Ahh, Italy. Only you can make the best laid plans crumble. I was out of bed at 6:30am, dear reader, to climb to the Castle Vezio, the former military vestige that overlooks Varenna and the lake. As it turned out I was up too early and the moon was still hanging around the mountain across the water. It was still too dark to begin a walk with which I was unfamiliar.
Too early to set out. It was pretty quiet.
Thirty minutes later, I was dressed and ready, armed with my pamphlet that described the climb to the castle and headed off. The notes seemed to be quite clear and they were accompanied with pictures. Leaving from the piazza, I walked to the cemetery. As usual, the dead have the best view in town. There are mausoleums, lining the cliff face and the more regular grave sites are at ground level.
The cemetery from the gate. A view to die for. Yep, lame, I know.
Reading the next point in the notes, it became apparent that I had overshot the turn off for the climb. A lost in translation moment. I backtracked to find the almost illegible sign, pointing to a smaller road which led to the redevelopment of an older hotel. The photo in the pamphlet now does not exist, obliterated by building materials, construction vehicles and a massive crane. Anyway, onwards and upwards.
It was a very different picture a few hours later.
The road became a narrow track, scratched into the hillside. Underfoot was loose and rocky and the track was shaded by olive groves in places and unruly scrub in others. I saw no other people and one ginger cat that disappeared into the bush.
I've walked worse.
It was hard work and I could have used my sticks except that I was not wearing a pack and both hands were occupied, one with a camera and the other with my water bottle. The top of the mountain revealed, wait for it, a hotel. Il Porchetta. I have no idea how the guests arrive, but it wouldn't be by that track.
The track continued its meandering path. I could see the village of Vezio a little way off but no entry to the castle. Around the final bend before the village proper, I came to a gate. A locked gate. A locked gate that would not be unlocked until 10am. It was now 7:45am. I chose to walk early to beat the heat. I pulled the pamphlet from my pocket. Glasses on. Nowhere did it make mention of opening hours. Mumma mia!
Read it closely. FML.
While the exercise is always welcome, I deliberately did not take a lot of photos on the way up because the view from the castle was the main game. There was, as the stereotyped police officers say in TV shows, nothing to see here. Literally. Alora, time for some agua before I followed the donkey path down the other side of the mountain, back to the civilization of Varenna. Using a track established by an ass seemed somehow appropriate.
The path down from Vezio.
I walked through the door just on 8am. Jayne remarked that she'd thought I'd take longer. I laughed. What else can you do? Time to shower and walk to the piazza for breakfast.
The view NOT from the Castle Vezio.
We chose a different venue, as we tend to do until we discover perfection. This morning was the café next to the restaurant where we dined on the first night. Excellent coffee and croissant and people watching. Cyclists in particular. They were everywhere, this picture perfect Sunday morning.
 |
| From the balcony at Villa Cipressi, a wedding destination. |
A short stroll from the piazza was the Villa Cipressi with its gardens. We waited until its 10am opening, because this is where you can buy the joint ticket to visit the gardens of the adjacent Villa Monastero. Except today of course. For no apparent reason, Villa Monastero had a special offer on today so no joint tickets. We did, however, score seniors discount entry prices, without having to produce proof - we obviously look old. Additionally, it was lucky we arrived in the morning because the villa would be closed at 2pm for another private function.
 |
| Looking back towards the Villa and the mythical Castle beyond. |
The Cipressi gardens are sculpted into the tiered hillside below the villa and follow no logical path. To see everything would require significant backtracking. Unconcerned, we wandered where the path seemed more stable or where there were fewer steps. As we descended we came across a line of people. Jayne immediately knew why they were waiting. It was to take photographs of themselves and their partners at 'Heaven's gate' or hell's gate, as I renamed it.
The view people die for. FFS.
We waited in line for maybe 10 minutes before I had had enough. In that time, the line had progressed not an inch. Some other people who had joined the queue behind us, also came to the view that the wait was not worth it and sidled down along those waiting patiently. We soon joined them. As we reached hell's gates, we saw a group of four people of a particular nationality (choose your own prejudice) postured in front of the gates. At this stage, I believe they had been there for over 10 minutes, totally unconcerned that the line of people waiting was growing ever longer.
Walking on, we followed the path up and around to a higher level where we could see the same view, just not with a couple of iron gates in full shot (see the photo above). The same four people still occupied the gates. We were now beyond 15 minutes and the line of those waiting patiently or otherwise, stretched further down the garden path. The sense of entitlement is breathtaking.
We met these little fellas on the walk.
The gardens were nice enough, although not in the league of those we had visited at Bellagio the previous day and it was a pleasant way to while away the morning, aside from the tangle with hell's gate. We still had the garden next door to visit.
Nice gardens but not a lot of flowers.
At the ticket area for Villa Monastero, there was an A4 page sign pointing out that heaven's gate was not in their garden. This was a much larger garden and it was more methodically laid out. Beyond that, the paths were also more substantial and easier to navigate, except for the temporary boardwalk around the construction site.
Monastero had the flower gardens.
Again, very different from Bellagio, with much less space, so the plantings, although from all over the world, were more tightly packed. The real drawcard was the view of the lake. And that never failed to please.
Looking back at Villa Monastero.
We returned home before venturing out to Bellano. It was all about timing. We expected larger crowds in Varenna because it was Sunday which is why we did the local gardens first. Early afternoon, we began the short walk to the station. Well, we tried it. The flood of humanity sweeping down from the station, spilled out onto the road and was, in some places, six people deep. Given the footpath, where it exists, is narrow, this meant that people, including us heading in the opposite direction, were in the middle of the road. It was like confronting a massive tour group. They were focussed on one thing, getting to the Varenna ferry terminal. A step in the wrong direction and you could be swept away.
Safely at the station, I discovered that you can't buy tickets online through the Trenitalia App within 5 minutes of a train arriving, even if it's running 15 minutes late. Back I ran to the foyer of the station building to the ticket machine. The machine was a challenge in itself and insisted on asking questions at every turn, some I had no idea how to answer. A guess was the only option. Tickets in hand, I moved quickly back to the platform on the other side of the tracks.
The train arrived and we were in Bellano within 5 minutes. A further 10 minutes and we were lining up to pay for entry into the Orrido, a gorge. Jayne produced our train tickets in order to get a discount. No deal. The tickets themselves were insufficient, we needed a receipt. The one that the machine in Varenna did not dispense, or maybe I missed it because I was in a hurry. After an interrogation about what time train we caught and how long it had taken us to walk from the station, we were reluctantly given the discount.
Stone bridge over the Orrido.
The gorge is quite spectacular and there is a path that winds around above the thundering waterfalls providing many photo opportunities. I don't know if I even have the strength to describe what we saw on the other side of the gorge as we neared the end of our walk. A vision in vermillion, with a train to rival Lady Di's, draped down the stairs and across the pathway. On our side, two photographers occupied the walkway, backpacks on, hindering the progress of all normal people. Seriously. And no, dear reader, I did not indulge the fat cow and take her photo. She has been cropped. I would much rather she had been dropped, as in, over the railing.
And that my dear, long suffering reader, brings us to today's title. I can't distance myself enough from this choice, it is all Jayne's doing. Apparently she has it on "some compilation" but my question is, why? Anyway, Waterfall Woman is from 1971 by Scott English (I'd never heard of him and for good reason). Listen at your own peril.
Expelled from the gorge, we walked down to the local church and snapped a couple of photos.
Main altar. Side altar.
Then we walked down to the lake and along the foreshore in search of a bar and a beer. No food, no service of alcohol, until after 3pm. No food because we still don't need to eat after the Tuscany tour, therefore, no alcohol. It was back to the station for the journey home.
At the apartment, we discussed dinner options and selected the pizza place directly below us. However, we waited until the Sunday tourist crowd had subsided a little more.
We hadn't seen many boats under sail. Beautiful day on the lake.
We arrived at the restaurant around 6:30pm and were assiduously ignored until Jayne grabbed nonno who was clearing tables. He returned, eventually, with a menu and we moved tables to the corner. A much better vantage point to people watch.
Around 6:45pm, papa, probably the owner, arrived at our table to take our order. He informed us the kitchen wouldn't open until 7pm. How the table next to us scored their meals is a mystery. Anyway, he chatted with us, thanked us for travelling so far to meet him and discussed our preference for wine. He then took the order for the table on the other side of us. Moments later he returned with the wine, opened it and asked if I wanted to taste it. I replied that cork taint wasn't possible with a plastic cork. He smiled. Shortly after, he came back with a plate of pizza slices for us - a little gift. No one else. VIP treatment.
The pizza was good. Not quite Roman style, it was thin but not crispy. Jayne enjoyed her pasta and the wine, although overpriced at €20 was a good addition. When the meal was done, our friend returned with two glasses of complimentary limoncello.
As is our custom in café style establishments, we collected our glasses and went to take them inside. Nonno was horrified and bounded out of his chair. His grandson muttered something like, this has never happened before. Inside we discussed payment. Papa preferred cash so I walked back to get some more Euro. It was no big deal, our apartment literally backed onto the restaurant. On my return I was met with another complimentary limoncello. They said they hoped to see us tomorrow but sadly, we are on the move again.
A most enjoyable evening and a fitting end to our time in Varenna. Tomorrow we transit to Milano.
Alla prossima.
