Under the Toscana sun

I dragged my ass to the Lucca treno stazione in the morning and caught the train to Pisa and switched to San Miniato where the extremely affable Marco, host of Barbialla Nuova farm, picked me up shortly. I couldn't believe I made it this far and was going to experience another 2 weeks of farm stay in the heart of Tuscany!

The grande 500-hectares property was a short 25mins ride away, surrounded by gentle hills of dry land (being ploughed for planting of wheat) interpersed with forests. In comparison with the cool climate at Casa Lanzarotti on the North Appennino Parmense hills, the weather here was extremely hot and stifling despite the breeze, and I had to constantly swat at the irritating flies and mosquitoes.

Besides rearing Chianine cows (meat for the renowned Firenze T-bone steak) and harvesting white truffles in autumn, the farm also promotes agritourism where guests can choose between self-catered cosy apartments or a large holiday farmhouse on the estate. I would share a separate house with Marco and Lorenzo (both around 35 and very easygoing chaps) who managed the farm along with Guido and Gianluca (both 30).

I had a cosy bedroom to myself and it felt like I was living on a funky campus, where we'd share the bathroom (great view by the way!), office and kitchenette. They were in no hurry to get me working on the first day, so I just relaxed and got to know them better over lunch of simple pasta, 1983 Vin Santo (made by Gianluca's grandfather) and expresso. They were really into Asian holistic treatments, so they liked my gift of jasmine-scented incense.

Later we drove past the nearby town of Montaione to buy groceries from this biodynamic farm, where I ogled at the array of plump organic vegetables, wheat products to different cheeses made from goat and cow milk. Yum. On the way back, our car zipped past the classic Toscana landscape which I remembered fondly - a patchwork of wheat and withering sunflowers, vineyards, olive and tall windbreaker cypress trees on sweeping hills. Sigh. Welcome back to Toscana, I congratulated myself.

At night, the guys prepared a welcome dinner for me consisting of mouthwatering pork ribs and thick sausages cooked over an open woodfire in the yard, accompanied with lots of local red vino, conversation and cigarettes. What a great start!

Parma and Lucca

After leaving Casa Lanzarotti, I headed straight to Parma and ticked off one of my many 'missions'; that was to load up on the town's culinary offerings -primarily proscuitto di Parma and Parmigiano cheese. Katie was off to Grosseto hunting for her cascate (hot springs) at Saturnia while Ben decided to stay in Parma with me to enjoy the modern luxuries of 3-star Savoy Hotel (90 euros) before slogging his arse on his next farm at Bologna.

We had a good time exploring the town (lovely octagon Battistero), enjoyed beer with free tapas before locating a backlane trattoria where we stuffed our faces with the local specialties. The generous plate of thin shavings of moist, sublimely salty proscuitto (a steal at 7 euros) was divine, truly one of the best I had. My tortellini stuffed with Parmigiano and herb was simple but rich while Ben had some kind of stuffed pork chops; all happily washed down with more Lambrusco. Ahh. Mission accomplished.

The next morning, Ben and I bid farewell to each other after breakfast and I left Emilia-Romagna for Lucca in northern Tuscany on the 10am train (15 euros) stopping at Prato to switch trains. The birthplace of homeboy renowned composer Puccini, Lucca was an amazing sight - an ancient Tuscan town enclosed within the towering red-bricked walls; a lastng legacy of its past Roman colonisation.

I had a tough time looking for accomodation as most of the 2 and 3-star hotels were full or too expensive (at least 80 euros), so I walked into the youth hostel (17,50 euros) for a change, inspired by Katie's budget travelling ways! Not to sound spoilt, I immediately craved for my TV, big bed and personal space when I saw the dorm's 4 bunker beds and common bathroom! Argh.

The weather was very warm as I strolled around to get a good feel of the old town, trying to avoid the many bicycles whizzing by leisurely. I was not that keen on sights so after taking some pictures of the duomo, I grabbed a pistachio and banana gelato and camped out at an internet joint. At nightfall, I found a casual outdoor trattoria and chowed down a plate of penne with porcini mushrooms and added a lot of piquante (chilli!) with my beer (all for 8 euros). It was a good simple meal but give me Iris' cooking anytime.

I was so tired that I got lost around the Roman arena and it was only 20mins that I located the youth hostel. After a quick clean-up, I crawled atop my bunker bed and switched off almost immediately, even to the loud annoying Italian chatter of my neighbour in the brightly lit dorm.

Farmer gal certified

I couldn't believe my 12 glorious days at the lovely Casa Lanzarotti farm were over. Despite the cuts, scratches, bruises, body aches, and constantly feeling dirty and cold, I never felt so good and alive! What more can a tropical city gal asked for? The fabulous homecooked food (spelt, pasta, organic salads, jams, horse meat stew, lentils, fresh porcini mushrooms, stuffed zuccini flowers, wood-oven DIY pizzas, coppa ham, cheese, vino and expresso!) was a reward waiting for us after our early mornings of work.

I truly learnt so much from living on a farm working closely with nature and gained a new level of respect for all the flora, animals and other resources in our tightly knitted existence. If only everyone could have a taste of this soulful experience! I'd never forget my time here; the friendships forged and adventures paved for a lifetime of memories. Even as I closed my eyes, I could still hear Katie and I giggling as we rolled the gnocchi from scratch. I could see Ben contemplating jumping into the freezing stream from the rock and then taking the plunge in one sleek dive. I could feel the dying rays of the sun creeping away as we climbed up the steep verdant hills for dinner...

Besides gnocchi, Iris also taught us to whip up a wicked melanzane dip from the plump organic eggplant by steaming and mixing them with fresh garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, salt and chilli flakes. Buonissimo! We decided in order for it to be a fair exchange, we'd prepare a meal for them too. Somehow by popular demand, I was tasked to come up with a homecooked Chinese dinner, not an easy job considering we couldn't find a lot of ingredients at the local supermarket (no coconut milk, no curry spices, no tofu - niente!).

Ben and Katie rolled up their sleeves and chipped in, and we produced a divine spread Singaporean-style comprising fragrant chicken rice, with accompanying bowls of steaming soup and the meat laid out nicely on a bed of organic tomato and cucumber dressed with sesame oil and soy sauce. Then there was the chilli sauce made from scratch (which set everyone's ears on fire), steamed egg with meat and fried spinach with garlic and sesame oil.

Iris and Gianluca were clearly impressed and probably secretly glad that we didn't bomb their kitchen! When we brought out the dessert, they all exclaimed 'ooh' and 'wow' in response to the mixed fruits agar agar jelly served in their pretty orange shells. Needless to say, they loved it, especially sweet Maria whom I taught how to prepare it the following day (but we added vodka this time).

Cinque Terre-tory

On our last Saturday, Katie and I decided to take the whole day off to explore Cinque Terre, a UNESCO site and protected national park along the magnificent Ligure coastline. We got up early and got a lift from Iris to Gotra where I persuaded Katie to stick our thumbs out and to our delight, hitched a ride successfully from Angelo to the Borgo Taro train stazione. He even offered to pick us up later in the evening but we declined his kind gesture and suspected his generosity. We thought 'there's no such thing as a free ride, much less a second one!'

An hour train ride later past La Spezia, we reached the first village Riomaggiore, out of the five pitstops (Cinque Terre literally meant 'five villages'). From there, we paid for our park entrance tickets and began our walking trail to Manarola via the supposedly romantic albeit heavily vandalised stretch 'Via dell Amore' cut out of steep cliffs overlooking the vast blue ocean and angular rocks below. Strangely I found the tunnel leading up to Manarola offered more character with its graffiti, arty posters and kitsch fairy light bulbs.

Manarola was our favourite because it was a compact and colourful village where the houses were stacked atop the rocky cliffs and there was a curious assortment of quaint ristoranti, shops and fishing boats leading to the breakwater and sea. It was here that I surrendered to a custard donut with a caffe latte for our colazione, followed by a takeaway of sfogliatelle stuffed with cioccolato and limone custard. The vino buff in me also couldn't resist carting back a 22euros bottle of Schiachetra, a rare local sweet raisin wine made from selected grapes that were dried in airy attics away from the damp and sun.

The weather held up and the sun shone down on our grinning faces as we took on a leisure hour-long walk and the flight of 365 steps to Corniglia, the only village not on the seafront. The shops lining the narrow passageway were crowded, including the delicatessen where we bought some fruits and chilled anchovy-and-meat rolls to replenish our energy.

At this point, we were starving and decided to take the bus and train to Vernazza, another gorgeous village near the seafront. I tested the water which was freezing, but that didn't deter the beach-goers who seemed blissfully contented. The piazza was thriving with tourists and buskers at lunchtime. While surveying the restaurant menus, Katie waved at an elderly nona (granny) staring out of her window, who smiled back shyly and posed for her. At a quieter trattoria away from the square, Katie tucked into her pasta with mussels and I into my penne scampi and vino bianco.


I had no room left for gelato at Monterosso, the biggest and most touristy village with a long sandy beach filled with sun-worshippers and colourful umbrellas. We didn't fancy jostling with the crowd so we trotted back to our favourite Manarola village where we jumped off the rocky perch into the cold waters of the open Mediterranean sea. I was not a very confident swimmer but this was a chance too good to miss, plus the salty waters seemed to make me slightly more buoyant than usual (despite my pigging out)!

When we reached the train station, we found out that we had missed the early train to La Spezia which meant missing the connecting train to Borgo Taro! Mamma mia. So for the 2nd time, I convinced Katie to hitch a ride from L.S station - anyway we had a lot of time to kill. She drew the sign 'Borgo Taro' on a crumpled brown paper bag and before we could even warm the floor, we heard a girl saying aloud 'hey we are going there too!'. To our luck, these 2 English teenagers and their Italian-speaking aunt also missed the same train. So we came up with a plan and shared a cab to another station to catch an earlier train home which worked out fantastico! The lesson learnt here - don't despair when things don't work out! Solutions are right under our nose if we seek them.

Hot Spring Cool Feat

One afternoon during our woodpiling and burning session, Katie suggested a crazy idea to build a 'hot spring' at this little stream not far from the farm. We had previously came across it on our walk but the idea didn't occur to us. Normally we'd walk 45mins down the hills through the woods to the public 'pool' which was a pretty stream with gentle waterfalls. The water was icy but who cared? We just stripped and jumped right in!

Anyway the idea of building the hot spring had sounded logically and feasible - we just needed to heat up and transport the hot stones to the stream and carved out a mini hot spring. When we told Iris and Gianluca, they looked at us bemused and skeptical, probably thinking these kids had all gone mad! Nevertheless they were very encouraging, and Gianluca even tempted us with an alternative to construct the inflatable swimming pool instead.

I could imagine it'd be a logistic nightmare but still played along - hey, where there's a will, there's a way! For the first hour, we wheelbarrowed the 10 odd heavy stones and hoes down the steep hill, got a big bonfire going, dug up a small pool in the icy stream and diverted the flow. Ben ang I then gathered the fu%king burning rocks from the fire, rolled them down the steep 100-metre slope praying they won't set the grass on fire.

By this time, poor Ben was sweating buckets and trembling from exhaustion, but still insisted he could wheelbarrowed the stones down the long path through the woods to reach the bridge. We dumped them into the stream after Katie and he were finally satisfied with the depth of the 'hot spring'. And as you'd have guessed it, the water didn't warm up a bit - niente! It was really hilarious but I was so tired I just watched them strip and leap into the icy pool anyway.

Varese By Chance

Working on a farm required all sorts of skills but I didn't expect hair-cutting to be one of them. Ben had asked us to trim his hair and I gamely volunteered! You could just see us under the tree, Ben sitting on a chair quiet and trusting while me and Katie worked magic with the scissors. I was quite pleased with the neat cut for someone who last trimmed and nipped her sister's ears (sorry Cin) - but hey, it was also I who gave Ferne a Cameron-Diaz cut!

Almost every night after dinner and shower, 3 of us would meet by the campfire at our caravan and chatted heartily over a bottle of wine or two. I drank a whole bottle of Lambrusco that night and learnt too much sparkling wine before bed led to hella lot of gas! Haha. But the wine was so cheap (3euros per bottle) and so good, I had to drink as much as I could (kiasu)!

On our day off, Katie and Ben went to work for a logger who'd pay them 8euros per hour for the extra help to clear his forest while I chilled with Maria and Bridgette, both Swiss guests of Iris. I didn't quite fancy the backbreaking work nor have the proper boots for the job, so I just collected firewood with Maria and labelled jars in the lab. Soon it was dusk and they returned looking drained. Ben described a slow-motion near accident when a collapsed tree almost crashed into Katie - guessed it wasn't much fun.

One of the joys of staying at Casa Lanzarotti was that we could explore the nearby villages and towns on our afternoons off. I was fortunate to catch a lift from Natalie and Bridgette (Iris' Swiss friends) while strolling down the hill to buy cigarettes on a hot Wednesday afternoon, and gladly accepted the invitation to join them on their self-drive trip to Varese, a quaint and pretty village in the Liguria region.

The 20-mins car ride was extremely scenic as we witnessed panoramic views of the mountainous landscape on the long narrow and winding roads, which peered perilously into the deep valleys. Known for its different handpainted intricate designs on the facades of houses (especially around the window frames), Varese also housed a centuries-old castello, ancient stone bridge and piazza where the locals gathered to chat and people-watch.

After I popped into a tobacco shop for my ciggies, we got some expresso and rest at a local bar. I particularly enjoyed talking to Natalie who was opinionated and smart, and she also translated for Bridgette during our hearty discussions on our countries' policies, occupations to personal smoking habits! She had been a hardcore smoker but one day fell ill (it's always the case) and gave it up for good. I asked her about her partner Alain who seemed to be a hardcore chainsmoker. 'Doesn't she mind?', I asked. Her reply was so sweet, 'I cannot stop him - he's the man of my life!'

The next evening, Iris gathered everyone for a 'Design-Your-Own-Pizza' cookout at their outdoor wood-oven which was fired up by Gianluca. We could even choose from the white or brown wheat dough that Iris expertly rolled out from a big pot of warm dough. We gleefully took turns to decorate our pizzas with various toppings ranging from fresh mozzarella and olives, to ham, anchovies and zucchini, and peeked at the discs browning and melting in the hot oven. Hmm, dinner was buonissimo and we were all so full after gobbling down a whole pizza each. But still, we couldn't say no to the sweet finale - scoops of fresh homemade jammy berry sorbet. Yum.

Farm Far Away

I had arrived at the first WWOOF farm Casa Lanzarotti, up on the north Appeninese hills 15 mins away from Borgo Val di Taro, a short train ride away from Parma. It had been truly amazing these past 3 days. Along with the 2 other younger Americans - Katie and Ben, our routine started very early at 7am (freezing!) when we'd stuff our sleepy faces with a nourishing breakfast of cereals and bread with homemade jams, and got on with our daily routine of sorting out the onions (my first task!) and feeding the pigs (Porky & Penny), smelly sheeps, chickens (Henry & his brood) and the lone horse.

As the sun warmed up the hills, I'd peel off an extra layer of clothes while at work. Here, our host Iris put us to good use as we'd be spring-cleaning the house one day or weeding and harvesting the fresh vegs, raspberries and blackberries in between stolen bites from the fields. Another day, we'd yank the bunches of tiny elderberries from the trees while shooing off the greedy sheeps who'd poke their heads into our wheelbarrows. Iris then showed us how to separate the elderberries to make into marmalade at the lab - a painstaking process but the thick luscious jam was worth it.

We were constantly grateful to Iris and Gianluca for their generous hospitality, providing three full and hearty meals daily, consisting of delicious homemade pasta to steaming spelt risotto, organic salads with cheese, ham and wine (loved the sparkling red Lambrusco!). On our time off in the afternoons, we'd explore the nearby towns, walking everywhere for hours because the public transportation was not regular and reliable. Normally I might have felt the strain but it helped that the scenery here was soooo gorgeous and the weather perfetto.

I felt like Heidi on the Hills, living in our cosy caravan (which me and Katie had nicknamed the 'spacepod') in the backyard overlooking the lush hills and plains. We were literally on cloud nine every morning as the mist hovered around the peaks and blanketed the valleys. The first 2 mornings, I nearly froze my tits off in my upper bunk next to the thin plastic window shielding me from the cold outside. By the 3rd night, I had learnt to pad the window with 2 fluffed pillows and 3 blankets!

Bored in Bologna

Two strands of white hair appeared in my fringe this morning and I felt like it was a badge of honour (or just plain stress) reserved for those heroines who woke up one day and found their hair streaked with silver (was it X-Men?). Anyhow I kept the less obvious one for good luck.

Now that I had been in Italia for a week, I felt more confident and less self-conscious, enough to drink my morning caffe latte standing among the locals at the bar counter. As always, the train departed on the dot at 10.58am for Bologna, the citta where people supposedly go to eat and drink rather than sightsee. According to my guidebook, I can gorge on Parmesan cheese, prosciutto, Bolognese pasta and regional wines such as the sparkling red Lambrusco, and become "La Grassa" or "The Fat One", a nickname given to the city.

Talking about fat (no I am not quite there yet), I think I had gained back the weight loss at the start of my solo journey or perhaps overly compensated for it. I actually missed my weekly gym routine and yoga class but the daily walking and the 12kg backpack helped to burn off the calories. At Bologna, I spent an hour cursing in the intense and dry heat before I found the 3-star Hotel Cavour (bargained from 50 to 45 euros). A stark contrast from crowded Verona and Venice, Bologna was dead quiet and sluggish (worse than Turin and Milan). I almost fell asleep at the piazza's cafe after a late lunch of flat pressed proscuitto and cheese panino and was tempted to go back for a siesta. But Bologna awaited, no matter how dead it was.

It was surreal how the buildings here were awashed in varying hues of pretty warm red, coral pink, orange, and yellow, just like the book described. There were also many churches and monuments on the tourist map but I just made a token visit to the huge Basilica at Piazza Maggiore, snapped at the 2 towers at the nearby Piazza di Porta Ravegnana and strolled down the main shopping belt.

Hungry for some real company and conversation, I poked my head into an Irish pub which was miraculously open but once my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I realised this was not the usual Irish pub. For starters, the bartenders were yakking among themselves while four of us stared into our pints pathetically. Where's the conviviality?! I downed my beer and popped into the ristorante next door and struck up a conversation with this couple from Wales. They were also at the pub ealier and we agreed it was too depressing a place to be called a pub!

After a hearty chat (finally!) and a plate of fat spaghetti vongole con vino bianco, I bid them farewell and went back early since there was no extra-curricular activities in town! At this point, I was really looking forward to the first WWOOF farm Casa Lanzarotti at Gotra. The host Iris had replied today saying it was ok for me to arrive earlier. Yay, I couldn't wait for the interaction!

Venezia bella

After bidding fair Verona farewell, I caught the extremely packed 10.45am train (9,40 euros) to Venezia, the land of gondolas and squid ink pasta. Though I had been there in 1997, I thought it'd be lovely to visit the water city again before it gets flooded in future and who knows when I would get the chance again.

The weather was erratic; in the day it got really warm and by evening, it got cold especially with the pending rain or winds. I felt like a Sangiovese grape, wrinkling in the heat and cooled by the evening breeze! The temperature ranged from 17 to 22 degrees, just like Adrian said in his sms.

At the busy train station, a friendly 2-star hotel owner led me to view his rooms (50 euros) and I dropped my bags promptly for lunch (17 euros) of delicious squid ink pasta with mixed insalata and prosecco (could you tell my addiction to the sparkling vino?). Eating out had become one of my daily pleasures and I'd usually pick a place where I could smoke outside and people-watch.

Forsaking the 5-euros ferry, I embarked on a 2km leisurely stroll through the charming streets, still canals and shops among the throng of tourists, marking the map with my handy highlighter. There were countless decorated churches, palazzi and museums in all styles; Renaissance, Baroque, Gothic, Neoclassical and Veneto-Byzantine - a visual feast for the eyes. Each corner and turn was a photo-opportunity.

Everyone gravitated towards Piazza San Marco where the tri-zillion pigeons got into a feeding frenzy fuelled by the photo-opportunistic crowds, clicking at the birds against the striking St Mark's Basilica and Palazzo Ducale. The queue was crazy and I never made it inside, instead using my imagination to visualise the gleaming golden mosaiced frescos.

Just around the corner was the famous Ponte dei Sospiri, otherwise known as the Bridge of Sighs. Here, prisoners used to drag their feet and sigh between the new and old cells, and it was another popular ponte where tourists lingered on land or in their fancy gondolas for a memorable Kodak shot. I just stood there and gazed at the bridge before someone jostled me out of the space.

The gondolas were still freakin' steep so I took the dry route window-shopping and was tempted to blow 1,500 euros on a gorgeous Bottega Veneta bag (to which Carl went 'are you mad?!), so I bought an affordable pair of comfortable Papillio sandals instead at 38 euros to replace my thinning slippers. Plus my sneakers needed a breather from the vigorous walking or it would start to smell like the canard saucisson from France!

In the evening, the mosquitoes were buzzing out in full force; I hope they won't attack me again like the first time when I woke up with swollen eyelids and itchy hands! After buying my ticket (7,90 euros) for the train to Bologna tomorrow, I had dinner at Ai Scalzi Ristorante at the foot of the Degli Scalzi bridge, serenaded by the accordian busker. The local specialty Seppie alla Veneziana con polenta (11 euros) was truly divine! The fork-tender squid was cooked in its own ink and the thick sauce was mobbed up to the last drop with the fluffy polenta cakes (the texture was like our carrot cake), all washed down with a glass of vino bianco. Perfecto! After that, I slept like a baby to the lull of MTV and the street buzz travelling up to my room.

Fair Verona

Carl told me to buy the ticket to Verona one day in advance at Como station and I managed to catch the early 9am train on Monday. At the treno stazione, this Pakistan ah neh tried to chat me up and joined him for caffe but I sh-iam him and steered another way. On the train to Verona, I shared a cabin with Sandra and her 7-year old boy Manuel who was sulking till I asked him for his name and age in Inglese. She was asking me stuff in Italian but we could not converse at all and just grinned a lot at each other. Somehow I found my way to the centro historic at Verona sweltering under the nigh-noon sun and checked into the 3-star Europa Hotel (55euros) where the rude and bald concierge was relieved by a kind old man. He was very helpful and even said he would bring me out for dinner if he wasn't married and so old!

One thing about Italians I noticed was how vocal and expressive they were, sometimes good if they were nice, and bad if they were impatient. After a heavy lunch of cheesy Gigli pasta with finely chopped rucola and ham near the Roman Arena, I followed the handy tourist map and jostled with the crowds down the shopping street Via Mazzini to reach the highlight of my visit - Juliet's House where her famous balcony and statue were.

The poor gal's left breast shone from being 'molested' by the tourists whom believed they should touch it for good luck in love! Oh hell, why not then? I thought. The walls of the passage to her casa were completely covered with scribbled mushy messages of love. I was tempted to write 'I love Italy' in Chinese but couldn't find a single spot. Anyhow it was great to see it all for myself - my Literature teacher would be so proud of me!

The Roman Theatre and Museum across the scenic bridge Ponte Pietra were worth the climb for a panoramic view of Verona. Here I mastered how to shoot myself at arm's length because the pictures other people took of me were simply not up to my standard! I also learnt to zoom in on selected sights so I won't stress myself out. There were so many churches and monuments to see, but without sounding rude, after a while they all looked the same - all gloriously ancient.

At almost 5pm, the sky turned grey and the temperature dropped by at least 10 degrees, and I was freezing my ass off in the open. Wandering the streets staring at all the Italian dinner menus, I veered towards comfort food at a Cinese ristorante, savouring every sip of my hot & sour soup, jasmine tea, veal with bamboo and mushrooms with a big bowl of white fluffy rice. Ahhhh... that just warmed my body and soul. And it was cheaper too at 12 euros, than the normal Italian meal at 20 euros.

Since it was early, I had a night cap of sparkling prosecco outside at the nearby Antimo Bar (smoking has been banned inside since Jan this year) and listened to the crowd chattering in Italiano. Verona was livelier than Turin and Milan, and there were more young people wearing denim jackets, jeans and sneakers (me too)!

Wet in Como

This weekend marked one month that I had been away from home and I'm not even halfway done yet! This morning I woke up thinking if I could grow a beard, I would do so to adopt another identity and hide behind the mask. Although I had no problems travelling alone these days, I still wished I had someone to share the experience with. Carl talked too loud at times and I found myself having frequent arguments with her.
C1: Hmm, should I walk this way? Lets check the map.
C2: No lah, it looks too empty, everyone's going the other way!
C1: But it's faster to the monument - oh just shut up you cow!
C2: Come on, cheer up. Look at the amazing scenery.
C1: Sigh, you're right. I know but just be silent ok?

On Sunday morning, I hurried to the ferry point and just made it for the 11am ride (6,20 euros) to Bellagio, described as one of the most beautiful towns around Como area. On the way out, I ignored Carl's nagging amd refused to bring my jacket and of course regretted it as it was damn chilly sitting on the front deck under the overcast skies. But I happily bore with the winds and soaked up the panorama up the lake passing by small towns, docks and gorgeous villas, gleaming like jewels among the hills.

Most people got off at Bellagio, which had very quaint and steep streets. I finished the tour of the town in less than 2 hours and bought the fast service ticket back (9,20 euros) but was pointed by the ferry idiots to the slow one instead. The sky soon opened up and poured so heavily that the mountains and lake were covered with a blanket of cotton mist. I was one of the few brave (or silly) ones without a jacket and almost froze my tits off. When we reached Como, it was cold at 4.30pm which showed how unpredictable the weather can be!

After a full dinner of pesto pasta, roastbeef carpaccio with rucola and Parmesan cheese with a glass of Chianti red at Ice Cafe again, I went to see the lake one last time so I could imprint the beautiful scenery in my mind forever. At 10pm, the square was teeming with the post-dinner crowd watching a mini local beauty pageant (6 pathetic finalists only) while the MC competed with the loud music (50cents and Blue!!) blaring from the speakers. It was so freaking cold I was trembling and I had to shuffle my feet and pretended to tap to the music.

Tomorrow I shall leave for Verona at noon and look forward to rubbing the left breast of Juliet for good luck and perhaps post a love note on the wall to my Romeo!