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LA DOLCE VITA
Enjoy Life to the Fullest on Italy's Lake Maggiore
By Paula Hughes Court
In 1817 the famous French writer Stendahl wrote,
"What can one say of Lake Maggiore and the Borromean Islands...except
to pity people who do not go mad over them." Ernest Hemingway
agreed, as well as a notable procession of famous others-Napoleon,
Mussolini, Charles Dickens and English poets, William Wordsworth
and Lord Byron.
All fell under the spell of the Italian Lake District's spectacular
beauty. Deep blue water reflecting the snow-capped mountains of
Swiss and Italian Alps. The warm Mediterranean climate and the ever-blooming
tropical flora of palm trees, magnolias, roses and camellias. My
husband, David, and I discovered Lake Maggiore on a chance visit
years ago. Now we return every summer with our daughter, Claudia,
to Stresa, our favorite of the magical villages that dot the lake
shore.
 We
stay at Grand Hotel Bristol, a place that has become like a second
home to us. When we arrive, we're greeted warmly by the gracious
staff. After explaining why we're arriving without luggage (Alitalia
lost all of our bags) we're led to our room and discover we've been
upgraded to a luxurious suite with a large balcony overlooking Lake
Maggiore and the Borromean Islands.
We fight off jet lag by taking a swim in the heated indoor pool,
then stroll into town along the broad, lakefront promenade built
by Napoleon, past abandoned estates and luxury hotels. A continuous
park, planted with an endless variety of trees, flowers and shrubs
hugs the walled shoreline. Pink and purple hydrangeas are in full
bloom, as well as roses of every color. Gardeners keep the conifers
trimmed into unusual shapes and have coaxed climbing red roses up
the trunks of palm trees. A playground and carousel entertain children
at one end of the park, fountains and statues provide a peaceful
spot for relaxing at the other.
At dusk, a crowd gathers along the lake to watch the sun set across
the water. As the last glimmer of sunlight dips below the Alps,
cheers and clapping erupts. We turn inward towards the village,
dodge a speeding Ferrari as we cross the street, then wander down
narrow, lantern-lit alleys perusing restaurant menus. After much
deliberation, we decide on Pappagallos, a favorite of the locals
for brick-oven baked buffalino pizza.
It's unusually hot for early June (African winds we're told), and
we dine outside on the patio under a roof of gnarled grape vines
stretched over wrought-iron trellises. The stern Italian men never
smile as they dash from table to table pouring carafes of red wine
and handing out enormous platters of seafood pasta. Though the restaurant
is packed with hungry diners, the sole cook suddenly decides it's
time for a break. He rips off his apron, stomps out of the kitchen
and goes next door to smoke a cigarette with the women in the gelato
shop. My husband looks at me, shrugs and orders another carafe of
wine. We know the cook will eventually return and cook our pizza...but
it may be awhile. Over the years we've learned the secret to enjoying
Italy is understanding things do get done-just not always in our
rushed American style.
After dinner, we stop next door for a gelato. The vast array of
luscious flavors makes the decision difficult. Pistachio? Hazelnut?
Lemoncello? My daughter orders strawberry and the artistic clerk
transforms the simple ice cream cone into a beautiful rose before
handing it over.
The walk back to our hotel in the dark is even more beautiful than
in the daytime. Stresa's older hotels, the Regina Palace and the
Grand Hotel des Lles Borromees, glow brightly at night, giving the
resort town an elegant look. In the middle of the lake, lanterns
from the Borromean Islands glitter like jewels in the starlight.
Back at our hotel, we find a wedding reception going on full swing,
with guests dancing on the lawn. The crowd disperses at midnight
and the band winds down. From my balcony, I can see a lone man gently
swaying to the last song. I wonder if he's indulged in one too many
grappas, but a closer look reveals a toddler daughter sleeping in
his arms.
The next day, we quickly fall back into our old routine. For a brief
week each year, we pretend to be Italian. David rises early and
goes out to pick up our lunch of pastries, prosciuto, cheese and
melon. In past years, we've always felt the need to dash off every
morning, exploring Switzerland, mystical Lake Orta or the Cannero
Riviera, but this time we don't want to drive anywhere. Instead,
we loll away the mornings drinking coffee on our balcony and watching
the sun burn off the thick haze hovering over the lake.
We do eventually walk down to the Piazza Marconi and take the ferry
boat to the top sight-seeing destinations in the area, the Borromean
Islands. The first stop is sleepy Isola Pescatori, a residential
fishing island with a couple of seafood restaurants. Good for a
short lunch break accompanied by serenading accordionists, but not
much more.
Next we visit, Isola Bella, named by the 16th century count Carlo
Borromeo for his wife, Isabella. The island showcases a palatial
villa filled with stuccoes, frescoes, tapestries and crystal chandeliers.
Rare and unusual plants such as tea, coffee, lotus flowers and Egyptian
papyrus thrive in the 10-tiered terraced garden rising up from the
water like a Mayan temple. Snow-white peacocks and pheasants patrol
the elaborate grounds. The island even boasts a place in history
as the location of a meeting in 1935 between Mussolini and British
and French diplomats. Unfortunately, the meeting failed in its attempt
to scare Germany out of starting World War II.
On the third island, Isola Madre, natural elements dominate those
made by man. The whole island forms one great garden filled with
parrots and colorful parakeets. We were lucky to visit in June with
the garden's azaleas and rhododendrons were in full bloom.
As always, the time passed much too quickly and soon it was time
to pack for home. A few days before, our lost suitcases had arrived
without explanation one night at 11 pm, shredded to pieces and wrapped
in clear plastic. We bought new luggage and loaded our carry-ons
full of treasures-Murano glass figurines, lemoncello in hand-painted
bottles, walnut sauce, grappa and a new purse.
Our hearts are heavy as we check-out and say our goodbyes. "Will
we see you next year, Mrs. Court?" the desk clerk asks.
We smile and nod. Oh yes, we'll most definitely be back.
FOR MORE INFORMATION:
Grand Hotel Bristol
28838 Stresa, Italy
Telephone-(39) 0323 32 601
Fax-(39) 0323 33 622
www.zaccherahotels.com
info@zaccherahotels.com
The Zacchera family owns four luxury hotels in Stresa and nearby
Baveno. The Grand Hotel Bristol features long hallways filled with
elegant mahogany furniture, Candolglis marble, antique carpets,
crystal chandeliers and Tiffany glass cupolas. Rates for a double
room, including breakfast range from $163 to $252.
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