LAKE MAGGIORE ITALY
by Paula Hughes Court, Family Travel Fun Editor
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.
STRESA, ITALY
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, statues and benches 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.
BORROMEAN ISLANDS
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
ZACCHERRA HOTELS
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.
by Paula Hughes Court, Family Travel Fun Editor
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.
STRESA, ITALY
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, statues and benches 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.
BORROMEAN ISLANDS
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
ZACCHERRA HOTELS
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.
LAKE MAGGIORE HOTELS
STRESA HOTELS
HOTELS LAKE MAGGIORE
HOTELS STRESA ITALY
STRESA HOTELS
HOTELS LAKE MAGGIORE
HOTELS STRESA ITALY
FAMILY TRAVEL FUN.COM
LA DOLCE VITA ON ITALY'S LAKE MAGGIORE
LA DOLCE VITA ON ITALY'S LAKE MAGGIORE
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HOTEL BRISTOL STRESA
GRAND HOTEL BRISTOL
POOL
POOL