A Week By The Lake

Jill Jacques steps into history, enjoying the beauty of the lakes of northern Italy where time stands still.

- Jill Jacques

As the plane begins its descent to Milan, I remember an illustrated talk on the Italian lakes I attended three years previously. The images blew me away – blue, blue lakes surrounded by blue mountains. I knew I had to go there.

From Milan we set off for Riva del Garda, situated on the north western shores of Lake Garda in the province of Trento in northern Italy, our chosen home away from home. We stop briefly at Lake Como, of George Clooney fame. We don’t see him, or much else, as a fine rain is falling.

The lake is still beautiful – a watercolour of mist and mystery – but I can’t help hoping for sunshine. We cheer ourselves up with hot chocolate, with cream.

In the late afternoon, we arrive at Riva del Garda, just south of the Italian Alps. The sparkling stretch of water gives way on either side to steep mountains that rise out of the lake like camels’ humps, the sheer rock broken here and there by patches of grey-green shrubbery.

In the middle of the day everything turns blue: blue water surrounded by blue mountains. We watch a yacht drift lazily towards the harbour, its sails brushstrokes of red and white in the azure landscape. 

At the Portici Hotel, our room is small, but the window looks out onto the cobbled Piazza 111 Novembre. Leaning on the sill in the fading light, I feel like Lucy in the novel A Room with a View. At one end of the piazza stands the imposing Torre Apponale. The first mention of this medieval bell tower dates back to the 13th century, although historians believe it to be older.

Restaurants crowd the perimeter of the square, where tables and chairs spill out to take advantage of the mellow autumn weather. We try out our scant Italian and order risotto al funghi and red wine. Lights glow yellow in the soft evening as the clock in the tower chimes 10.