Lunchtime reflections by the lake

It's just past 1:30 in the afternoon, and I'm sitting at a small café overlooking Lake Como. The sun is playing hide-and-seek with scattered clouds, casting shifting patterns on the water's surface. I ordered a simple lunch—a local cheese plate with fresh bread and a small glass of white wine—a bit of an indulgence for lunch, but when in Italy...

The morning started quietly. I woke early, as I often do, and spent some time on my guesthouse balcony watching the village come to life. There's something magical about these moments before the world fully wakes. The lake was perfectly still, mirroring the mountains on the opposite shore with such precision it was hard to tell where reality ended and reflection began.

After breakfast (and yes, coffee—the Italians know what they're doing), I decided to explore more of Varenna on foot. The village is a maze of narrow lanes and stone staircases that wind between buildings painted in warm yellows and soft pinks. What strikes me most is how the entire settlement seems to have grown organically from the hillside, adapting to the terrain rather than forcing it to submit.

I found a small bookshop tucked away on a side street and spent nearly an hour browsing, eventually purchasing a book of local history with beautiful photographs. The shopkeeper, an older gentleman with reading glasses perpetually perched on the end of his nose, seemed genuinely pleased that I was interested in the area's past. When I mentioned I was staying for a few days, his face lit up.

"Most visitors come for a few hours from Bellagio or Milan," he told me. "They take pictures of the lake, eat gelato, and leave. They miss so much."

We talked about the olive groves I visited yesterday, and he recommended a walking path that leads up into the hills behind the village. "For tomorrow," he suggested, "if the fog isn't too thick. The weather service has issued a yellow warning for this evening."

I thanked him for the advice and continued wandering, eventually finding my way to this café where I'm writing now. The waiter just brought my espresso—the perfect ending to a simple meal.

I'm struck by how different this experience is from Milan just a few days ago. Cities have their energy and attractions, but there's something to be said for these smaller places where time seems to move at a different pace. I've noticed I check my watch less frequently here.

This afternoon, I'm planning to visit Villa Monastero with its botanical gardens. I've heard the gardens are beautiful even in November, with Mediterranean species that thrive in the lake's microclimate. The villa itself is apparently worth seeing too—a former monastery converted into a noble residence in the 17th century.

The current temperature is around 11°C according to my phone, but it feels warmer in the sun. The forecast shows it cooling down this evening with that fog warning the bookseller mentioned. I'll make sure to be back at the guesthouse before dark.

Seventy-three days into this journey, and I'm finding a rhythm that works. Some places call for constant movement and exploration; others, like Varenna, invite you to slow down, to sit by the lake with a book and watch the light change on the water. Both have their place.

I'm in no hurry to leave just yet.

!The view from my lunch table, Lake Como stretching toward distant mountains

427 days remaining...