Sunday morning reflections
It's 10:40 am, and I've been sitting on my small balcony at Albergo del Lago for the past hour, watching the light change on Lake Como. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the sun catches the ripples on the water. I arrived back at the guesthouse at 9:30, having woken early and gone for a walk along the lakefront path that winds north from the village.
The morning started with a crisp 5°C, but the clear sky promised warmth later in the day. I was out the door by 7:15, eager to experience the path in the quiet morning hours before other visitors appeared. The walking path clings to the rocky shoreline, sometimes just a meter or two above the water. In places, it's carved directly into the cliff face, with short tunnels and overhangs creating a dramatic journey.
I found a small rocky outcrop about twenty minutes north of the village and sat watching a pair of mallards paddling near the shore. The mountains on the opposite side of the lake were still partially shrouded in morning shadows, their peaks catching the first full light of day. The water was remarkably still, creating perfect reflections that doubled the majesty of the scene.
On my return walk, I stopped at a small café that had just opened its doors. The owner seemed surprised to have a customer so early, but welcomed me with a warm smile. My cappuccino came with a small almond biscuit on the side – a simple touch that somehow perfectly captured the understated elegance I've found everywhere in Varenna.
"You are enjoying our village?" he asked as he set down my coffee.
"Very much," I replied. "It's peaceful this time of year."
He nodded appreciatively. "November is when Varenna returns to itself. The tourists go, the fog comes, and we remember who we are."
There's wisdom in that perspective. I've been thinking about it all morning as I sit here on the balcony, watching the village go about its Sunday routine. A few locals have passed by below, nodding greetings to each other as they head to the small church whose bells rang about an hour ago.
The forecast shows it will warm to around 14°C by early afternoon – perfect for more exploration. I'm planning to revisit some of the narrow stone walkways that wind through the village, those stepped paths that connect the upper and lower sections. Yesterday I was focused on the lake views and gardens, but today I want to absorb more of the village itself – the weathered walls, the small shrines tucked into corners, the cats that seem to appear and disappear like spirits.
Seventy-five days into this journey, I'm starting to understand something about time and attention. When I first set out from Kristiansand, I was constantly calculating – how many countries I could visit, how many experiences I could pack in. But here in Varenna, watching the light change minute by minute on the lake, I'm learning that depth can be as rewarding as breadth.
The elderly gardener I met yesterday at Villa Monastero told me he's tended those grounds for over forty years. "Every day, something different," he said, gesturing to the Cedar of Lebanon that dominates one section of the garden. "That tree has a thousand faces. Depends on the light, the season, where you stand."
Perhaps that's true of places as well. Standing in one spot long enough to see its thousand faces might be as valuable as seeing a thousand different spots.
I still have 425 days ahead of me. Plenty of time to find a balance between moving and staying still. For today, I'm content to be here, watching the light change on Lake Como, following the rhythm of a small Italian village on a Sunday in November.
Later, I might walk up to that hilltop chapel again. The view yesterday was spectacular, but I imagine it looks entirely different in morning light than it did in the golden hour of late afternoon. Same place, different moment. A new face to discover.
!The morning light on Lake Como, with mountains reflected in the still water