Oh, beautiful day! The rain that fell last night emptied out the clouds, and the morning breeze must have blown them -- empty and feather-light -- far, far away. It was my last morning on Lago di Como, and I had only a few hours before I began the chain of connections that would bring me to Paris. With the bright blue sky overhead, Lake Como was a sapphire jewel amist a shell of towering, emerald mountains.
I slipped into my bathing suit and walked north to Punta Spumanti, where I nestled myself on the concrete steps leading down to the water's edge and at my simple breakfast in the fresh air and sunshine -- a crusty baguette, spread with soft cheese, and topped with chunks of juicy, sweet red pepper. I then bathed in the sun while Andrea Bocelli and Josh Groban serenaded me with their emotive tenor voices.Knowing that I would be toggling ferry, train, and metro connections until well after midnight, I found an international telephone and placed a call to Pennsylvania, USA, to wish my mom and Happy Mother's Day. The 15 minutes alotted from my 5 Euro phoecard were all too short, and for the first time in my nearly two months of travel, tears welled up in my eyes as the first pangs of homesickness washed over me. Here I was in this beyond-beautiful place that fit me like a silk glove, and as much as I was savoring every moment, home suddenly seemed so far away. How I wanted to transport my family to the exact spot where I now stood, and share it with them.
Wiping away my tears, I caught Wally's eye as I passed by his cafe, and he ushered me to a shady seat. Knowing I was off to catch my ferry to Varenna soon, he offered to bring me some lunch, 'on the house.' He returned moments later with a tall glass of frothy, fresh orange juice, a bowl of green olives, and few broiled red pepper stips, twirled around a thin piece of salty sardine.Never one to appreciate the flavor of the quintessential Italian staple -- the olive, I politely bit into one and pushed it around in my mouth. Long a lover of all things Italian, it ahs always slightly bothered me that I couldn't appreciate a good olive. I've tried -- believe me, I've tried. So imagine my excitement when I realized that I was actually enjoying this olive! I was a food snob no longer!
My 'main course' was a ham-and-cheese omelette, which I savored. Omelettes used to be a twice- or thrice-weekly ritual back home, and since arriving in Europe, this was only my second. It didn't hold a hat to the mouth-watering red pepper / green onion / parmesan concoctions that my Todd used to whip up for me. But it was a treat nonetheless.With ten minutes until my ferry lef tthe dock, I booked it to my room, literally crammed all my belongings into my bag, and hoofed it to the dock, where the Larios had just pulled in to port. Had I not already spent my tears just one hour before, I would have been crying as I boarded my last ferry back to Varenna. Everything just seems so wrong about leaving, but I knew that my train reservation could not be easily rebooked, and a friend was waiting for me in Paris. I consoled myself with the thought that I would stop through Italy again before returning to the States. It was a hopeful thought.
A friendly Italian named Cesare helped me get my mind off things and put everything in perspective. As I gave him the nutshell version of my travel plans, his eyes grew wide with wonder that I could afford to be away for so long, and I remembered yet again how very lucky I am to be living my dream... even if I do have to kiss Italy goodbye 'til we meet again...~Melanie
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