The bells of Basilica di San Giacomo woke us up early again this morning. In fact it was half an hour earlier. "I thought Sunday was a day of rest?!" muttered Julie. 

For breakfast we had toast, which wasn't straightforward. To begin with there wasn't a bread knife, the type with a serrated edge. Slicing the crusty loaf with a blunt machete was challenging.

Then the toaster wasn't working, or perhaps I didn't know how to use it, so the bread had to be toasted under the grill. Again it took me back to my childhood where doing the toast under the grill and boiling water with a whistling kettle was the norm.

We ate our breakfast outside on the terrace. It was a glorious day. The toast was delicious, especially with lashings of butter and a thick scraping of marmite, a jar of which Julie had packed in case of emergencies!  It was all washed down perfectly with some sweet freshly squeezed orange juice.

Despite being eager to start the we didn't rush out, allowing the day and our daily constitutionals to develop slowly.

It was shortly after 11am when we left the apartment, walking down to the lake and the ferry terminals. At the biglietti booth we bought tickets for Griante, paying €8.40 for a return ticket for two, which we thought was good value.

The ticket officer kindly informed us we were at the wrong pier. We were at Ponte 2 but the pier we needed was Ponte 1.  I think it was mostly because the next ferry at 11:45am was a car ferry and only Ponte 1 was capable of loading cars. 

Then adding a little to the confusion, the destination we needed to look out for was actually Cadenabbia, but that was just a minor detail.  

Eventually we got onboard the traghetto heading across the lake in the right direction. Despite carrying vehicles it didn't feel much larger than the pedestrian ferry we caught on Friday.

As soon as everyone got onboard we all walked up to the upper deck. Looking North we could see a wall of mountains and in the distance, behind them, a snowy Alpine peak was clearly visible at the border with Switzerland. 

It was a glorious view, but imagine this view when the snow arrives in Lake Como.

Half way across the lake we looked back at Bellagio and for the first time really appreciated its stunning location on the promontory where the three branches of the lake meet and then the  imposing Grigna massif in the background.

We then turned our attention in the direction we were travelling and to our main objective today, Santuario di San Martino, the church perched dramatically on the side of the cliff.

"How the hell do we get up there?" I wondered.

"A lot of steps" said Julie. 

When we arrived at Cadenabbia we didn't have a clue which way to go. Thankfully Google maps was useful in showing us the way. It estimated almost an hour to walk to the church. 

We began by walking away from the lake, along Via Roma, which was definitely not built by Romans as it snaked its way up the hill. Cadenabbia wasn't pretty but every now and then a church would pop up adding something of interest amongst the boring apartment blocks.

At the end of the road we came to a First World War memorial complete with empty artillery shells on either side, a chilling reminder of the horrors of war. The memorial was filled with the names of the fallen, and I mean full. They had to reduce the size of the text to fit them all on.

A left turn took us up Via Brentano, towards an attractive looking restaurant. A sign read Vecchia Torre Bar, the old tower bar. We made a note for later as we marched past on our pilgrimage.

From here we didn't need the help from Google maps. Small signs appeared every so often to assure us we were on the right path to the Sanctuary.

At the end of this road we turned right, along  Passeggiata Adenauer, which soon became pedestrianised as we walked beneath a low arch. This area of Griante was known as Carsolina.

The path was renamed to honour the first Chancellor of West Germany following the second World War, Konrad Adenauer, who spent his summer vacations at Villa la Collina in Griante and regularly walked up and down these streets.

We stopped briefly to admire a small shrine with a fading fresco of the pieta, the powerful scene where the Virgin Mary holds the lifeless body of Christ when he came down off the cross. The plaster on which it was painted was flaking off the wall. We wondered how long it had before being lost to time.

A little further on, in a small square, we sat on a bench with a clear view of the church of San Martino halfway up the sheer cliffs of Sasso di San Martino. It was both awe inspiring and anxiety inducing.

"It's like were at base camp" said Julie "getting ready for the climb"

Following the signs we eventually came to the path that took us off the tarmac and down an old track. It began by taking us down into a wooded valley which confused us at first. But we had to go down and cross a stream before we could start to climb. 

The path itself wasn't a track at all, it was a well maintained road called Via Crucis. It had neatly laid pebbles providing secure ground to walk over and stone walls on either side to stop the livestock from the small holdings wandering all over it.

We past several alotments with bee hives, apple trees, chicken coups, veg patches. The sound of a bell clonking as a cow grazed in the next field was so perfectly Alpine it made us smile.

After a while the path began to climb up the hillside, rising above the village. 

There were several small shrines along the way, each a source of inspiration for the pilgrim. They were also useful places to stop and catch our breath. Some even had a bench nearby where we could rest a while.

Despite there being plenty of trees providing shade from the sun it was still physically demanding. The path was steep in parts, turning into deep steps at times, which were difficult to manage. 

After twenty minutes or so we came to a clearing.

"Are we there?" asked Julie with hope in her voice. We weren't. It was a church but not the one.

It was called Cappella degli Alpini, a chapel originally dedicated to San Carlo. In 1977 it was renovated and a fresco depicting scenes from the First World War in honour of the fallen Alpini, (Italy's elite mountain infantry) was added. Unfotunately it was painted inside and the front door was shut so we didn't get to see it.

We sat in it's porch, shaded from the sun, resting our weary legs.

Rejuvinated slightly we came to a fork in the road, one rose steeply to our left, the other continued to climb to our right. Pick the wrong one and we would have ended up scrambling to the 862m summit of Sasso di San Martino! 

From there the right path continued upwards, above the trees, now more of a mule track than earlier. A barrier kept us safe but didn't calm Julie's fears of falling off the edge. She made sure she was walking the furthest away from the side.

"You're more at risk being hit by falling rock walking there" I joked. She was not amused.

Our steps became shorter and our breaths became deeper. But from here we could see the chiesa di San Martino in the distance which spurred us on but the spring in our step soon wore off. People were passing us regularly.

"You go on ahead" suggested Julie "I'll make my way up slowly."   But we were in this together.

Ironically it was me who stumbled and almost fell to my death. It happened at a point where there was no barrier. I tripped over the uneven ground and stepped out in the direction of the edge. My heart raced, my head went dizzy, and my balance deserted me.

A nearby shrine with a bench gave me the chance to regained my composure and reset my balance before we both carried on, a little further from the edge than before.

After an hour and fifteen minutes from the start of the pilgrim's path, Via Crucis, we finally arrived at the sanctuary and it really felt like a sanctuary. There was great joy and relief all round.

The church was originally built during the 16th century. According to legend, a local girl from Griante found a 14th century wooden statue of the Madonna with Child in a cave nearby. They brought it back to the parish church in Griante but it disappeared, only to be found again on the Sasso di San Martino. The locals took that as a sign that the statue should stay on the mountain and decided that the church of San Martino was where she wanted to be. 

The actual statue is still inside the church which is offically known as The Sanctuary of Our Lady of Grace in St. Martin. Unfortunately the front door was shut so we didn't get to see her.

During the 18th century the bell tower and the entrance porch were added but we hadn't walked all this way to look at the church. We were here for the breathtaking views. 

We were stood on a natural ledge, a large grassy balcony overlooking Lake Como. Every way we looked was simply magnificent. We could see both branches of the lake, strechting down to Lecco and Como and there in the centre was the pearl of the lake, Bellagio.

The view of Bellagio from here was just incredible. The beautiful teardrop shape of the promontory was perfection. Absolutely gorgeous. 

It hasn't changed much since the 19th century when it's reputation as a fashionable lakeside resort began and it expanded to accomodate the wealthy visitors.

Bellagio itself was surprisingly compact. With the zoom lense of my camera we could see the bell tower and our apartment block to the side of it. The Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni formed a large proportion of the town.

Looking North across the centre of Lake Como we saw Varenna shimmering on the lake. It was a glorious sight.

After our epic hike we were pretty tired, so we took a seat at one of the many picnic benches dotted around. Trying to avoid the sun as not to burn, we chose to sit beneath a few oak trees for shade but damp from sweat we felt a little cold. So we moved to a large stone table baking in the sun.

We had packed a small picnic. Julie didn't feel like eating but I was starving. My baguette filled with cream cheese hardly touched the sides of my mouth as I wolfed it down.  Julie nibbled her ham sandwich.

Whilst we patted ourselves on the back for brining food we shook our heads in disappointment for not brining enough water. We rationed ourselves to a few sips.

We spent over half an hour absorbing the incredible energy of being in such a heavenly location.   No wonder the statue of the Virgin Mary decided to find her sanctuary here.

After one last long look at the view we returned down the pilgrim's track. It was a much easier hike down, gravity helped to lessen the burden.

Instead of marching with our heads down, focusing only on the next step, we strolled down, chatting all the way, stopping to study the several small shrines. Some of them were little works of art.

We knew we were getting nearer the village when we heard the clonking of the cow bell. It had taken us less than an hour to get down.

Back in the village, in what looked like a bus shelter, we came across the strangest of displays.

Painted watercolours of local scences were pinned to a noticeboard, which wasn't out of the ordinary, but sat on either side were two very odd looking figures, life sized dummies. One of a woman wearing a pink head scarf and the other, a bearded old man dressed like a 17th century Quaker. They looked like effigies ready for the bonfire and were very disturbing.

We reached the pizzeria La Torre San Martino. It had a lovey outdoor space at the side of the road, so we decided to stop for a drink. I was parched and ready for a cold beer.

Inside was dark and cosy, perfect for a dark winter's night. Kids were sat watching football on the TV. It may have been Inter Milan verus Calgilary where Inter surprisingnly lost.

Julie had a diet coke because she was too thirsty for wine. She wanted something she could knock back.

My beer was very refreshing. It was from a brewery in Pedavena. At first I thought it may have been a local brewery but it came from nearer the Dolomites, closer to Venice than Milan. However, it was certainly Italian not a Carlsberg or a Heineken. It came in this tall glass which poured the beer perfectly into my mouth.

I'm not embarrased to say I "downed it in one".  

Thirst quenched we continued on our way, passing the First World War memorial. Across the road from it was this striking statue of the Virgin Mary with a halo of stars, stood in front of a mosaic of various acqua colours. I'm surprised we missed it earlier.

We tried to get a closer look but we couldn't because it was in the garden of a private house.

We returned to Cadenabbia, walking down the winding Via Roma, past the Anglican Church of the Ascencion, another landmark we didn't notice on the way up. It was a little grubby but that gave it an extra layer of charm.  Apparently it held English language services, built in 1850 by the nearby Grand Hotel Cadenabbia specifically for visitors to Lake Como. 

We reached the pier and checked the timetable. The next boat was at 5pm so with time to spare we sat outside Bar Impero on the front. The main road was busy and Cadenabbia was in shade by this time of the day.

Bellagio however was bathed in sunshine, enjoying the benefit of being West facing. It's probably the reason why the town was built on this side of the promontory.

We sailed past the pedestrian pier outside Hotel du Lac, to the ferry terminal a few hundred metres away.

Undoubtedly this golden hour was the best time to see Bellagio. The warm colours of the town were brought to life.

We walked back towards the centre of town, briefly thought about a drink on the terrace of Palazzo Genazzini but felt we looked a little too scruffy for such a high-end establishment.

We returned to the familiar Bar Rossi where I ordered myself a Vesper, an iconic cocktail made famous by Ian Fleming's James Bond.

It was sort of a martini he ordered at the Casino Royale, made with Gordon's Gin, vodka, and a French aperetif called Kina Lillet which isn't available anymore. An alterntaive less bitter Lillet Blanc is still manufactured although a dry Vermouth is now often used as a replacement. It was finished off with a long strip of lemon peel dangling out the glass.

It was exceptionally strong and bitter, certainly not for the faint hearted. I struggled to finish it.

We stayed until the sun set and the air began to chill.  It had been a stunning autumn day but once the sun dropped it reminded us that we were in October. Still in our T-shirts it was time to return to our appartment.

Along the way we stopped to buy some supplies, a piece of chicken, some wine.

Supper was mostly a case of eating our left overs. The loaf was toasted and topped with tomato to make a tasty bruschetta, last night's baked potatoes were sliced and fried.

The beetroot wase peeled, sliced and topped with a garlic yogurt, like we had in Katerina's in Kefalonia a few year ago. The flavour was incredible. The beetroot had been slowly cooked in a wood-fired oven until the taste had intensified with a subtle hint of smokiness. It was the best beetroot we had ever tasted.

Also on the menu was a caprese salad, more tomato and a mozarella we still had in the fridge. Finally Julie's chicken was roasted with garlic and some rosemary we picked from the terrace.

We both really enjoyed our supper. We ate everything.

After last night's late night frivolity and today's climb halfway up a mountain we were ready for an early one.