It really doesn't get much better than Lake Como. Especially when you can spend a long weekend there with a group of friends and live like locals (because one of them is a local).
I felt like pinching myself on more than one occasion... though the nips of the mosquitos were a reminder that, yes, it was all real.
The view from the window of our b&b. The bell tower is just out of sight to the left, but I assure you that it was praising the lord at the unholiest of hours--before 9 am! (Doesn't Jeebus want to sleep in??) And with only 3 notes, its "songs" were redundant before they even began.
Ugh.
Our ship came in...
and it brought some great views...
and this guy to the right.
At least he wasn't in the "banana hammock" that was de rigueur for men of his age/build/nationality.
F and J, all covered up to protect against dive-bombing mosquitos.
Mosquitos drowned in olive oil. It was that bad.
Como-moon.
B making his now-famous salsa.
Did I mention that we ate like royalty? J's famous chicken wings, L's ribs marinated in honey from her dad's bees, delicious burgers and salads and a homemade green sauce that Alice Waters would have dreams about. Oh, and limoncello and grappa and prosecco and...
But eating well means putting a rumble in the tummy of the neighborhood scrap-cat, affectionately known as "Garfield." He really charmed me but I was instructed not to sneak him any foods, as he tends to potty in naughty places, like our friend's basement.
But look how cute he is!
Ribs, salad, salsa, Pimm's...
And Garfield gets closer and wills you to give him just a little something, anything really, please, please.
PLEASE??
Water history.
So here it is. George Clooney's (or just "George" as he was known all weekend) house. (I mean, really he lives on the same street as our friend. So we were definitely on a [one-sided] first-name basis.)
Though try as we might, there was no George (or Matt Damon or Leo) sighting.
We even looked from the boat (his is the dense green patch at the middle), but he's quite covered and clearly wants his privacy.
Pfthbtt!
I can tell you that George probably has some pretty funny footage of us nearly pushing his bell and haranguing him on the way home one night. Oh, George. Next time come over for a limoncello so we can make it up to you?
It seemed everyone had a dog to beware of. And most all of them had the same realistic sketch of a German shepherd on them. But
this guy, now he's intimidating!
Pretty view in Bellagio, which was way too touristy for our tastes...
but did provide this awesome parking note.
Thanks for teaching me how to call someone a name in Italian, you bastard double-parker!
Really this note was much nastier than the prior one, as far as we were concerned. Thanks for the surprise 10 am checkout (and the lack of bottled water), Georgio!
Just to remember YOU to let us know you don't take credit cards, either!
Many thanks!
Cards at the old man coffee shop.
Sadly, I didn't see Max Spastics or his crew all weekend.
Razor light.
So arty.
Toe bling.
So Italian.
