wrap -- with cured beef, goat's cheese and chicory; a fantastic combination.

We then wandered the streets -- very much like Florence, I found, particularly around the Duomo -- and open-air markets, before taking the fast ferry back as far as Bellagio. It was so fast, compared with the morning. I dozed again, below deck this time, thankfully. The biggest surprise was that Tea didn't need to take any motion sickness medication, as it was a rough ride at times, as we crossed others' wakes.

The Duomo, in Como

Bellagio is beautiful, but for your money, staying in Varenna or Menaggio and taking day trips over has to be the way to do it. Still, at no point did I feel like I was dabbling my toes in the pool of my betters: Tea got gelato at the oldest gelateria in town (from the turn of the century, no less), and we enjoyed drinks on a patio later, right down by the lake -- at no point was anyone anything less than warm, friendly and helpful.

We were enjoying ourselves so much that we missed the last passenger ferry to Varenna. No matter. We caught a car ferry back shortly thereafter. And what a view, pulling in as the last of the day's light hit our beautiful town. (Ours for the weekend, anyway.)

We stopped for supper shortly after docking, as we figured we wouldn't leave our room again if we went straight back: the local wine we bought in Bellagio, Sant'Andrea Valtellina Superiore, from the north, and a special harvest of grapes on the thirtieth of November each year -- for a mere €17 -- was calling our names.

Waiting for the ferry in Bellagio

Vecchi Varenna caught our eye with its inspired, confident menu, and then rewarded us with such good, beautifully-presented food and friendly wait staff. Add to this their passion for serving locally sourced food from a menu they change monthly, and I absolutely cannot recommend this place enough. The prices are even reasonable. I defy anyone to correctly guess their bill based on Vecchi Varenna's fantastic location, down by the water, and the calibre of their food -- both its taste and presentation. Honestly, it felt like a glimpse of the life of the rich and famous -- as I imagine it, anyway -- all for €85 (which included excellent wine, starters and dessert).

Pulling into Varenna

At the risk of boring you, dear reader, one final point: an Italian family with two young children came in partway through our meal. Later, as Tea and I wondered what the children would eat off the (largely lake-fish based) menu, they came out with meals made especially for them. At no point was it a big production, for them or the wait staff. And the little ones were nibbling off their parents' plates of local delicacies to boot. Such a contrast to the chaos of the large British party at Albergo del Sole the other night; their staff were saints for what they put up with.

10:30 p.m.

We weren't out and about for long before we settled on a lakeside cafe for another break. Over rosé, bruschetta, prosciutto and melon, and pizza (topped with the most exquisite mushrooms), we watched the world pass by.

Cuppa Fruita

A woman in a bikini, rowing nowhere quickly, puzzled us. I'd almost accepted Tea's theory of a fisherwoman -- "Does anyone actually work in a bikini?" I wondered -- when she tied up to a buoy a bit out from shore and proceeded to lay out for a few hours. I guess that's one way to stake your claim on a sunbeam. As Tea enjoyed her enormous 'cuppa fruita' -- "Do you want to share?" should've been a hint at its size, but Tea persevered -- the sunbather called it a day, expertly guiding her boat in.

At this point, Tea decides she wants to hike up the quarter mile to Castillo di Vezio. An Aussie couple we met partway up let me know how it could be worse: their hiking epiphany came after three bottles of rosé.

Such a view! Probably the most spectacular we've been treated to to date. It recalls memories of our drive through the Alps last year, but then add the lake beside them, train tunnels between the two, brightly-coloured roofs all 'round, and the quaint -- particularly from this height -- Varenna, with its belfry, below us. And the cherry on top was the sun setting on another gorgeous day.

After quickly freshening up at the hotel, it was back out to the attached restaurant for yet more pizza -- Tea concluded it was the best so far -- wine, and, to finish, our first taste of grappa.

* * *

May 30, 2011

Another piercing blue sky. I'm on our balcony (again), fascinated by the variety of birds that live around here; and even right above me now, in the roof of our hotel. One species in particular has captured my imagination: they're small and dark, with what seems to be a splash of white at their throats. The odd bit, in my mind, however, is their movements: I mistook them for bats yesterday evening, the flit of their wings is so quick and free from visible feathers.

And then there's their cry: easily twice them, so strong and sharp, like a falcon's. They don't seem to go far, but circle our hotel and call out to one another. I've spent so long trying to get a decent shot of one -- without success -- but oh, how they surround my head with flapping and screams the moment I sit down to pen this. Clearly I amuse them.

[Subsequent discussions, and a flip through Collins Bird Guide, suggest that they were a species of swift, because they never seemed to land in that roof nest and their voice matches the description to a T. Thanks, Katy!]

Speaking of amusement, I think the cleaning staff got a good chuckle from us. Tea heard them laughing and whispering outside our door this morning when they found our homemade sign. (We didn't have a "Do not disturb" sign when we checked in, and kept having the Italian, non-English-speaking maids come in on us in the mornings.) I'm pretty sure the translation of our sign would be closer to "No trouble, please," like we feared being held up by gunslingers each morn.

At least they replaced it with a proper one.

2:00 p.m.

In the gardens of the Villa Monastero

Enjoying some wine -- a pinot grigio for Tea and Villa Sandi prosecco for me -- in the cafe of the Villa Monastero. It's amazing what the waiter can offer from these limited facilities; my gnocchi is delicious, and Tea says the Torta Santa Honore is heavenly; like a roulade.

What a way to spend the day. Before this, we wandered the gardens of the Hotel Villa Cipressi, and dipped our toes in the lake from a (very secluded) public access.

5:00 p.m.

The beach outside our hotel

The gardens continued well down the coast. So beautiful. By the time we're up and back, however, the heat was getting to us. Our hotel pool called.

So cool. "Like swimming in a glass of water," is how I put it; no chlorine to speak of, and unheated. Sipping our Sant'Andrea poolside now, dozing off. There's talk of seeing the boardwalk in Menaggio later, or maybe tomorrow.

* * *

May 31, 2011

Definitely a muted feel to the morning. Like we've had a four-day party and this is the morning after, is how Tea put it. Strikes close to the mark, I'd say.

* * *

We're at Varenna's station now, waiting for our train to Milan. Thick black smoke blanketed the area as we started up the hill from town; looked like the station was in flames. We got the tracks in view in time to see an old-fashioned steam-powered locomotive leaving with its load. Incredible. That's a sound from film and recordings for me.

Hard to believe this is a travel day. Started walking by the lakeside, watching swans and ducks pick at yesterday's bread, discarded in the water from nearby restaurants. Then we got the ferry to Menaggio and walked its lovely boardwalk for a bit. When we got hungry, we stopped for a fantastic lunch on the lakeside patio of the Hotel Bellavista.

In Menaggio

We even caught the ferry back to Varenna in time to enjoy a glass of wine on the waterfront. Such a relaxing day -- in spite of the prospect of driving from Gatwick looming ahead of us.

* * *

On the bus now. Ah, Milan Centrale; such grandeur and beauty. It, and our train -- so, so old -- inspire romance. Well, and the kids sneaking kisses around the corners. Severgnini likes the noise of the trains, and the open windows -- for precious ventilation -- certainly permit a cacophony. He also warns us to reject this romanticism, though.

* * *

Antipasti at the Bellavista

An old man preps for surgery in the toilet. A young woman pumps her arms to an unheard beat -- to squeals of delight from the other end of her Facetime et al. conversation, judging by her smile -- half a bottle of wine to one side.

Malpensa airport is alive.

Speaking of wine, to sit down in a restaurant, and enjoy a delicious red -- oh, the wine we've had on this trip! -- and al dente pasta sounds about as far from the airport experience as one could get. And yet, here it is; able to support the number of travelers around me and then some.

These Italians are on to something: why deprive yourself, even if you have somewhere to be? There's always time.

* * *

[We've been home a few days now. Time enough to realize what an amazing trip we had; honestly, probably my favourite one to date.

The drive back was tiring and a bit stressful -- largely thanks to the closure of the A417 near Cirencester and subsequent detour to the M5 -- but, oh, the sights we saw. To have the Alps, but also the feeling that you're by the sea -- it doesn't feel like a lake -- checks two of my top-five boxes. Then to have that food, that wine and that weather... Paradise.

As usual, we have a Picasa album with more pictures from the trip. Tea has an album on Facebook as well.]

Hay-on-Wye: Book town of Wales (and my heart)

Walking in on Friday, we decided it was time for another mini-break. That evening we booked The Swan in Hay-on-Wye for following night. While the weather the next morning wasn't as good as the forecast, it steadily improved as we made our way west. Only fog awaited us as we checked in early and set about exploring Hay.

With rain threatening, we kept the walk short, down by the lively Wye river. Benches dedicated to fellow lovers of the British countryside could be seen all along the trail, and we took advantage of one part-way, enjoying the view and those smells you only get near fast-moving water.

The reviews Tea had read said the Swan's food was a bit poncey, and the fab Blue Boar was just across the road to boot, so guess where we ended up for lunch. Their food was excellent -- a beef burger for Tea and cottage pie (think shepherd's pie) for me -- and while their namesake IPA was a bit bland, the Landlord more than made up for it.

Bellies full, it was time to see what Hay is famous for: books, books and more books. I've never seen so many shops in such a small town. And some of them are so specialized -- on botany and ornithology, children's books, nineteenth century British authors... Honestly, that's three different bookshops -- you wonder how they can survive. In a word, or phrase, Hay Festival: tens of thousands of visitors flood the town with one thought on their mind: reading.

I won't bore you with my amazing finds -- including the ones I left on the shelves; it's easy to spend well in excess of a thousand pounds on one book, in case you're wondering why I wouldn't satisfy my every whim -- but the highlight of the day was certainly the illustrated edition of Voltaire's Candide by Peter Pauper Press, hardcover in a slipcase. Beautiful!

We decided to rest up a bit before supper. Back in the hotel room, I took in some of the FA Cup fifth round play, very impressed with how non-league Crawley Town fared against Man U. -- that's right: a team effectively four leagues below the team at the top of the Premier League, and, in the end, they were beaten by but one goal. Incredible.

We'd heard the Old Black Lion was the best restaurant in town, and we were lucky enough to get a table without a reservation... Just. The locals were so friendly, first offering us their seats while we waited for a table, and then one gentleman finished early, taking his digestif to the pub area, so that we might have his table sooner. Such a great atmosphere, before I even touch on the fabulous food: a T-bone steak for Tea, and a starter of duck, followed by braised lamb shank for me; superb! Plus, they had the Wye Valley's own Butty Bach on hand-pump! Love that stuff.

The next morning, after a big, tasty full English at the Swan, it was out for a proper hike, south toward the Hay Bluff. The weather was great again, but it had rained overnight, making it easily our muddiest walk to date. Thank goodness for wellies, is all I have to say; well, thank that and balance I summoned from the depths, hauling one boot out while another sank up to my shin, over and over again for a stretch. And I was grinnin' like an idiot, brought back thirty years in one afternoon.

The pig farm was another highlight: these big sows snuffling over to the fence (thinking we had food, no doubt) and scratching themselves on saplings the size of my forearm. Oh, and I can't forget the wee lambs, still trying to master the trick of standing up for seconds at a time. And if walking through all these farms doesn't give you a flavour for life here, every farmhouse we passed had a stool out front with cartons of their eggs and a tin for the money. Stepping back in time would approximate the feeling for some, I guess, but I've never known life like this. Period. It's heaven to me; plain and simple.

After a light lunch at the Blue Boar -- why mess with a good thing? -- it was time for more shopping. I had visions of popping 'round to many different shops, but that was before we entered the phenomenon of Hay Cinema Bookshop. It's pretty much a TARDIS. An old converted theatre, it just keeps going on and on, gobbling up afternoons like kids' sweets. Again, I won't bore you with all that made up our two shopping bags' full. For me, the highlights were N. C. Wyeth's Pilgrims, and a beautiful edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, illustrated by Peter Weevers (although Tea also got some great photography manuals).

The day quickly getting away from us, we decided to hit the road. We still wanted to stop in Ross-on-Wye on the way back, and by the smaller roads that really shouldn't be travelled after sunset. 'Cause it was on the map, we did take one detour: to Arthur's Stone, dented by the elbow of a giant slain by Arthur, according to legend. The kids who were biking away as we arrived didn't seem so impressed, jumping up 'n' down on the neolithic burial chamber moments before. (I leave the mutters and grumblings of "no respect..." and "tanned hides..." as an exercise for the reader.)

We caught the last of the light as we pulled off at Ross-on-Wye. We'll definitely be back, as some of the walks beside the river looked absolutely idyllic. As it was, we stopped in The Mail Rooms for a few pints -- New Moon is an excellent dark, incidentally -- and tea for Tea. When we learned they'd run out of Sunday roast -- of any sort! -- it was down to the Seven Seas for kebabs; super messy, but delish!

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the weekend.

Oxford, Woodstock and Blenheim Palace

After a quick trip home for a wedding, it was time to get back to our local excursions. We needed a bit of down time -- Saturday was a lazy day browsing Moss Books, followed by the awesomeness of Scott Pilgrim vs. The World -- but struck out for Oxford nice 'n' early on Sunday. We'd booked a night at the Cotswold Lodge, which, while nice, caught our eye because it had a private parking lot. Parking in Oxford is both difficult and expensive, so this was key to us enjoying the day, and, more importantly, the evening we'd planned at Jamie's Italian.

We had time to wander around the Bodleian Library and one of the many covered markets before a light rain started to fall. That gave us the perfect excuse for an early lunch at the White Horse pub, nestled between the enormous Blackwell bookshop. (More on that playground shortly.) Two delicious Sunday roasts, some homemade apple and strawberry pie, and a few pints later, we were ready to face the elements again. Only the strong winds had carried the rain off for the moment; a trend that, as luck would have it, continued throughout much of the afternoon.

At the White Horse

We then made our way toward the Cherwell River, where the punting is like a little slice of Venice. After laughing at the silly Brits struggling with their poles, we wandered past the colleges of Merton and Christ Church before heading back to the covered markets for more shopping -- and some refreshments at Ben's Cookies; not to be missed! The rain started to pick up again at that point, so we headed to Blackwell for some sheltered exploration.

Christ Church College

Well, what to say about that place... The basement floor has a horizon, it extends so far. Nooks, crannies and staircases abound, lending it a fabulous air of adventure. But the best part has to be the second-hand room. It's tucked away in the sweltering attic; not that I noticed, grinning from ear to ear as the sweat rolled down my temples. I wish more shops set aside such a section.

The sun was out to stay as Blackwell closed, so we decided to pass some time in one of the recommended pubs we'd passed, the Lamb and the Flag, before seeking out what we knew would be a highlight of the trip, Jamie's Italian. And it didn't disappoint. We had many of the same things we've come to love there -- the antipasti board and selection of breads chief amongst them -- as well as a new favourite: lemon polenta cake. It's probably one of the best desserts I've ever had; just the right sweetness, wonderful texture... M'm...

Then it was back to the hotel. We had a nice lie-in the next day before heading to Woodstock, with a plan to spend the afternoon walking the grounds of Blenheim Palace. After a full English breakfast at Vickers, we were so taken with Woodstock that we just wandered for a bit. The Oxfordshire Museum had a superheroes exhibit on, which I had to check out, before we moved the car to the Palace grounds proper.

"You won't like me when I'm angry!"

The tickets were a bit pricey, but certainly worth it. It seemed to be a really popular destination -- whether because of the car show on the grounds that day or simply the bank holiday weekend, we couldn't tell -- but we still had great swathes of the walk around the lake to ourselves. After exploring the Churchill exhibit -- he was born at Blenheim Palace -- and the state rooms, it was time for some cream tea. (Well, I had coffee.) Sitting out amongst the gardens was lovely... except for the hornets. They took great delight in swarming over Tea's little pot of jam. It was only as we finished up our hastily-consumed snack that I noticed another of those pots nearby, clean as a whistle. I don't imagine it took them long to leave ours in the same state.

Up next: the Lake District

A last hurrah in Londinium

For Kae's last weekend here, we decided to spend it in London – a day or so beforehand. Thank goodness for lastminute.com: you can book a bunch of stuff there, and with hotels, you can get a great deal; the catch is you won't know exactly where you're staying until you pay.

It worked better than we could've imagined, giving us a great discount at this really posh hotel, The Grange St. Paul's, in the shadow of the beautiful St. Paul's Cathedral. I mean, I don't think we'll ever stay at a place like that in London again: you get your own plush slippers and robe, every room has this amazing spa bathroom, the smoked salmon in their continental breakfast just melts in your mouth, there's a great pool, etc. Suffice to say that our expectations were exceeded by a country mile.

Inside the Twinings shop

We were hungry when we got in, so we stopped at this gourmet burger restaurant – Gourmet Burger Kitchen – around the corner. They didn't have the selection of The Works, but it was in the same vein. It's amazing how many languages you hear in London, when you don't have loud American geeks behind you joking about poorly formed SQL queries, that is. We had to laugh. I had a tasty boar burger with a real ale from the same farm – Laverstoke Park Farm. Tea and Kae had some frosty milkshakes to go with their burgers.

Somerset House

Then it was time for some shopping. We spent some time in the oldest shop in London, the Twinings tea shop in the shadow of the impressive Courts of Justice, before making our way to Covent Garden; they have some really talented buskers performing there. Actually, before we got there, in one of those incredible coincidences, we ran into a Canadian we'd met on the tube in from Paddington earlier that day: we just standing there, admiring all that is Somerset House – with kids playing in the water, just like that scene in Last Chance Harvey – when we heard this, “Hey! I know you guys!” It's such a small world sometimes.

The girls' ultimate destination was Bravissimo near Oxford Circus, so I left them near the distinctive spire of All Souls Church in search of a pub. Before long, I'd found the Argyll Arms, and had a pint of the Landlord in one hand and William Gibson's Neuromancer in the other – Heaven for me, in other words.

At Ping Pong

Later, we met up and headed back to the hotel for a swim. Well, it turned into a nap for me, but the girls enjoyed the pool. Then it was out in search of Chinese dumplings at Ping Pong on Bread Street. Everything about the place, right down to their slogan – "little steamed parcels of deliciousness" – was so Tea (and Kae :-) ). And they were true to that delicious statement, from the martinis to the dozen or so selections we ordered.

Camden markets was on the docket for Saturday. The tube filled up as we got closer to our stop; initially, I'd thought the tattooed and pierced travellers were the ones heading there – I'd watched a few videos on the markets the night before – but, as we exited like a tide of people flowing out of the station, I realized that the Camden markets has something for everyone. Yes, there are plenty of places to get tattoos and T-shirts of the most irreverent variety, but there are also pottery shops, shops selling beautiful old luggage, guys wandering around with live kangaroos in their shirts, Hare Krishnas beside kids with pink spiked mohawks, and food.

Oh, the food. At times you felt like you were running a gauntlet – an aromatic, mouth-watering one – with Chinese, Thai, Mexican, Japanese, Indian (the list goes on) food vendors lining the lanes, holding out free samples. You could eat a meal's worth of samples easily, and I'm sure some of the people we saw were doing just that. We had a snack of something called a 'chipstix', where they cut and cooked a potato to yumminess right in front of you, on a stick, followed by Mexican for Tea and me, and Chinese for Kae.

Tea with a 'chipstix'

Next was some shopping – we picked up a fantastic old cribbage board, an old collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, and a bunch of comic books from Mega City Comics, nestled right in the middle of the markets – and people watching. We saw this guy who was the spitting image of Duckie – I'm sure he wasn't even born when that movie came out, but he must've seen it, he was that spot on. Then it was down the road for a pint at The Monarch. They had chairs set up on the stage, so we sat where there was no doubt live music later that night.

At YO! Sushi

Finally, it was back to the hotel for a swim – I joined the girls this time – followed by some YO! Sushi before bed. It was our first time there, and I have to say, as tired as I was, it was all really exciting: it's part game, part extra in some futuristic movie, and all tasty.

Sunday meant that it was time to say goodbye to Kae – we preferred au revoir – so we hired a car (at a flat rate that ended up saving us money – to say nothing of our backs) to take us to Heathrow, saw Kae off, and took the bus home from there. We all agreed it was a fantastic weekend. London's amazing for that: I think you could go there 52 weekends in a row and never retrace your steps or do the same thing twice.