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Continuing my visit to Lago d’Iseo, Italy . . .

This is the view I had when I pulled back the curtains.  Appearing to float in Lago d’Iseo, surrounded on both sides by mountains, is St. Paolo’s Island.  It’s a private island with a palace that was on a sacked former monastery.

Since my room had a kitchette, I had a quick breakfast in my room of dried store-bought pastries and coffee.  I walked 50 meters to the tiny ferry dock and grabbed the passenger ferry from Sensole (it was now running) to the largest village on Monte Isola, Peschiera Maraglio.  I didn’t see a single tourist, only locals.

The Alp run-off filled lake was glassy and calm lit by a sunny clear day – perfect for taking in the Alp-filled views.  Looking north the horizon was outlined with glaciers.

I walked around the lakefront boardwalk and alleys of the little village.  Doors were left open; banter could be heard echoing, and the occasional yapping dog.  I realized there were no cars anywhere to be found.  Only boats, bicycles, and little gas carts.  And there were very few young people.

I walked around the lakefront boardwalk and alleys of the little village.  Doors were left open; banter could be heard echoing, and the occasional yapping dog.  I realized there were no cars anywhere to be found.  Only boats, bicycles, and little gas carts.  And there were very few young people.

The Alp run-off filled lake was glassy and calm lit by a sunny clear day – perfect for taking in the Alp-filled views.  Looking north the horizon was outlined with glaciers.

I ferried back to Sulzano to get my car to take in more of the views around the lake.  My ultimate destination was to see the Piramidis or “Fairies of the Forest”, adjacent to the tiny foothill village of Cislano, above the northeastern shore.  It did not disappoint.

Piramidi are limestone pinnacles that are holding up boulders.  Erosion has found a way to perfectly support and balance the rocks.  It is an eerie sight.  It looked like it might have inspired Roger Dean, the fantasy artist, famous for the band, Yes’, album covers.

In the village Cislano I felt like I had traveled back in time.  Smoke was coming out of chimneys in the modest terracotta tile topped houses.  A few were vacant, crumbled, and overgrown with weeds.  There was a tiny church, St. George’s, which overlooked the lake and mountains, doors were wide open allowing access to view walls adorned with medieval frescoes.  It was as simple as the village.

I was far away from the hustle and bustle of the industrialized fashion and design mecca of Milan.  I felt like this was so much of what Italy is about.  After driving around the lake for a couple more hours, I drove back to Sulzano to park my car and then ferry back to Monte Isola.  As we ferried into Peschiera Maraglio, I spotted the fish drying off a balcony.   I disembarked to purchase my usual Christmas ornament momento and a few post cards in a tiny gift shop.  I grabbed the next ferry back to the Residence Vittoria and took this picture of the facility from the water.

Later on, at dinner, in the very vacant and quiet restaurant in the Residence Vittoria, the waiter told me that the fish was caught and dried locally.  My mind immediately went back to that image of the hanging fish.

I felt that this experience worked for me and it was what travel was all about, surprises, native people with intact cultures and traditions, virtually untouched scenery, and a slower way of life.

The next day, I walked the 7 km (4.34 miles) pathway the meanders the perimeter of Monte Isola through the tiny villages.  Still no cars, but plenty of stones houses, olive trees, grapevines, strolling villagers, domesticated animals, and always spectacular vistas. The highest point of Monte Isola, 600 metres (almost 2000ft) above sea level is topped by Madonna della Ceriola shrine, of course!  The small Church dates from the 16^th century.  Pre-dating the shrine, near the village of Menzino, is the Martinengo Castle dating from the 15^th century.

The air was fresh and invigorating.  I slept well that night.

The next morning, after a very peaceful, quiet night, I work up refreshed and relaxed, and sorry that I had to leave so soon.  It isn’t surprising that one of the names of the villages is Cure.  It worked.  I slowly packed, every few minutes pausing to look out at the view one more time in hopes of burning the image in my memory banks.  It’s been there since.

I left Monte Isola having made one of life’s biggest decisions.  I decided that this is where I want my ashes to be spread when I’m deceased.  A few months later when I returned to Seattle I met with my estate attorney.  We added a provision to my will that my ashes will be spread in Lago d’Iseo, off Monte Isola, with instructions for my executor to make the trip.  Lucky partner or friend.

I happy to say that ten years later – to the day, I contacted the hotel and made a reservation for a return visit to Residence Vittoria this June.  I know it can’t be the same because it will be high season.  I take comfort in knowing that I will be surrounded, almost exclusively by Italians, because tourists are too distracted by the much larger Lakes; Como, Maggiore, and Garda.  More about that trip later . . .

Happy Tripping,

Carter

Years ago, on one of my first trips to Italy, I learned one of my first travel lessons and one of my most magical memories rolled into one.

I flew from London to Milan using miles on British Midlands Airlines.  I decided to focus on the Lombardy Region.  People may beg to differ, but there wasn’t enough to see in the industrial city of Milan itself to warrant spending a week there, especially at my pace.  So, I planned to rent a car and drive north through the Franciacorte Wine Region to the lakes region at the foot of the Italian Alps.

I did the tourist circuit in Milan (short shrift here); Santa Maria delle Grazie and Leonardo d’Vinci’s “The Last Supper”, Milan Duomo, Galeria Vittorio Emanuele II, La Scala Theatre, Fashion Houses, Sforzesco Castle, San Satiro, San Lorenzo Maggiore, and a Gelateria serving the best damned Semi-Fredo ever.  I skipped the Pirelli Building (you can see it from most anywhere) and Civico Museo d’Arte Contemporanca (Contemporary Art Museum)

I picked up my rental car and headed north to Lago d’Iseo.  I chose this lake as opposed to the much more popular and larger Lake Como and Lake Garda because I was told it was “locals only”.  I also soon learned what “off season” truly meant in Italy resort areas.

By the time I ascended through the vineyards of Franciacorta with the Alps in the distance, the sun started to set.  Fortunately, I had pre-booked (via FAX) accommodation on Lago d’Iseo (via FAX in those days) and thus had a room waiting.  I arrived in the tiny lakeside village of Sulzano and drove around looking for my hotel, Residence Vittoria.  No sign of the hotel anywhere.  So, I decided to park and go to an espresso bar and ask.  In my broken Italian and the bar keep’s non-English Italian, I asked where the hotel was and he pointed across the water.  I explained that I would never have booked a hotel on an island – without knowing.  Wouldn’t I have been told such a thing?  Oh, that’s right – I didn’t ask.  Then, arms flailing and with a panic look on his face, he explained that the only way to get there was by a ferryboat.  Ferry!  And the last one was leaving in a few minutes!  But what about my car?!?!  It was a passenger ferry only!  He motioned me to park in a lot across the road from the village and leave money in a box.  I ran to my car and grabbed my luggage, dropped money in the box, and RAN to the ferry dock.  Thank god for wheeled luggage!  I hopped on the ferry (a small boat) and we motored off into the dark toward the distant lights across the lake.  Mind you, I was still very confused where I was going.

I asked the ferry driver (it was a very small passenger boat) where the hotel was and he explained that it was in the village on Sensole and that dock was now closed. So, he was dropping me off at the Porto (dock) at Peschiera Maraglio (the largest village on the Island).  It was now very cold as we skimmed across the black water.  There were a few elderly people hanging out in chairs by the dock and there were lines of fish drying in the few illuminated rickety buildings.

I asked one of the oldies in my broken Italian where my hotel was.  I made out the name “Sensole” and the rest was an arm gesture pointing to a path leading into the dark.  With no choice, I walked into the darkness following the unlit path.  The stone lined path soon turned into a gravel mud path.  Great for luggage wheels!  Just as I adjusted, the path changed to mud!  Pulling became squishy yanking.  After about 20 minutes, the path turned back to gravel and then road.

I came upon the hotel, which was actually sizable, but it was unlit – and dark.  I saw the light around the side, found a door, and knocked on it – loudly.  A French and Italian speaking gent answered the door.  He was the chef in the kitchen and said he was the only one there.  I told him we had a reservation and he said he would call the owner who was at home.  Gratefully, he led me into the dining room, turned on the lights, and offered me a beer.  He left me to make the call and came back to tell me that the owner was coming to check us in.  It would be a while because he was coming by boat.

Two Peroni beers later, the owner arrived, spoke no English, and was gracious despite the inconvenience.  He led to our room in what appeared to be a completely empty hotel.  I turned on the lights and the heater, and found a spacious room.  I looked out the window to see shore lights in the distance.   I unpacked a bit and collapsed in bed.  I didn’t even notice the cold.

The next morning, I woke up and looked out the window to get my bearings to see where the heck I was.  I pulled back the threadbare drapes to find one of the most spectacular sights of my life . . . . Monte Isola.

More later . . . .

Happy Tripping,

Carter