Bellagio At Last
Friday 14^th October 2016

It was lucky we had the foresight to set an alarm this morning. With a 10am check-out we had to get up and moving early. We were still asleep at 8am when it woke us up!

Breakfast was served downstairs in the bar where three tables had been laid out with room numbers. A bread roll and croissant each were waiting for us and the waitress brought over a cup of very nice black coffee each. The cheese and ham were on the same plate so Julie enjoyed stuffing her bread roll whilst I filled my croissant with sweet strawberry jam. The orange juice left a lot to be desired but on the whole we enjoyed breakfast.

We left our room just before 10am. There was a queue at the lift. It didn't seem to be working at all this morning.

Whilst we waited we got talking to a retired American couple who apologised on behalf of their country for the frightening prospect of Donald Trump getting into the White House. We then compared the will of the people to what's happened in the UK and the vote for Brexit. 

We handed in our enormous key fob and checked out, leaving our luggage with them for later.

Before rushing off to Bellagio we decided to wander around Varenna. It was still raining, quite heavily at times. With us only packing one umberella, and a compact one at that, we huddled together beneath its tiny wingspan.

We walked down shiny cobblestone steps to the waterfront. There we came to a small bay, known as Vecchio Porto, the old port. The view was beautiful, with the houses built right up to the lake, painted in various shades of yellows and browns, that warm Italian terracota. 

The shoreline of the small bay had been strengthened to defend it from erosion. The decision to surface it with traditional cobblestones instead of leaving bare concrete made the wall look as if it had always been there and didn't detract from the view.

Right on the bay we came across a small cafe, called Caffe Bistrot, so we sat down and ordered a coffee. It was so peaceful. Idyllic even. All we could hear was the gentle lapping of the waves.

The ferries to Bellagio ran once or twice an hour and it only took 20 minutes to cross the lake. In addition to that, the keys to our apartment would not be ready until 3pm. There was no urgency to leave. Despite this I knocked back my capuccino in three or four gulps. Julie hadn't even started her americano by the time I finished.

From the Porto Vecchio we walked along the lakeside path which brought us back to the Piazza San Giorgio where we ate last night. It looked even prettier in the day light. 

Having completed a full cirlcle we returned to the hotel to collect our luggage. We had decided to catch the next boat out of Varenna to Bellagio. Julie was worrying the weather was going to take a turn for the worse, which would make for a unpleasant crossing. 

The ferry terminal was outide the Hotel Olivedo, an old elegant grand hotel built in 1896. "We should have stayed there last night!" suggested Julie. 

"It would have been two or three times as expensive" I replied. Not that I'm especially budget conscious.

A small ferry boat or traghetto arrived from Menaggio, directly opposite Varenna. It's route all day was to shuttle in a triangle between Menaggio - Varenna - Bellagio. It didn't carry many people. It was only for foot passengers. There was a larger car ferry also sailing the route. 

The first thing Julie did once we boarded was to locate the lifejackets. Not so much for herself but for me. I still haven't learnt to swim. The water was already looking choppy.

We set off at 11:20am, chugging slowly at first, passing the old port on our way. The bell tower of San Giorgio rose above the warm coloured houses. Despite the rain and the grey skies, it was still a beautiful sight.

The further away we got, we realised that Varenna, nestled between the lake and the mountain, wasn't a large town. Above it we could see a castellated tower on top of the hill, part of a 17th century fort known as Castello di Vezio.

After a minute or two the captain pushed the throttle and we sped up across the lake. We were heading South towards the point where the lake split into two. The centre of Bellagio was built on this narrow promontory, mostly on the Western side.

 Our first glimpse of the pearl of Lake Como was the Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni. It was built during the mid-19th century as a summer residence for a Count Frizzoni but it was soon sold and expanded into a hotel, opening to the public in 1873.

Confusingly the actual Villa Serbelloni was located just above it, on top of the hill. Built in the late 18th century by Alessandro Serbelloni, a man of many titles, Count of Castiglione, Duke of San Grabio, Marquis of  Incisa and (my personal favourite) Lord of Gorgonzola to name but a few!

Hardly ten minutes after leaving Varenna the traghetto pulled up at the terminal for Bellagio. We were both excited. We've been meaning to visit for years. The nearest we got was the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas!

In fact it was there, on our 20th Wedding Anniversay, we promised ourselves to visit the real Bellagio. Ten years later we finally arrived! 

With three hours to kill before we could get into our apartment, the best use of our time was to find a bar and sit down. Thankfully we didn't have to go far away from the terminal.

Bar Rossi was set in a colonade than ran along the front. It had the bonus of glowing patio heaters to keep us warm. After the rain we were a little soggy. I could almost see the steam rise from us as we dried out!  

It was a little early but we ordered lunch, sharing a tomato & mozzarella toasted panini and a large jug of wine. We sat looking out to the lake but we were distracted by the sight of our future car! "One day" we both said as a Masseratti parked up.

Once lunch was finished, we realised we couldn't stay there all afternoon, it had only just turned 12pm. So we decided to find, just on the off-chance, if our aparment was ready.

To the side of Bar Rossi there were steep cobblestone steps up a narrow alleyway known as a salita. Neither of us thought dragging our suitcase up it was a good idea so we followed the lake front instead.

We reached the back of the Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni, where Via Roma met Via Guiseppe Garibaldi, then followed the road towards La Punta, the point of the headland. At No.6 Via Eugenio Vialli, above a laundrette and a steakhouse restaurant, we easily found our apartment, Appartamenti Bellagio .

We rang the bell and a head popped out of a window above. It was the owner. He cupped his hand to his ears to hear us ask if we could drop off our luggage.

"No problem, no problem, it is ready" he cheerfully said brimming with pride at his own excellent customer service.

He hurried downstairs to let us in. Julie had been studying online. It was unclear as to which apartment we had actually booked. He had a few. She was hoping for his Azalea apartment, even if it was on the top floor.

He offered to carry our cases up but he was only a little guy so I told him I was fine.

We followed him all the way to the top floor. Julie was dancing with joy when she realised we had the Azaela apartment.

The door opened into a large open plan room, which incorporated the kitchen, the dining room and living room all in one.

It was a lovely room, light and airy. The windows were low, below waist height, so most of the brightness of the day came in through a large window in the roof.

Despite effectively being in the attic the head clearance was plenty. There was no chance I was hitting my head on those beams unless I was jumping on the bed like a six year old!

The owner handed over the invoice for our stay and we gave him the €673 in cash, of which he was very appreaciative.

With all the formalities done we headed back out onto the streets of Bellagio, walking up towards the Basilica di San Giacamo, the town's main church. From where we stood, on the narrow Via, we couldn't see much of the church, we were too close.

A plaque on the wall commemorated the "glorious fallen" of 1915-18, parishoners of San Giacomo who died fighting in the First World War. It made me think about what was Italy's role in the Great War.

Italy were members of the Triple Alliance, a defensive agreement with Germany and Austria-Hungary. However in 1915 they broke ranks and sided with the Allied powers of France, UK & Russia. It was a calculated risk in the hope of reclaiming much of modern day Croatia, which was for centuries under Venetian control.

The British even sent troops and support to the front line against Austria-Hungary. 

We went inside the 12th century church and were immediately drawn towards the golden glow of the main apse. It was restored around thirty years ago with the addition of a marble altarpiece and a mosaic ceiling recreating a fresco that had deteriorated beyond recognition.

Back outside we reached Piazza della Chiesa, the square just off the church. It had been decorated with red and white ribbons, a dozen tied to all corners and twelfths of the square, meeting in the middle below the statue of the "Pilgrim Madonna". 

I don't know if it was leftover after a local fiesta or put up ready for one, perhaps All Saints Day on the 1st November?

We continued along Via Guiseppe Garibaldi. The narrow street was wide enough for a car but only just. Every now and then a delivery van reminded us it wasn't a pedestrianised street. 

It was still raining a little. Julie was struggling with the shiny paving stones. They looked slippery so she was walking tentatively like she was on thin ice. (or like she had shat herself, which was another way of describing her shuffle!)

Our main objective this afternoon was to locate an ATM and a grocery store. Our first find was a fruit and veg shop that looked fascinating, a local shop that supplied the community. Unfortunately it was a shut between 1:30pm and 3:30pm. 

The first we came across that was open was called Alimentari. It was clearly set up for the tourists with high-end speciality produce like a bag of dried porcini mushrooms for €33!

At the back, beyond the culinary souvenirs, it did have regular supermarket supplies, like De Cecco pasta, sugar, salt, oil all the essentials. We bought a few things, butter, cheese, Lavazza coffee and a packet of polenta mixed with buckwheat, a local speciality.

There was a butchers across the street, but that was also shut until 4pm. There was only one thing to do, and that was to find a bar .

From the Hight Street (literally) we walked down a salita, one of the narrow alleyways that lead to the waterfront, and then we strolled along the promenade until we reached Hotel Florence.

It was starting to rain heavier by now so we decided that Bar Florence was the place to seek refuge. We ordered a half carafe of their house wine but when it arrived to the table it was red. I poured a glass each and gave it a sniff. I could not pick up on any vinous aroma, no citrus notes, no hints of berries or spice. All I got was an eye-watering hit of vinegar!

The first sip was awful. Once we recovered from our shuddering we tried again. It was some how less acidic the second time. By the third and fourth sips our taste buds had either acclimatised or given up and we could drink it without a struggle.

Eventually we finished the half carafe and we moved on, returning back up to the shops of Via Guiseppe Garibaldi that had now re-opened.

From the butchers we bought a decent chicken breast, three large griddled artichokes and what looked like a half-sized mozzarella ball. Then we came to the fruit & veg shop and filled our basket full with tomatoes, mushrooms, potatoes, strawberries, oranges and a cheap bottle of fizz.

Laden with heavy bags full of food and drink we returned to our apartment.

We relaxed in the living room, but instead of watching television we listened to our favourite music. It's what we do the most at home. We watch less and less tv these days. 

We had planned this and brought our little "boom-box" speaker with us. The sound quality was excellent.  

Eventually, when we began to feel hungry, I started on cooking supper. Julie was having chicken and potatoes, plain and simple. I did roast some red pepper to add colour to her plate. "These repeat on me" she said mimicking her mother.

I was making myself the polenta dish, known locally as Polenta Taragna. I followed the recipe on the side of the packet. It was very straightforward to make.

Bring a 2 litres of water to the boil, and a tablespoon of salt and then 500g of the polenta with buckwheat mix. Use a whisk to stir to avoid lumps. Once it's stirred in well use a wooden spoon from then on. Turn the heat to low. and cook slowly for about 50 minutes.  The polenta will absorb the water and thicken and will stick to the bottom of the pan.

Ten minutes before the end of cooking add 170g of a semi-hard cheese, traditionally Valtellina Casera cheese, but you could use a fontina or tallegio, and then 120g of butter. Stir until melted and incorpoated into the porridge like consistency. Taste and season with salt. I actually ended up adding all the cheese (250g) for a more indulgent mix.

It was an enormous portion, enough for 6 people!

Traditionally, in the huts of the Valtellina mountains, it's served poured onto a wooden slab on the table and you share from the communial trough.

I poured my portion into a bowl and served it with buttery fried mushrooms. It was utterly delicious!

The champagne we bought for our anniversary didn't last until Tuesday. It was gratefully received tonight. It turned out to be the perfect accompliament to cheesy cornmeal!

The evening came to an end when we ran out of wine.

It was time for bed and we had two to choose from. Earlier in the day Julie had done a Goldilocks and tried them both. Her conclusion was that one had a soft mattress and the other was much firmer.

We opted to sleep in the softer one.  It was a good choice as we were fast asleep in 60 seconds.