Last night in Varenna
It's nearly midnight, and I'm sitting on my hotel balcony at Albergo del Lago, wrapped in an extra blanket against the November chill. The lake is a vast darkness below, with only a few twinkling lights from the opposite shore reflecting on its surface. The temperature has dropped to about 6°C according to my phone, but the blanket and the lingering warmth from a glass of local red wine are keeping me comfortable.
Today was my last full day in Varenna. I spent most of it walking the same paths I've grown familiar with over these past five days, saying goodbye to this place that has unexpectedly taught me so much about slowing down.
I woke early and headed to Maria's café one final time. She greeted me with a knowing smile and had my espresso ready before I even reached the counter.
"So tomorrow you leave us," she said, not a question but a statement.
I nodded, feeling a strange melancholy about departing from this quiet lakeside village that wasn't even on my original itinerary.
"You've seen Varenna in November," she continued, wiping the counter with a practiced motion. "Not many tourists do. You've seen it when it belongs to itself again."
I thought about that as I sipped my coffee. There's something profound about experiencing a place when it's not performing for visitors. The authentic rhythms of daily life emerge – the same elderly man who walks his small dog at precisely 8:15 each morning, the delivery truck that brings fresh bread to the shops, the way the light changes on the mountains as the day progresses.
After breakfast, I took one final hike up to the hilltop chapel that the bookshop owner had recommended earlier in my stay. I arrived just as the morning fog was lifting off the lake, revealing the water's deep blue beneath. I sat on the stone wall for nearly an hour, watching the day brighten and the fog patches drift between the mountains. No one else came by – just me and the panoramic view of Lake Como stretching north and south.
I spent the afternoon packing and repacking my backpack, trying to organize everything efficiently for tomorrow's train journey to Florence. The 14:35 train feels impossibly far away right now, but I know morning will come quickly. I've already set two alarms, though I doubt I'll need them – I've been waking naturally around 6:30 each day here.
After dinner at the small restaurant near the waterfront (a simple but perfect plate of lake fish with local vegetables), I found myself reluctant to return to my room. Instead, I walked along the lakefront path one more time, watching as lights came on in windows and the last ferry of the day departed for Bellagio.
I'm 77 days into this journey now – 15% complete with 423 days remaining. The math is always in the back of my mind. But something has shifted for me here in Varenna. I arrived in Italy with a mental checklist of famous sites to visit, cities to explore, experiences to accumulate. Now I'm wondering if perhaps the most valuable experiences aren't the ones I can photograph or check off a list, but rather these quiet moments of simply being present in a place long enough to feel its pulse.
The fog warning for tomorrow morning means I might not get a clear final view of the lake before I leave. Part of me feels disappointed about that, but another part recognizes it as fitting – Varenna revealing and concealing itself in equal measure, never fully giving up all its secrets even to those who linger.
As I prepare to sleep, I'm thinking about Florence and what awaits me there. The Renaissance art, the architecture, the history – all the things I've read about and planned to see. But I'm also carrying forward this lesson from Varenna about slowing down, about depth over breadth. Perhaps I'll approach Florence differently than I would have 77 days ago.
The clock has just passed midnight. A new day, my last in Varenna, has technically begun. The lake continues its gentle lapping against the shore below my window – a sound that has become so familiar I'll probably miss it tomorrow night.
Time for sleep. The morning, foggy or clear, will come soon enough.