Varenna and the REAL Bellagio...
This Italian train system is pretty sweet. I remember stories from wayyy back that talked about how bad the system was (although there are apparently still random strikes, that I hope to avoid). Could not be easier, though. Kiosk machines with English step by step instructions, show you all the alternatives, what system you would ride on. There's Eurostar, Eurocity, InterCity, Regional, InterRegional...confusing? It could be, but the machine does it all. Any necessary supplementary charges that Rick Steve's warns you about are taken care of.
So needless to say, even that tricky two-train-with-a-stop-in-Lecco-trip was a snap. Before you can say "Bob's Your Uncle" (or ask "What's the Name of Marianna's Cousin Claudia's Father"?) I'm steamin into Varenna. Quick stop, these small town drop offs. Good thing I was at the door ready to depart, as the train barely stood still before taking off again.
It's about 4:30 pm Italian Train time, which I swear is five minutes ahead of UTC, but you learn quick to set your watch to the train clock, and the town looks dead. Which, well, it sort of is. RS claims this is the place to come to to see how slow you can get your pulse to, and he comes here in the peak season. November, I am finding out, is about as slow as it gets in Italy. Towns seem to use this month to work on all the stuff you come to see (i.e. scaffolding on the Milan Duomo, and many others to hear about later). This town, however, is just...stopped.
Which is fine. I wander around the main street (coincidentally, the only street), checking out the hotel prices. Settling on one (ok, the cheapest), I toss my stuff in the room, then prudently decide to wash my unmentionables (damn, I didn't mean to say that). Quick dry as they are, I hang up the socks and boxers in close proximity to the room lights to quicken the drying.
I head back out with naught but the RS bible and hit the hilite spots, which are primarily free and of the 'look at that' variety. The pulse does seem to be a little slower, but that could be from the cold breeze off the lake. Which is the next stop, as I plan to ferry over to the town of Bellagio, the real-world inspiration for that billion dollar hotel in Las Vegas. I can hear Sussex sighing now.
The ferry was uneventful; a tiny car carrier in the vein of the kind used to head over to Saltspring Island, but way smaller. Like the Skeena Queen left in the dryer too long.
Fifteen minutes later, we (that is, me and the crew; I was the sole passenger) round the Place Where the Wind Parts, and Bellagio comes into view.
What was that? "Where the Wind Parts"? OK, OK. Check out the map of Lake Como. Looks like a man, right. Look at where Bellagio is (locals call it the testicles of lake Como...). To get to Bellagio from Varenna, we have to go around... the place... well, you know. Actually, it's a double-meaning kind of thing. The prevailing winds are southerly, so, the actual wind splits there as well, although in the opposite direction of the more colloquial explanation...
Back to Bellagio. Technically, I can see how this inspired the Las Vegas hotel, architecturally speaking, in any case. But judging by the state of the place, I would venture to estimate that the hotel in Vegas is worth more than this whole town combined. Most of the larger villas (as is the case in Varenna) are abandoned and crumbling, or not abandoned and crumbling. Apparently the rich families who owned them didn't quite make it through WWII so well, and nobody can afford to keep these places up. Add to that lcoal building regualtions enforcing that any work has to be to original specifications (you cannot even change the paint color!), and the result is a town of ridiculously expensive hotels, restaurants and shops, and slumlike homes. Mansions. Whatever.
The tour of Bellagio lasted about an hour, as it was even ghostier than Varenna (at least some fishermen live there), so it was back on the mini-ferry and off to see if I could slow my pulse any further with a plate of pasta and a bottle of wine. Well, that wasn't too hard. Stumbled back to the hotel for another glass in the bar there, then up to bed. Well, up to a room that smells suspiciously of burnt plastic. Turns out one of my socks slipped onto the light bulb and melted. Oops, I'll just scrape that off. Into bed to be ready for an early train back to Bergamo.
Which all went according to plan, except for the noticeable exception of my hat. The bottle of wine the night before somehow led to misplacing that thing (how did that happen?). I checked back at the restaurant and the bar; no luck. I've learned my lesson. Be careful with your hat when drinking a bottle of wine. Luckily, I don't have a hat any more, so that's one rule I don't have to worry about.
Well, the Internet cafe is ready to close, and I have another bottle of wine back in my room, so Verona and Balzano will have to wait...
So needless to say, even that tricky two-train-with-a-stop-in-Lecco-trip was a snap. Before you can say "Bob's Your Uncle" (or ask "What's the Name of Marianna's Cousin Claudia's Father"?) I'm steamin into Varenna. Quick stop, these small town drop offs. Good thing I was at the door ready to depart, as the train barely stood still before taking off again.
It's about 4:30 pm Italian Train time, which I swear is five minutes ahead of UTC, but you learn quick to set your watch to the train clock, and the town looks dead. Which, well, it sort of is. RS claims this is the place to come to to see how slow you can get your pulse to, and he comes here in the peak season. November, I am finding out, is about as slow as it gets in Italy. Towns seem to use this month to work on all the stuff you come to see (i.e. scaffolding on the Milan Duomo, and many others to hear about later). This town, however, is just...stopped.
Which is fine. I wander around the main street (coincidentally, the only street), checking out the hotel prices. Settling on one (ok, the cheapest), I toss my stuff in the room, then prudently decide to wash my unmentionables (damn, I didn't mean to say that). Quick dry as they are, I hang up the socks and boxers in close proximity to the room lights to quicken the drying.
I head back out with naught but the RS bible and hit the hilite spots, which are primarily free and of the 'look at that' variety. The pulse does seem to be a little slower, but that could be from the cold breeze off the lake. Which is the next stop, as I plan to ferry over to the town of Bellagio, the real-world inspiration for that billion dollar hotel in Las Vegas. I can hear Sussex sighing now.
The ferry was uneventful; a tiny car carrier in the vein of the kind used to head over to Saltspring Island, but way smaller. Like the Skeena Queen left in the dryer too long.
Fifteen minutes later, we (that is, me and the crew; I was the sole passenger) round the Place Where the Wind Parts, and Bellagio comes into view.
What was that? "Where the Wind Parts"? OK, OK. Check out the map of Lake Como. Looks like a man, right. Look at where Bellagio is (locals call it the testicles of lake Como...). To get to Bellagio from Varenna, we have to go around... the place... well, you know. Actually, it's a double-meaning kind of thing. The prevailing winds are southerly, so, the actual wind splits there as well, although in the opposite direction of the more colloquial explanation...
Back to Bellagio. Technically, I can see how this inspired the Las Vegas hotel, architecturally speaking, in any case. But judging by the state of the place, I would venture to estimate that the hotel in Vegas is worth more than this whole town combined. Most of the larger villas (as is the case in Varenna) are abandoned and crumbling, or not abandoned and crumbling. Apparently the rich families who owned them didn't quite make it through WWII so well, and nobody can afford to keep these places up. Add to that lcoal building regualtions enforcing that any work has to be to original specifications (you cannot even change the paint color!), and the result is a town of ridiculously expensive hotels, restaurants and shops, and slumlike homes. Mansions. Whatever.
The tour of Bellagio lasted about an hour, as it was even ghostier than Varenna (at least some fishermen live there), so it was back on the mini-ferry and off to see if I could slow my pulse any further with a plate of pasta and a bottle of wine. Well, that wasn't too hard. Stumbled back to the hotel for another glass in the bar there, then up to bed. Well, up to a room that smells suspiciously of burnt plastic. Turns out one of my socks slipped onto the light bulb and melted. Oops, I'll just scrape that off. Into bed to be ready for an early train back to Bergamo.
Which all went according to plan, except for the noticeable exception of my hat. The bottle of wine the night before somehow led to misplacing that thing (how did that happen?). I checked back at the restaurant and the bar; no luck. I've learned my lesson. Be careful with your hat when drinking a bottle of wine. Luckily, I don't have a hat any more, so that's one rule I don't have to worry about.
Well, the Internet cafe is ready to close, and I have another bottle of wine back in my room, so Verona and Balzano will have to wait...
posted by Kevin Batycki at
1:10 PM
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