Milano

October 17,2003- Peek A Boo Lakes
(photos:Isola Bella,
Frolicking in the garden)

It could have been I-77 in the Akron area, but we happened to be on the autostrade from Venice to Milan. We rolled through the regions of Veneto, Lombardy, and Piedmont with eyes peeled for the Alps. It was an industrial route with trucks galore. Our travel agent was right about a lot of things, but she nailed it with her weather prediction. She said we should go to the Alps before we headed south from Rome because it gets very cold up north at the end of October. The sun was out and the temperature hovered between the high 30’s and low 50’s. We were dressed for it, but touring in colder weather would have been uncomfortable. Karen had fortified herself at breakfast my ordering a café nero. It is black coffee that pours like Mississippi mud.

Every once in a while we’d see a tree whose leaves were red or yellow, but mostly they were green or brown. We made it to Lake Como at the foot of the Italian Alps by lunch. We’d flirted with glimpses of the lake as we approached the town. Its majesty finally showed itself as we rounded the last of many bends. We chose a restaurant along the water and enjoyed the view and respite from the tedium of the road.

My longtime friend from sixth grade and college roommate suggested that Lake Maggiore and the town of Stressa were more scenic. Thank you for that! We drove along back roads and were lost more than we were not, but we eventually blundered into Arona, at the south end of Lake Maggiore. The beauty of the lake and the villas lining its edge mesmerized us. They varied from Italian to Swiss influence with some Mediterranean overtones. Their colors painted the lush landscape with playful accents.

Stressa was that was promised. There’s more lake surface there than in Como. Islands and sailboats dotted the water creating a diversity of interest for our eyes. The Alps hovered in the background. What could be more divine? Although the tourist information office told us it was too late to visit Isola Bella, an island with a palace, an enterprising boat captain insisted we did have time for a tour of house and gardens.

I'm glad she stressed the importance of visiting this Garden of Eden. The house itself was built by the Borromeo family in the1600’s. Forget that the baroque rooms were enormous and in mint condition. Napoleon and Josephine really did sleep there. Forget about the grotto, a dark cool series of rooms lined with tiny stone and coral. Never mind the “horse boutique” with the glitzy equine paraphernalia. Disregard the extensive collection of marionettes and the six floor-to-ceiling Flemish tapestries. Ignore the flying staircase to the tower. The brilliance was that the family and architect chose the perfect execution for the perfect house in the perfect location. Windows were key to the success of design. They recognized that the most important aspect of the house was outside and let it in. We, however, were on borrowed time. As we progressed from room to room, we heard doors closing behind us. We were the last tourists of the day and were followed by a guard who was literally locking up as we left.

The environment was on display but the formal gardens were an attempt to tame nature. Palms, banana trees, and evergreens co-existed. Terraced gardens and ponds contrasted with less structured beds of flowering plants and orange trees. Playful statues peered out from lilacs and white peahens strolled the lawns.

Karen is ready to move there. We checked prices in the window of a real estate office. A modest villa goes for 7.5 million euros. Add 20% for U.S. dollars. We’re taking up a collection.

In our hotel in Milan, the city of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper we had our last supper with Ron and Karen Cimini. We won’t be able to see The Last Supper since we didn’t make reservations.

The Ciminis fly home tomorrow. We’ll miss their company, their humor, insights, singing, and Karen’s knowledge and appreciation of horticulture. They leave us with their leftover snacks, their Italian-English dictionary, their extra Euros, and the whole car to ourselves. If they ever find their guidebook we get that too.

We go South tomorrow in hope of finding Portofino and Pisa. I’m sure we’ll get lost again. David’s attitude is that it doesn’t matter. Wherever it is we’ve never been there before.

Toby