Evening reflections on Lake Como

There's a certain magic to being in a tourist destination during the off-season. The narrow cobblestone pathways of Varenna, which I imagine are bustling with visitors during summer months, are peacefully quiet now. As dusk settles over Lake Como, I'm sitting on the small balcony of my guesthouse, watching lights twinkle on across the water in Menaggio and Bellagio.

This morning started with the local market I mentioned yesterday. I arrived at 8:50 for the 9:00 opening (some habits never change), which gave me time to watch the vendors setting up their stalls with meticulous care. The market was modest - just six stalls along the waterfront - but the quality of everything was exceptional. An elderly gentleman offered me a sample of his family's olive oil, pressed just last week. The rich, peppery flavor lingered pleasantly, and his pride in explaining their four-generation tradition of olive cultivation was evident even through my limited Italian and his sparse English.

At 11:00, I joined the olive grove tour that was part of the SloWeekend event. Our guide, Francesca, led our small group (just me and two Italian couples) up ancient stone steps to terraced groves that have existed for centuries. Some of the trees are over 200 years old, their trunks twisted and gnarled like living sculptures. Francesca explained how the microclimate around Lake Como is uniquely suited for olive cultivation despite being further north than most olive-growing regions.

The most fascinating part was learning about the traditional harvesting methods. They still use long wooden poles to gently knock olives onto nets spread beneath the trees. I tried my hand at it, which proved more challenging than it looked - precision is required to avoid damaging the branches that will bear next year's fruit.

After the tour, I decided against taking the ferry to Bellagio. The tranquility of Varenna had cast its spell on me, and I wanted to simply absorb it rather than rush to see more. I found a quiet restaurant with a lakeside view and enjoyed a simple lunch of lake fish with local vegetables. The waiter, noticing my interest in local food, recommended a particular white wine from a nearby vineyard that complemented the delicate fish perfectly.

The afternoon was spent wandering the village's upper pathways, where I discovered gardens tucked between houses and breathtaking viewpoints over the lake. I sat for nearly an hour at one such spot, watching the changing light on the water as clouds drifted across the mountains.

Now, as evening settles in, I'm noticing the yellow fog warning was accurate. A gentle mist is forming over the lake, softening the distant lights. The temperature has dropped to about 8°C, but my balcony is sheltered enough to still be comfortable with a jacket and the blanket the guesthouse owner thoughtfully provided.

Tomorrow, I might take that ferry to explore the other lakeside villages, but there's also something appealing about another day in Varenna. I've found that sometimes the most memorable experiences come from spending more time in one place rather than trying to see everything.

Seventy-two days into this journey, I'm learning to appreciate these quiet moments just as much as the grand sights. The restlessness that often drives me forward has subsided here. Perhaps it's the hypnotic effect of the water, or maybe it's simply that after over two months of constant movement, my soul needed a place to catch its breath.

The fog is growing thicker now, wrapping the lake in a mysterious shroud. Time to head inside and plan tomorrow's adventures, whatever they may be.