Espagnac Ste Eulalie & The Vendange

Terry and Ann were waiting for us and met us at the train station when we turned in our rental car nearby. After a tasty lunch outside in one of the cute cafes on Cahors’ main street, we walked through a well-done museum of French Resistance in WWII with lots of photos, newspaper clippings, artifacts of military objects, and art. This sad era always evokes emotional responses, and this was no exception. Seeing the photos of such young people who were brave French patriots was heart-rendering.

We left Cahors in the mid-afternoon and were soon enjoying the beautiful French countryside once again. There is so much forested land in France; we enjoyed every mile of it! We crossed an 1800’s bridge over the River Cele, arrived in little Espagnac Ste. Eulalie and immediately fell in love with the tiny streets lined with beautiful gardens and homes. It was a picture book scene, and Ann and Terry's home was a page out of it. Actually, there are two separate homes; one was a tower and the other a barn that they renovated to become what could have been a magazine display. We stayed in the tower with a kitchen and sitting room on the first floor, our bedroom and bath on the second floor, and another bedroom upstairs. Just outside the kitchen was a covered stone terrace filled with geraniums, petunias, hibiscus and other flowers whose name I don’t know. A large table that Terry had made was our eating place for several savory meals, and below was his vegetable garden and beyond that a turquoise swimming pool surrounded by more stone. Their house, which had been the barn, had been lovingly renovated with a bigger kitchen and living area downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. Both places had basements with washing machines and dryer. They had lived here 22 years, mostly in he summers, returning to England in the winter, and they were both beloved residents of Espagnac. We had time to only glance about; it was getting late, and we had to eat dinner and prepare for the next day—the Vendange.

The Vendange Sept 26, 2009
We eagerly awoke to a gorgeous day, ate breakfast, and got ready to pick grapes, first meeting The Patron of the Vendange (he is lovingly called) Rene and his two sons Jean-Louis and Didier. We were going to bike to the vineyard, but in the end Terry decided to drive. (Terry also decided that since he was the smaller of the two Terrys, he would be called Terry le Petit and my Terry would be called Terry le Grand to avoid confusion between the two). We got there just as Rene drove up with his tractor, pulling a flatbed full of barrels and a hand operated grape crusher (it has a special name which I can’t remember). Barrels were taken down and set around the vineyard, and the portable crusher was set on top of the first one. We began to pick. There were 12 people picking, and the French chatter was fun to hear—lots of joking and laughter (I didn't understand the French, but I could tell the good-natured aspect of it). At one point, we heard gunshots and all work stopped to talk about the wild boar hunt that was going on. Of course Terry le Grand’s ears perked up, and he had lots of questions about it. We took about 50 photos and some videos of just the picking. The last rows of grapes that were picked had been planted in 1941, and I marveled at how healthy they looked and the number of grapes they produced. They certainly didn't show their age (as opposed to those of us who also began in the 40's). All too soon, the grapes were picked and beer was passed around. It was actually sad to be finished, but happily there was still more celebrating to do.

After a short rest and a little washing, we regrouped at Rene and Solange’s home on their front terrace for the aperitif of wine, salmon blinis, chorizo, more wine, sausages, chorizo, still more wine, quiche, followed by wine served by Christianne and Pascal, the wives of Jean-Louis and Didier. The highlight of this part was the serving of the nouveau wine which Rene had made earlier from the first and small picking. It was delicious. Next came the dinner which was served one course at a time. First, the soup which was a broth with small pasta was ladeled out by Didier. After everyone finished, we had to perform the “chabrol” which was a tradition where certain people (I’m not sure how they were chosen, but Terry and I were the ones this year) were expected to pour wine into their soup bowl and drink it all at once. Now the level of wine was supposed to cover the upside down spoon bowl, and I suppose Terry’s did; I’m not sure since I was sitting with the women and he was with the men at a long table. I can assure everyone, however, that my wine was about ¼ inch deep (wimpy, I know), but we both managed to down it which brought about a long applause. Acceptance!!
After that, we were served, one at a time, chicken liver and pork pate; a caprese salad with additional boiled egg wedges and thinly sliced cucumber; civet, a stew of wild boar with steamed potatoes and carrots; a cheese place with about 6 different kinds of cheeses and baguette slices; raspberry tiramisu and crème caramel; and coffee. It was truly delicious and I told Terry le Grand that I had no intention of eating that much again in my life—ever. What a glorious day and so much fun. I’m sure it’s a memory we’ll always cherish.

The next 3 days were a whirlwind with visits around the countryside, gourmet dinners at Belle Epoque and other very French restaurants and cafes, brief stops at some terrific hamlets and villages, roaming through abandoned chalets, popping into museums and churches with fantastic altars and stained glass windows, a tour of Peche Merle which is an underground cave with 24,000 year old paintings (incredible!), a refreshing hike around the area (a la Terry le Petit) with views from the tops of hills of Espagnac and other villages at the bottom of formidable cliffs which form the western edge of the Cele valley. All that, plus, we learned that breast of duck, lamb chops and mussels in wine (a la Ann) are such delicacies that we’ll never again think twice about having them, and enjoyed them so much along with fresh vegetables from Terry's garden and delicious tarts for a finish beyond expectations. This is just an overview with more detail to come when we show the photos. What an amazing area Terry and Ann live in, and we were privileged to have had them show it to us.

Mountain towns, Pont du Gard & Carcasonne Sep 24, 09

On our way to our hotel in little Monteux, we passed through many tiny and picturesque villages. When we arrived, our host suggested that we might enjoy a little village that wasn’t too far away, so off we dashed immediately to L’isle sur la Sorgue. The town center was located on a small island on the River Sorgue with sweet little bridges crossing and ducks floating beneath. We walked around town, had a gelato (orange sartine this time—yum) and found a cute restaurant on the river for dinner. It was only about 10 miles, so we drove back easily through another little village and on farm roads to our hotel.

The next morning we set out to drive through the mountains. We stopped at nearby Pernes des Fontaines, bought pastry, and drove on to postage stamp St. Didier for coffee (pastry shops don’t serve coffee, so it’s ok to buy pastry at one shop and take it to a coffee shop to eat it--at least this is what we were told). We sat on the street at a miniscule table for 2 and watched the traffic try to pass one another on their little one lane road, residents getting their daily fresh vegetables and meats, and students going to school. The morning had turned chilly and it was the first day of dew on the car, so we had to wear jackets.

The mountain road was, itself, barely wide enough to pass two cars and very curvy. It climbed to the tops of the high hills and back down to valleys again, all the while giving us views of lush green forests with little clumps of houses, red tile roofs and stone fences looking like a giant Christmas tree with ornaments hanging off the branches. One of our favorites was Venasque which was a walled hilltop town that we could see from afar and kept getting closer, all the while hoping that the road would take us there but not knowing if it would veer off in another direction or not. Like several others, the road passed through a stone arch (very small passage) and opened up to a beautiful square with a large fountain surrounded by hanging flowers. We hadn’t planned to park and explore this particular town, but we found ourselves looking for somewhere to stash the car so we could just walk around it and take it in the history, beauty, and ambiance.

After a time, we continued up and down again along hillsides planted with olive groves, truck farms of vegetables, cherry trees, lavender that had already been cut but still fragrant, Italian cypress trees that lined little lanes, and great big sycamores or plane trees with their spotted bark and gnarly trunks. We passed through Gordes, St. Remy, Robion, and stopped at Village des Bories, a much different village than the others. It was from ancient Ligurian times and contained dry stone huts; it looked much more primitive than all the other areas, and I shuddered to think of the difficult living conditions and short lives these inhabitants endured. But it was getting late and we needed to be in Carcassonne that night at the hotel we reserved; we had one more site to visit before we made the serious and direct drive there.

I had read about the Pont du Gard in my high school Latin class, had seen pictures in books, but I wasn’t prepared for the enormity of the Roman built aquaduct and bridge. It was huge, massive really, and so beautifully and perfectly built, I could only stand there and wonder how in the world people during that age could possibly do such a work with the tools at hand.

But we had reservations in Carcassonne, so we had to enjoy the Pont du Gard for a couple of hours and then move on. We hurried along A8 past villages and larger towns, and at about 7 in the evening, just at dusk really, we came to Carcassonne, looked to our right and spotted the fortress on a hill in the middle of the city. It was dark and brooding and had I been an 13th century traveler, my knees would have been shaking. It was too early for the floodlights to light it, as we had read about, and we needed to get to our hotel first, so we drove to that end. However, as we drove toward Argon, it became clearer that our hotel wasn’t as close to town as we thought it was when we made the reservation. In fact, it was so far out of town that I knew once we got to it, we would not be going back that night, and when we got lost and ended up in another hamlet, there was no doubt in my mind. Dang it! We really had wanted to see it illuminated. We finally got to our hotel around 9 and went to bed. The next morning, we left early, drove to the cite ‘ (as it’s called) and marveled at what must have been an incredible, invincible and imposing fortification. It was so even now; I can’t imagine what it would have been like in very ancient times. We walked up the path, along the walls, and through the gates to a maze of streets. It was very early, and we must have been the first ones there because we saw only delivery and working personnel until after we had had our coffee and baguette. We knew we wouldn’t get to see very much of this huge structure because we were pressed for time and needed to get to Cahors by noon to meet our friends Ann and Terry Kempley who had invited us to their village near Figeac on the Cele River. So, we said “au revoir” to Carcassonne and set out north.

Arles, Aix-en-Provence, and Avignon

Arles, Aix-en-Provence, and Avignon: These three towns form a triangle and are approximately an hour apart; we stayed in Arles and visited the other two which saved time and was saner than trying to find a hotel in each one.

We got to Arles at dusk, always a bad idea to arrive so late, but we stayed a little too long in Cassis, waiting for the rain to disperse. Arles itself is the smallest with a medieval wall that surrounds two adjacent sides of the city, and our hotel was in the center of that old town on Rue Suisse. So, we plunged in first turning one way, then another, then rounding a corner. Mind you, these are streets built for carts of the 1st century BC. Cars can barely get through, just slightly bigger than the driveway to our rental house in Bellagio (we left several scratches on the rear view mirrors on that car). But after inching along, we finally came to Hotel Muette—ours! We took out our bags, checked in and decided to get something to eat (it was already 9). About 2 blocks from us was the very old Roman arena; we got glimpses of it on our way in, and now we viewed it full-on. What an amazing structure and even moreso in the very black of the dimly lit city. My imagination began its journey.

The streets were cobblestone, and the thick stone walls held hints of shadows of pesants trying to get home after a long day’s work in the fields outside the city walls, greeting others in low voices that echoed, nevertheless, on the stone. I could almost smell candles burning as residents shuffled toward their homes to build a fire and get the evening meal, meager as it might be, readied for the family. The darkness pressed in behind us, and I could faintly smell bread baking. Back to reality. It was the pizza café and we were hungry. We sat down outside and enjoyed our dinner while viewing the lights on the arena. We made our way back to our hotel and threw ourselves in bed.

The next morning we immediately drove to Aix-en-Provence a little over an hour away. Our main objective was to visit the Picasso and Cezanne exhibition, found it, and was approached by a woman who said she had an extra ticket and offered it to us for half the price, 5 euros. So we bought it and bought a second one at full price from the ticket office, but when we tried to enter the exhibition, only Terry could get in with his full price ticket. Mine turned out to be a group ticket which was good for 11:15 to 12:15. It was 11:30, so I still could enter, but I had to do so through the “group gate” which had a group of tourists standing around it. No problem. I would just wait with them. So, I did. And waited and waited, and finally it looked like they were going to be let in. It was already noon, and their tour guide began speaking in German, explaining the art show. Meanwhile, I was getting nervous that she would go past 12:15 and I wouldn’t get allowed in. Plus, one of the German tourists came to me and said in German that I wasn’t one of their group and probably couldn’t get in with them. I summoned my best German and replied that my group was already inside and that the guard wouldn’t let me in with the individuals, that I had to enter with a group. That seemed to satisfy her. She touched her head and shook it, but I went in with the Germans and hurried away once inside. The paintings were splendid.

Back at our hotel in Arles, we found that the dark and dismal village streets had blossomed with a barrage of activity and colorful shops and restaurants. We made our way to dinner and planned tomorrow when we would take the whole day to explore Arles.

It was bright and sunny (the most important aspect of the day) when we skipped out of our hotel. We were surprised to find that our hotel was only 2 blocks from the town center, and we immediately found ourselves in Republic Square (named place Royale until the French Revolution), surrounded by the Hotel de Ville which we first thought was a hotel (one would think?). But we discovered that it is not a proper name but a name for the town hall in any city in France. (Wasn’t that the name of the villain in “1001 Dalmatians”?) On our left was St. Trophime Church which had maybe 1000 figures in many frescoes, all telling different stories of the Bible carved out of stone weathered by 900 years of rain, hail and snow, still formidable in its ancient state.
In the center of this area which had been the Roman Circus and had seen many chariot races, was my favorite piece, the obelisk. It was gorgeously carved with lions at its base and was about 40 feet tall, surrounded by a fountain. On one side of the fountain was a man playing an accordion with his little boy of about 5 dancing in front of him.

The Roman classical theater was our next stop. It had been built about 2,000 years ago and had 2 of its original 52 Corinthian columns still standing and was about half as high as it had been and is still used today. Even more shocking was finding out that the equally ancient Roman Ampitheatre which we saw in floodlights the first night we were there is also used at the present time. We visited that amazing structure next. It’s very worn by millions of feet shuffling up and down the stairs, but still maintains its structural integrity, evidently, although there were workers cleaning and propping up stones, getting ready for a big bullfight in October. We climbed the tower and looked over the city. It was lunchtime and we spotted our restaurant of two nights ago, so we stopped for a Mediterranean salad. This is a meal that I will try to recreate.

The afternoon was dedicated to Vincent Van Gogh, and we began by visiting the Van Gogh Foundation museum, followed by a Van Gogh walk which took us with a guide to the many places that the artist had frequented and painted. It was really informative because in each place was an easel with a picture of the painting he had done in that very spot. Even though he had been in Arles for less than 2 years only, his painting flourished and he produced over 200 paintings. Amazing! We finished the day by eating at the restaurant that he painted in his piece “Starry Night on the Rhone” and enjoyed being in such a famous place. There were some other sights we also visited, but they are too many to describe in detail.

The next day we packed up and headed to Avignon to visit on our way to the area of Mt. Ventoux, the large mountain climbed on bicycles by the Tour de France. Avignon is a city of 90,000, and as we approached, we could see the massive Palais des Papes (palace of the popes) and its walls surrounding the city. We found a park opposite the area of the palace so we could walk through the old city on our way because we knew we wouldn’t have time to survey Avignon the way we were able to do in Arles. The streets were again narrow and twisty, and we kept following in the general direction, every once in a while stopping to check our map. Oui, our bearings were correct as we passed one restaurant after the next, stomachs growling.
I was quite unprepared for the enormity of the palace. It was, instead, a fortress, and I couldn’t get it all in my camera. We bought our tickets and entered what must have been a virtual prison in its day. In the 1300’s the Vatican had bought the whole town of Avignon and moved the headquarters of the Catholic Church there because of the uneasiness with the “rogues” of Italy where it had been located. They built this enormous structure, surrounded it with 3 miles of unpenetrable walls and 39 towers, created a sumptuous “home” for the pope, and housed untold amounts of gold and silver in various forms of church paraphanalia, nuggets and coins. Whew! What luxury while the surrounding area of pesants lived in super primitive conditions.

We crawled over the palace as much as we could, including onto the top of the tower, and saw the Pont Saint-Benezet of nursery rhyme fame with a tune that everybody knows. We could have made our way to the famous bridge, but we were now running out of time, so we had to make our way back to the car through the old town, stopping long enough to have crepes that we took with us (one was lemon and sugar and the other ham and cheese—yum). We got back to our car and found a parking ticket! Yikes! We are happy to pay it, however, because we have parked in many places without paying—it’s only fair.

Cassis

Today was our lucky day--we woke up to beautiful, warm sun, and after driving from Nice in a downpour and not being able to find a hotel until we drove around for 2 hours in the rain, we were more than thrilled to see it. So, we jumped up and out the door early to see the town of Cassis, just east of Marsailles. What a gorgeous little town! Actually, of all the Mediterranean towns we went through yesterday (Antibes, St. Tropez, Cannes--all terrific) we liked Cassis the best. And we wouldn't have even thought about going there if it hadn't been for Heather and Keith who told us about it. They were there a few years ago and liked it; they thought we'd like it, too, and we did.

We got there in time to just sit at a little outdoor cafe right at the harbor and have a cappuccino.
The sun warmed our bones still limp from all the rain, and we basked in it. There were boats for hire to take sightseers around the calenques, so we made arrangements to go on one. A calenque, we found out, is a finger of water that pokes into a very high and formidable rocky cliff. So, instead of a bay that has sand or even rocks around it, this is a narrow bay, maybe only 300 yards wide and a mile long in some cases, with very tall cliffs of 200 feet. Spectacular!! And when you throw in the colors of the water (this is still the amazingly many-hued Mediterranean) and it laps against the white of the cliffs, it's an amazing sight.

The Cafe Bonaparte was our next stop for a leisurely lunch (it is leisurely whether you want it to be or not), and we sat for a couple of hours enjoying our salad Nicoise, chicken a la Provence and sea bass in a sauce with potatoes, and creme brulee and what we call a Napoleon (in French it is Mille Feur; or it sounds kind of like that and it means a thousand layers ). Then we thought we'd look again at the beautiful show cases of pastry (did I neglect to mention that we already had had two really delicious pastries with cream and fresh raspberries and strawberries?) The memory of those luscious delights was long gone and needed refreshing.

So we set out for the bakery noticing in the sky a very dark cloud approaching. It started raining and did not let up filling first the streets with cascades of water, then onto the sidewalks, and as we backed up into a stairwell, it followed us into the hall. After about an hour, just as I thought we might have to retreat upstairs, it stopped and began to recede and within a few minutes was gone all except a small rivulet down the middle of the street.

At that, we visited the pastry shop, grabbed bread and quiche to have with our leftover olives from yesterday, lemon and apricot tarts, and headed for Arles. The maze Terry had to drive through to get to our hotel is a story, and my imagination has been set on edge by the dark, narrow streets that our hotel is located in. I have obviously seen too many movies or have read too much Charles Dickens. But more about that tomorrow.

Matisse, Chagall & Monte Carlo

We got up to a soaking rain this morning and decided to go to some art museums instead of going swimming. Brilliant, eh? So, we caught bus #15 and while deciding where to get off, a sweet French gentleman told us where the stop was. He said that he had lived for a while in San Antonio and demurred when I commented on his excellent English. What a dear man! We got off and found the Musee Matisse, enjoyed the paintings, left for the Chagall Museum, got lost wandered in the rain, found our way again, spotted the Musee Chagall, went in, spent another hour reading about his life (fascinating) and enjoying his art (very interesting, with fantasy type subjects).

We returned to The Wilson and decided to go to Monte Carlo, so we took bus #100 and ended at the bus stop close to the MC Casino. The gardens alone were beautiful with the elegant yellow chateau at the bottom of the cascading fountains of water making a final statement: $$$$$$
We went inside the entry, then walked along the waterfront eyeing the huge yachts that were moored in the marina. Then we came across a wonderful little church that had a plaque in French that said (I think) that it had been started in 305 and was the church of the original royal family in Monaco.

We wandered around town a little longer, stopped back by the gardens just in time for the lights all around to blink on, and sat to enjoy the view for a little while before we returned to the thousands of multicolored lights of Nice playing on the water along the coast.

Our gelato flavor of the night: Baileys and rice pudding. Double YUM!

Gelato

Oh, I forgot to mention the gelato we got from a shop (Fenocchio's) that had over 100 flavors; our choice (we shared) was cocao and Grand Marnier. YUM!!!

Train from Italy to France

With the sparkling Mediterranean Sea on our left and craggy mountains on our right, we made our way down the coast, ending in Nice with neck aches from twisting and turning to enjoy the scenery on both sides. The day was sunny which, after an entire day of pouring rain yesterday, was such a blessing. We could enjoy the long stretch of the Med and the beautiful, sandy beaches below us. As we sped along, we kept marking the map for favorite coves for future reference; when that might be is anybody's guess, maybe never. But it's fun to think about coming back to enjoy some time on any one of those beaches.

We pulled into Nice Ville (the name of the railroad station) around 4 pm and immediately went to our hotel. By the time we got situated, it was nearly dinner time, so we showered and put on clean clothes and walked down to the old town of Nice (Vieux Nice) which was only about 10 minutes' walk. So many alleys! And each one has a tiny restaurant or two with 3-10 tables in all. We found a very cute wine cellar called Cave de la Tour and sat down for a glass of wine. The owner didn't speak any English, but he was happy to bring us what we requested. Terry's wine was from Chateau Giron and mine was Cote du Rhone, just a "vin du pays" simple country wine, but it was good. We asked him about eating there, and he said that he had just onion pie, so we declined. We did find a sweet little cafe and enjoyed our dinner with a couple from the UK sitting close enough to be dining with us.

It was late when we left to wind our way back home through the gardens between Hotel Wilson and the old town, stopping to enjoy the fountains and the dancing lights under the water.

Cinque Terre Towns

Cinque Terre Towns
Besides being beautiful, the towns of Monterosso al Mare (where we stayed), Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore were really fun to explore. After visiting a coffee shop for a cappuccino, a gelateria for gelato, or a restaurant for pasta, we usually made our way up the main street that inevitably led from the waterfront (except in Corniglia that doesn’t go down to the water) to the hilltops through the little alleyways high above the crashing waves of the Mediterranean. Looking back at the little towns tucked in the cracks of the hills, I was spellbound by the colors—the pastel blues, pinks and yellows of the buildings caressed by the blue of the Med. At least I was spellbound for about 2 days; then dark black clouds covered the sky, and the rain began. Even then, the sea showed some of its brilliant turquoise in the shallows set against the blue-black of the deep water. At the shoreline, the white foam crashed against some gigantic rocks. I kept walking by my favorite, an enormous dark magenta piece of flat marble that the waves washed over and then swirled around. It looked like a large round table being readied for dinner by washwater being thrown on it.
The clouds were very dark in the evening of our last day and eventually the sky opened up and dumped a huge deluge of Florida type rain, complete with thunder and lightning. The forecast had been for 3 days of heavy winds and storms. We were lucky to have had 2 days of reasonably bright sun. Tomorrow will probably be very clear, but we have train reservations for Nice, France that we’ll need to keep.

Off in different directions

We’re off in different directions
It was grand, but the week in Bellagio and the 13 days in Italy had to end. All of us bade each other bon voyage and each went his own way. Mom, Keith and Heather left first, flying to Dublin for a one night layover then continuing to NY the next day. Mom then caught her flight to Tampa and Keith and Heather managed to make the plane to Seattle.
Holly, Aaron and Stella, after traveling with us to Stresa on Lake Maggiore for one day and night, caught their flight out of Malpensa the next day, had a 3 hour layover in Copenhagen and got home very late only to have to go to work the next day.
We then turned in our car, took the airport bus back to Milan once more, and caught the next train for the Cinque Terre, first stopping in Santa Margherita Ligure which is very near Portofino.
Portofino---it’s everything it has been cracked up to be: exciting, beautiful and expensive. We were happy to stroll around town and watch all the boats coming and going, people parading in their finery (and me in my Chacos and without my diamonds!) and folks who evidently have lots of money spending enormous sums to dine by the water. Interesting to know that many movie stars have made Portofino their temporary home, although we didn’t actually see anybody who was famous, at least that we could recognize. But we did see lots of enormous yachts anchored in the harbor and in the larger body of water just beyond.
We walked the few miles from Portofino to Santa Margherita Liguria along a small footpath past beautiful homes and gardens built to enjoy the magnificent views of the Mediterranean Sea. The next morning we would take the train for about an hour to the villages of the Cinque Terre.

Lugano, Switzerland

From Bellagio we could see the notch in the mountains that led from Menaggio to Lugano, Switzerland. So, on Wednesday we took the ferry from Bellagio to Menaggio, walked to the town square and bought tickets for the bus to Lugano. What a wild ride! The road twisted and turned up the mountainside through tiny towns and beautiful green forests. It took us about an hour to reach the city and the very narrow road that led into it. The bus had to go so slowly especially when it met a car, and often times the car had to back up to let us through. We could see the beautiful lake beside us as we rode, and it spread out before us as we disembarked the bus. We spent a few hours just wandering, shopping, and treating ourselves to lunch and gelato. We wandered back to the bus stop through a beautiful park and playground, got back on the bus and made the wild ride back to Bellagio. Whew. We made it.

By the time we got everybody fed and dressed, it was almost noon, and since it was Sunday, the town of Bellagio was pretty busy. As in most tourist towns, there were lots of cars trying to find parks (we didn't find any and Terry drove back to our house and just walked from there), and people were milling about in pretty large numbers. But we were able to join in the parade of people climbing the stairs to the town after we had had our cappuccino along the waterfront.

The waterfront is filled with boats for hire to take across the lake, down the lake, or up the lake to a myriad of little villages that perch on the side of the lake between the edge and the top of the mountains that ring the lake. Hundreds of lakeside cafes and fancy restaurants dot the perimeter, and gelaterias are everywhere! We're done our best to sample as many as possible.

There are dozens of huge villas that look like cake tops with their pastel walls and white trim that sparkle like sugar sprinkles. Forests of varied-hued greens fill the spaces inbetween the houses, villas and palaces, and high outcroppings of rock stick up like giant grey pointed hats.

Tomorrow we'll take a bus inbetween those grey pointed hats to Lugano, Switzerland.

Rota d'Imagna to Bellagio

On Saturday we checked out of the Miramonti and began our drive to Bellagio. It was a beautiful day, and the sun on the mountains made them gleam against the blue sky. We passed through many villages, each one with similar architecture of red tile roofs on multi-storied houses, some pastel colors, some white, a very narrow road with stores and residences only a few feet off the road, balconies with hanging geraniums leaning over the street, people eating at little cafes, and cars zooming through the villages at breakneck speeds.

Our drive took us over hills planted with grapes and corn, through valleys with little streams that ran alongside the road, and finally into the mountains. We stopped and bought groceries at Lecco on the southern end of Lake Como and then found the autostrada which took us very quickly north, mostly in tunnels, to our destination Varenna. From there we found the ferry to Bellagio and arrived almost at exactly the time we told our landlord we'd be at the house in San Giovanni, a small town just one mile north of Bellagio.

We unloaded the car, put our gear away in closets, got the groceries out and made antipasti and sat out in the garden for quite some time just enjoying the beautiful sunshine and cool air. Darkness found us making our plans for investigating the town of Bellagio the next day.

Milano to Bergamo

Holly, Aaron and Stella arrived late the first night we were in Milano, and Heather and Keith, who had left a few days earlier than we, and had been hiking in the Italian Alps, now met us in Rota d'Imagna which is another hour north of Bergamo which is a town (much larger than we expected) about an hour north of Milano. So, after a plethora of hairpin curves, we found ourselves in this darling little town about 2 hours north of Milano. The town lines the single road down the ridge of a mountain with houses, churches, restaurants, and stores off one side or the other. Our hotel hangs off on the west side, so the balcony which is the restaurant gets the full sun from sunup to sundown, and we get a full view of the mountains, the valley which is carved from the river Imagna, and all the other very small villages that climb the hillsides opposite ours. The hotel itself has probably 200 baskets of hanging pink geraniums plus other flowers here and there and balconies off every room with still more hanging geraniums! Gorgeous!

The first day we were there, we woke up, dressed quickly, and drove our 2 cars down to Bergamo to take the train back to Milano. We bought tickets, hustled out to the platform and found our train. An hour later, we found ourselves back in the huge central train station where we immediately bought tickets to the metro and took it to the duomo. Climbing out of the subway tunnel, our eyes fell on the enormous and majestic church which we then entered, having extricated ourselves from the gauntlet of string bracelet sellers. Again, beautiful. So many marble statues, marble floor patterns, marble columns, marble etc.

Once outside, we dashed (all 8 of us) for the trolley that would take us to the Duomo Santa Maria della Grazia which housed the very famous da Vinci painting, The Last Supper. Did anybody know the correct stop? I had not thought about this, so I proceeded to ask those around me. No luck. Heather finally made her way to the front of the trolley to ask the driver. Next stop! We disembarked, found the church and made our way into the entrance just in time to claim our reservations and get in line for the viewing. We had to be dehumidified first and then waited in a small chamber until the doors opened. The painting covered the wall of what had been the dining room of the monastery. Intriguing to see the original after having seen so many copies. The figures were very hazy but identifiable, and realistic. It was truly a thrill to see it, both for its famous status and for its meaning to us.

We walked back out into the bright sunlight, crossed the street to the gelateria, and celebrated. The last item on our agenda for Milano was walking on the roof of the duomo. I hoped it wasn't too late. More good fortune. We were in time and took the elevator to the rooftop. What an experience! Here we were, walking along the tile roof with gargoyles practically within reach, under many carved arches, up and down stairs worn with heavy use. It was a marble forest of carving all around us, a grey and black spire fence crowned with gargoyles and saints. Unbelievable. After taking a quick stroll through the Vittoria Emanuele shopping area, lined with the most expensive shops I’ve ever seen, we returned to the metro and made our way back to the train bound for Bergamo where we had parked our cars.

The second morning we woke up early and decided to take a walk around the town which snakes along the mountainridge for quite a distance. We passed a beautiful church which was pretty plain on the outside although it had faded images that had been fresh in the 1800's. But inside it was literally covered from floor to ceiling with vivid, detailed artwork. In the courtyard there was a obelisk engraved with names of veterans of WWI and II. The view from this ridge (higher still than our hotel) was spectacular and punctuated with goats on the hillside. Walking down from the higher ridge back to our hotel, we passed several people all wishing us "Buongiorno" and going on in Italian when we answered back. This little town of Rota d'Imagna was a lovely respite from the hustle and bustle of Milano, and it must be a treat to live here.

The third day we visited the ancient city of Bergamo. It was (can I think of a descriptive word more than spectacular?) That was it. This is a beautiful city which was actually two towns. The upper town or alta citte was built in the 700's on a plateau, surrounded by thick walls, consisting of very small alleyways and loaded with intricate churches, bascilicas, a baptistry, restaurants, stores, an ancient library, and the oldest gelateria in Italy (I think I remember reading). The lower town was more modern and not as interesting. So, we took the funicular to the top and found a bakery and pizzaria that was a work of art in itself. After drooling on the window, we proceeded to order our pizzas and took them to the town center to look at all the magnificent architecture while we gorged ourselves. After lunch, we visited the old duomo where a choir was practicing for a festival. Stella was particularly intrigued, sat down on a pew, and remained as still as I've ever seen her. We visited the other churches and closely inspected a solar calendar before we had to decide which flavor of gelato we wanted.

We wandered through the tight alleyways, walked out onto the upper city walls, and then took the funicular back down to the lower town and drove the snakey road back to Rota d'Imagna. It had been a fabulous day, but all of us were tired, and after walking to the town cafe, eating a lovely meal of assorted pastas, pizzas and salads, we threw ourselves in bed, hoping to get enough rest to be ready for tomorrow.