Farewell to Varenna
The morning fog hung over Lake Como like a soft blanket, obscuring the mountains that had been my constant companions these past few days. I woke early, as has become my habit here, and stepped onto the small balcony of my room at Albergo del Lago. The air felt different today – perhaps because I knew I would be leaving.
I've spent five days in this small lakeside village, far longer than I initially planned. But Varenna taught me something valuable about slowing down, about the depth that comes from staying in one place long enough to notice its rhythms and patterns.
After packing my belongings (which somehow always expand to fill available space, despite my best efforts), I headed to the café where Maria works. I wanted to say goodbye and have one last perfect espresso before departing.
"You're leaving us today?" she asked as I approached the counter, somehow remembering my plans despite the dozens of conversations she must have each day.
"Yes, this afternoon," I replied, feeling a strange melancholy. "I've enjoyed the quiet of Varenna in November."
She nodded knowingly. "You've seen the real village, not just the summer version. That's rare for visitors."
I took my coffee to a small table by the window, watching as locals went about their Tuesday morning routines. An older man walked past with fresh bread, nodding politely. A woman hurried by with a small dog that seemed determined to stop and sniff every doorway. These ordinary moments had become familiar over my stay.
After finishing my coffee, I decided to take one final walk along the lakefront path. The morning fog was beginning to lift, revealing patches of blue sky and glimpses of the opposite shore. I passed the small pebble beach I'd discovered on my second day, now empty save for a pair of mallards paddling near the edge.
I continued north along the path, wanting to revisit the rocky outcrop where I'd spent a peaceful hour yesterday morning. Finding it unoccupied, I sat down and simply watched the lake. The water was exceptionally calm today, creating perfect reflections of the partially visible mountains.
Time feels different in places like this. The minutes stretch longer, yet days pass quickly. I've been traveling for 77 days now – just over 15% of my journey – and I'm still learning how to travel. Not just how to move from place to place, but how to truly experience each location, how to be present rather than always planning the next move.
Returning to the village center around noon, I stopped at the small bookshop I'd discovered earlier in my stay. The elderly owner looked up from his newspaper and smiled in recognition.
"Did you visit the chapel I told you about?" he asked, setting aside his reading.
"I did, twice actually. The view was spectacular, especially in the morning light."
He nodded, pleased. "Most tourists never find it. Too busy rushing from one famous spot to another."
I browsed the shelves one last time, eventually selecting a small book of local photography as a memento. As he wrapped it carefully in brown paper, I asked him about the fog warning I'd heard was coming tonight.
"Ah yes, it will be thick by evening. November brings the fog. Good thing you're leaving before it comes."
After a simple lunch at a small trattoria near the water, I returned to my hotel to collect my luggage. The owner wished me well on my travels, mentioning that the next guests wouldn't arrive until Friday. "November is quiet here," she said. "But peaceful."
As I waited at the small train station, I looked back toward the village. Five days ago, Varenna was just a name on a map, a place to pause after Milan. Now it holds memories: the hilltop chapel with its panoramic views, Maria's morning espresso, the elderly gardener tending the grounds at Villa Monastero, the secluded rocky outcrop where I watched ducks navigate the clear waters.
I have 423 days left on this journey. How many more places will become part of me before I return home? How many more lessons in stillness and presence await?
The train arrived at 14:35, exactly on schedule. As we pulled away from the station, the lake gradually disappeared from view, hidden first by buildings, then by trees, and finally by distance. The fog warning would take effect in a few hours, but I would be elsewhere by then, carrying Varenna with me as I moved toward whatever comes next.
[I'm headed to Florence next – a different pace, a different experience. But I'm taking Varenna's lesson with me: sometimes the deepest experiences come when we stay still enough to notice.]