Languid by the Lakes

Those who know me well will not be shocked to hear that I missed my flight the day I was supposed to leave New York. Damn traffic jam! Why does this always seem to happen to moi? No matter...the airport guy rebooked my ticket for the next day and my good pal Ingrid let me crash at her place for the night. I got one day less in Italy, but I also got a chance to eat at Soy, this marvelous Japanese home-cooking joint on the Lower East Side that I am in love with. I went to the Strand to buy a cheap book (Pride and Prejudice...I am almost done) and felt all travel-y walking around Union Square with a backpack.

I left. I flew. I ate terrible pasta on the U.S. Airways flight. But I arrived in Italy safe and sound about 6 a.m. Mind you, I had no reservations for a place to stay once I got here. Hell, I barely knew where I was going to shack up for the night. Somehow, I decided on Lake Como. I've never been to the Lakes region and have always wanted to go. So I took a bus from the airport, then a bus from Como proper, to Menaggio, one in a string of quaint little lakeside villages perched on the precipitous cliffs plunging down to the water. Kinda like the Amalfi Coast, but not so southern and with more pine trees. It's gorgeous. I got here just after 10 in the morning, and the mists were still shrouding the distant pre-apline hills across the water. Everything had a hazy, ethereal aspect. Made me sorta sleepy, actually, so I hung out on a bench overlooking the water and napped a bit. I spent the evening watching the gentle creeping of the night descend on the lake from my hostel room balcony, and the twinkling lights across on the opposite shore spark on as darknes came.

below us and barely discernable, a herd of cows grazing along a ridge

The hostel is busy, and I've met several cool people already. I went hiking up a real, actual mountain today with two of them. 1623 meters in flip flops, because I somehow forgot to pack my tennis shoes. Oh well. I also discovered, upon digging through my bag, two towels. How the hell...? No matter--I will buy appropriate shoes and ditch the extra towel. Besides, the flip flops earned me mad props on the mountain. Easy to forget about them, though, when we heard bells clanking across the moutaintops and realized that there was, below us and barely discernable, a herd of cows grazing along a ridge. Blushing heather and plentiful grasshoppers, in a variety of species and colors, as well as prickly walnut tree pods and woodpeckers, gave us plenty to notice along the way.

We, by the by, were Ines (yes, it rhymes with a body part) from Berlin and Rebecca. Snacks were enjoyed in the 1400-meter-high mountain refugio that we took a break at, and a fountain spurting cold, fresh mountain water offered a cool drink. Giardia? Perhaps. But it was hell-a worth it.

Did I just say hell-a? Maybe the cheap, cheap wine made me do it. Yes, my friends, the vino here is very cheap, and generally very good. I am enjoying it now, with some funky jazz playing in the common room while the 15 or so other travelers are eating dinner. I am strangely not hungry...yes, after clambering up the heights fueled on only some pistachios and fruit.

I'm thinking of  taking it easy tomorrow, buying a new book in the bookstore in the village and some proper (and fashionable) tennies, and seeing if I can connect with the rowing club that is rumored to be in town. Lake Como is ideal for rowing...serene, flat, and little traversed by many motorized craft, save for the regular ferries that run to and fro on the hour. Biking, reading, and a gerenal relaxing is on the itinerary. I will write again when I move on.

It is beautiful here. So unlike New York, so idylic. A perfect respite from city life. And soon...a farm!

JS