Showing posts with label Italy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Italy. Show all posts

Saturday, 7 April 2012

The Italian Holiday


You can recognise the occasional local that we meet walking along the side of Lake Garda between Riva Del Garda and the next village, which is called Torbole, by the slightly condescending looks they give us pasty skinned Scots dressed in light trousers and T-shirts. While we're enjoying temperatures equivalent to our summer, they clearly believe it's still winter. Invariably, they're wearing multiple layers of much heavier clothing, often a hat and almost always in dark colours. Of course there are a few tourists who are also from much warmer climes and feeling temperatures in the mid-20° C to be just a tad chilly for exposing any skin. Granted it can be "fresh" early in the morning or in the evening but now, at midday, it's blooming hot and I'm beginning to think that perhaps an excursion to the nearest shady watering hole might be a good idea. While continuing to think liquid thoughts I take some comfort that the looks given to us in passing are nowhere near as disparaging as those given to anyone sunbathing on the shoreline and as for those actually swimming……….





Unfortunately for my burning forehead and pretty weak justification for alcohol, the purpose-built walkway and bicycle path follows close to the water's edge and there doesn't seem to be any watering holes in sight, shady or otherwise - perhaps a sign that Italians take their walking and cycling more seriously than I do or, that their planners take a more enlightened view towards the environment than most tourist destinations where water and heightened temperatures are the norm. I stop to take some photographs and consider my options. After a few frames and a moments musing I turn to The Lovely G and suggest, with a slightly concerned tone that perhaps she may need to protect her delicate skin. Another sentence with the word ‘ice-cream’ casually inserted and a few moments later I am unashamedly being led back in the direction of our favourite watering hole, silently holding an internal debate between the inherent attributes of soave or pinot-grigio as potential rehydrants.






An hour later having successfully protected The Lovely G's skin and been rewarded with lunch and a glass (or two) of nicely chilled Soave wine for being so considerate, we decide to take a boat trip from the other side of the harbour out on the lake. We don't have a firm destination in mind, just the idea of a pleasant boat trip in the afternoon sun. There are regular boats heading out of the town criss-crossing the lake to towns and villages up the next 20 or so miles on each side of this absolutely enormous body of water and the tickets are cheap so for the next few hours we enjoy the gentle breeze generated by the boats movement and the luxury of being transported from one scenic town to the next and the next and the next until we eventually disembark at a small town called Limone which looks interesting from the boat. We find a cafe, drink delicious coffee and relax and explore before picking up the return boat a couple of hours or so later having made plans to take a boat trip another day to another of the picturesque small towns we feel demands further exploration.






Back in Riva we potter around the medieval piazza among the shops and cafes at the foot of the watch tower before making our way back to our hotel tucked away in one of the medieval streets a few hundred yards up the hill from the harbour.





 There's just time for a drink before dinner and the girl behind the bar shows a remarkable lack of talent when trying to pour an accurate measure. A G+T should hit the mark.

 Just the half litre I think........

{More to come TSB}

See you later.

Listening to:




Sunday, 1 April 2012

Riva! Riva! Riva!

Rush hour in Riva


I can't help smiling as I sit here contentedly looking down the lake. The late afternoon sun shines on my face, its warmth comfortable and soothing and on the table beside me I have the choice of a stunning cup of coffee or a glass of crisp white wine from the perfectly chilled half bottle sitting on the white linen tablecloth. 

Beside me The Lovely G also sits quietly. We are on opposite sides of a small, circular table here beside the small harbour of Riva Del Garda, which as the name suggests is on Lake Garda in northern Italy. Behind us and the two rows of tables with their attentive staff is the Hotel Sole which has quickly become our place of choice of an afternoon or almost any part of the day on this short holiday. The 20 or so feet between my stretched out legs and the edge of the harbour allows people to pass quietly by, walking or sometimes on bicycle. It's a promenade, a place to see and be seen for the locals and tourists here. Around the corner of the hotel the tables continue, facing the harbour with its small but well fed population of ducks and three or four swans and the town square with its mediaeval plaza and tall watchtower. That too is a favourite spot but more so earlier in the day as by now it's in shade and the temperature in this last week of March cools quickly when the sun has gone. 

A waiter passes, nodding a quiet smile of recognition in our direction, weaving through the tables with a tray of coffee and drinks expertly balanced in one hand. The staff here are immaculately turned out in black trousers, white shirts, black dickie-bows and black waistcoats as they bustle efficiently to and fro even though the season hasn't yet started and they lend an extra air of dignity to the slightly faded elegance of the old Hotel. From the tables around us conversations spill out towards the water. English, Italian, German and Russian are the easiest to spot but there are more and I watch a family of oriental origin walk past in front of me. I like this.

It feels great.

My attention is momentarily caught by a squabble between two male ducks down on the water as one fends off a rival for the attentions of his mate and I watch the loser depart at frantic speed as he tries to stop his rival give him the indignity of a hard peck on the behind for his troubles. The water disturbed by their thrashing glints silver and black against the bulk of the water in the lowering sun and flares through my sunglasses causing me to look away and I take the opportunity to savour a sip from my coffee. I glance across at The Lovely G as she sits looking down the lake. Despite the sunglasses masking her eyes I can see a look of utter contentment and I smile and settle myself comfortably deeper into the wicker chair. It may be a long afternoon.


It's a tough job but somebody has to do it.

See you later.

Listening to:

The Sunday Posts 2017/Mince and Tatties.

Mince and Tatties I dinna like hail tatties Pit on my plate o mince For when I tak my denner I eat them baith at yince. Sae mash ...