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18 Days Through Europe
In An Audi
It wasn’t supposed to be an Audi. We had reserved an Opel. It was a matter of conjecture between the guys for the next 18 days whether the Opel would have supplied more trunk space. Happy just to have a car after being told our reservation with Avis was not on record, we left the Malpensa airport north of Milan and pointed the Audi in the direction of Stresa, our first stop. The four of us, Bob and I and Bob’s twin, Dick, and wife, Polly, had spent a year planning these next eighteen days. Dick carried a stack of printouts from Mapquest and I had three AAA maps along with information from the internet about each place we planned to stop, Polly held tight to the Rick Steves books she’d borrowed from the library and Bob, well he came along for the ride, I guess. Oh, yes, he carried the credit cards.
Bob drove first, having had more recent experience with a manual shift
than Dick. We were enjoying the countryside of northern Italy until we
suddenly discovered Lake Maggiore was on our left rather than our right.
Stopping at a gas station, we, who spoke no Italian, gestured and nodded
and pointed to the map and they, who spoke no English, gestured and nodded
and pointed in the air. Finally we said “Grazie” and just headed back in
the direction we had come. Eventually it all straightened out. Maggiore
was on our right again and the Best Western
Villa Carlotta in Belgirate
eventually popped into view around a bend just south of Stresa.
Weary and travel worn, we dragged our luggage into the lobby and were greeted by the manager behind the desk. His keen eye immediately told him he had four groggy Americans who would do anything for a bed and some rest. “I have to keepa your passaports,” he announced with a broad smile when Bob and Dick finished filling out the registration. “What do you mean?” we all asked in unison. “You want the key, I have to have the passaports. It’s the rule.” His smile broadened. Now we all knew the first rule of foreign travel is never surrender your passport. By his smile, it was difficult to tell if he was kidding or if he truly meant what he was saying. “When do we get them back?” Dick asked a bit frayed around the edges. The man shrugged. “I give them back to you when you leave.” We learned later that the Italian government requires a copy of the passport to be on file for each guest registering at a hotel. All he needed was a copy but he must have enjoyed playing with the Americans. I think we slept out of sheer exhaustion because none of us felt comfortable knowing our passports were in his possession. The next day on our way out, we pursued the issue and he produced the passports, playing a “pick the right one” game with us. The humor was lost on us. Stresa is a beautiful little resort town on the shores of Lake Maggiore. In the distance you can see the snow capped mountains of Switzerland. Cobblestone streets invite you to investigate their boutiques, shops, cafes, and restaurants. Bright flowers hang from second floor windows and railings in striking contrast to the antiqued coloring of the old buildings. Hydrangea bushes proliferate in the park along the lakefront. In July the bushes are full of blue and pink blooming globes. But in June, the hydrangeas are just beginning to show color and are upstaged by the profusion of rose bushes with flowers the size of soft balls. Across from Stresa lie three small islands, Isola Bella, Isola del Pescatori, and Isola Madre. We opted to visit the first two.
Finding a water taxi a little more convenient than the public ferry, we
arranged the times we wanted to travel
The palace is impressive and took about an hour to tour. The music room was the historic meeting place between Mussolini and the French and British in an attempt to scare the Germans out of the war. That was just before Mussolini joined Hitler. The most unusual rooms are downstairs. They are called the grotto. Walls are covered in small stones and there is a shell/underwater motif throughout. It was the place to go before air conditioning since it stays cool throughout the hot summer days. The Baroque terraced gardens are home to a flock of white peacocks that strut among the visitors. Gardeners work daily to keep up the sculptured greenery and the flowers that bloom profusely April through October.
We skipped seeing Isola Madre but I understand the botanical gardens there
are beautiful and contain a wide Our taxi picked us up at the appointed time and took us to Isola del Pescatori for lunch. We found a restaurant overlooking the small beach area and enjoyed a plate of freshly caught lake fish. Isola del Pescatori is the smallest of the islands and is still home to some fishermen. It is a quaint walk through narrow alleyways filled with little shops and small restaurants. Colorful flowers and fishnets adorn the outside walls. You feel as though you are walking through an old master’s painting of Italy.
A little café with an outdoor patio looked like an inviting spot to stop for a cappuccino. No one makes cappuccino like the Italians. Business was slow and the proprietor spent time talking to us about what the winters were like—cold and snowy—which explains the ski resort on the other side of the mountain. After a wonderful pasta dinner with wild mushrooms, we found some ice cream and strolled around the waterfront park again, this time lingering long enough to watch the sunset turn the sky and the lake to various shades of deep purple. Stresa is the kind of place that invites you to linger and relax but we had 16 more days and lots of places to see. We were ready to begin some serious sightseeing.
©Karen Robbins All text and photos on this page are copyrighted in my name. Please obtain permission for use.
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to each island. We
left for Isola Bella, enjoying the panoramic view of Stresa from the boat.
Upon arriving at Isola Bella, we went straight to the ticket office to
beat the buses full of tourists we knew were arriving in the parking lot
in Stresa. We opted for the audio tour and plugged our headsets into the
tape recorder. There was more information than we wanted but someone who
is a real history buff would enjoy the details. 
variety of plant life.
Back again at our car, we drove a short distance to the cable car,