Travels in Italy - Part 3 - Lake Garda
Note to readers: it is now January 2023 so first of all I must wish you a Happy New Year! Secondly I must apologise for having left you in suspense for many months as to the follow on from my last blog post about my travels in Italy last March! Somehow life just got in the way…
2022 was a busy year, full of turbulence and unexpected happenings. But isn’t that the way of things? It has been frustrating not finding the time or headspace to write, but my intention is always there, and I will always return to it when the moment is right. Given that I am currently recuperating after an operation earlier this week, I felt now might be that time to return to the land of La Dolce Vita - and there is nowhere sweeter than the silent shores of Lake Garda in late winter.
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First days of March, 2023
Leaving behind Verona, the city of love, we found our way from the autostrada to the delightful road which clings to the eastern shores of Lake Garda, one of Italy’s most famous northern lakes.
While its more westerly cousins, Iseo, Como, Lugano and Maggiore are long and thin, Garda has more of a tadpole shape, the bulbous head being at its southern end, the thin tail stretching up to the north as the wide Venetian plain becomes increasingly constrained by the looming grey crags of the southern limestone Alps.
The route hugs the twists and turns of the lake, passing through delightful little lakeside villages like Lazise, Bardolino (famous for its red wine of the same name) and Torri del Benaco, with its crenalated 14th century castle by the water’s edge. We stopped briefly to soak up the soft light of the misty winter sundown, and to listen to the sounds of lapping water and children playing. On this second day of March, a Tuesday in the low season, the tranquillity of the moment was tangible and one to be savoured. At which point we received a WhatsApp message from our oldest daughter travelling in South America informing us that she thought she’d just gone blind due to swimming open-eyed underwater in a pool which had just had a load of chlorine dumped in it! We gave advice and smoothed ruffled feathers and prayed the damage would not be long-term. Once a parent, always a parent!
As the weak winter light dwindled into darkness, we arrived at our destination, Malcesine, just over an hour after we left the bright lights of Verona. Here all was quiet, save the bar by the central car park, adjacent to our hotel and the narrow cobbled streets of the old town. It was aperitivo time and the joint was jumping. Quickly checking in to our green shuttered hotel, we returned to the bar to soak up the scene and an Aperol Spritz before wandering down towards the lakeside to see if we could find some food.
Barely a soul was about and the silence was only interrupted by the chime of the church bell and the flutter of a bird’s wing and the soft slip-slap of the water against the quayside of the small harbour. Light fell across the cobbles from the threshold of the only bar that was open down here and we sat, contentedly, to savour another drink and asked for recommendations of where we might eat, given that so much was closed. We were told about a restaurant back on the main road which I’d noticed as we drove in - a classic pizzeria buzzing with life and the tempting smell of freshly cooked dough. It did not disappoint. A slice of true Italy. Amusingly, our waiter spoke good English and had spent a few years in Leeds, just up the road from us here in the High Peak. Why Leeds? It’s a far cry from Malcesine! I’m not sure I ever got a satisfactory answer, but he had enjoyed his time there very much, until the pull of Italian family called him home.
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