Miki and I arrived at Milan station with just enough time to buy tickets for our next train, and for me to try my new mediocre Italian skills by ordering some slices of pre-prepared pizza, before heading to the platform. This final part of our bike journey was to take us to Miki’s parents’, an hour east of Milan.
As we walked to our platform in Milan station, I was delighted to discover that the train we were boarding was a double-decker train! Apparently a perfectly normal version of a train in Italy, this was the first time I’d ever seen one, so I was very excited about the novelty of jumping on board. Though, honestly, the excitement didn’t last so long once inside, as apart from stairs leading to an extra level of seating, it was like any well-used train carriage I’d been in before.
The nearest station to Miki’s parents’ house was in the next town over, so we had one final leg to do by bike. Getting onto the laden bikes once more, we began to peddle away from the station. Orangey-cream buildings lined the brick-paved road we cycled along, a few people milling around here and there. We were soon out of the town and cycling beside corn fields, only the odd car passing by.
As we entered Miki’s hometown, we turned off the main road, and immediately turned again, then again, so I began to feel lost among a maze of houses, everything so new.
No one was home at his parents’ as they were currently at their mountain house. We stayed only a couple of nights, taking a little time to recuperate (and wash our clothes!) before heading out once again. This time we took the spare car, leaving the bikes behind. Our first port of call was to visit Miki’s parents, and for me to meet them for the first time. The drive up was breathtaking. It turns out that in the north of the country, you’re never far from a mountain or a lake (or both). Winding past lakes, we ascended higher and higher. Unlike Mt Ruapehu in New Zealand, the mountain I am most familiar with, these European ranges are dotted with many small towns and are covered with much more greenery.
We reached the small town of Castione della Presolana in the early evening. The Alps tower magnificently above, providing a protective border around the hamlet. Almost on the precipice of one mountain, a valley lay between us and the next range of peaks. The local church, a few minutes walk down the road, has a courtyard outside where it was possible to get a view right over the edge.
Deli, Miki’s mum, made gnocchi from bread for our dinner, possibly my first ever gnocchi, definitely the first ever homemade. Despite the language barrier, I could feel I was made very welcome. I attempted to understand the conversation and to string some sentences together, and Miki, being the first time he’d seen his parents since he’d begun his cycle trip (months before I had met him in Georgia), had a lot to fill them in on.
The next day we headed to our second destination. We were going to stay with Miki’s good friend Mauro, on the northwest side of Lake Como.
Mauro is lucky enough to live in a house at the edge of Lake Como. Looking out of his living room window, past an open-walled structure where older generations of men play boules, is the lake. No matter which way you seem to turn, mountains surround you. Turning from clear, colourful greens during the day, to more hazy shades as the evenings set in.
After our rather eventful journey across France and Switzerland to reach Italy, it was really good to take some time to slow down. With nowhere in particular to be each day (apart from a few hours working for me), we were free to do as we pleased. Every day Miki and I went for a dip in the lake. The cool, almost clear fresh water was a delight to enter after, or during, a warm day. Though there were more people in some areas than others, there were no crowds of people to compete with.
On one occasion, I joined a yoga session by the lake. The lesson being in Italian, and my knowledge of the language being very basic, it felt like a good job that I already knew the moves. Though at times I would look up to find everyone else doing something completely different!
Miki and I hired a kayak to explore the lake. We set off from Gera Lario (where we were staying), and from there, we headed north up a river that led to Lake Mezzola. Halfway up the river, the water widened and many swans came into view. They were spread all across the water, and so we began slowly, carefully, to make our way up the middle, a little fearful that we would accidentally hit one with an oar. The water passage thinned again as we rounded a corner, and then finally, Lake Mezzola was before us. The lake sat beneath what was, or seemed to be, one of the grandest mountain ranges in the area. Mountains that now towered above us, reminding us how small and insignificant we are to so much in this world.
We noticed a small alcove to our left and rowed towards it, getting out of the kayak as the water became shallow, and walking along pebbled ground to reach the dry. Perching on rocks, we were able to take the time to soak up the serenity and beauty. No one in sight on the lake, and only distant voices drifting across from a nearby town. The peace, and wonderfully fresh air, were spoiled only briefly by the arrival of a motor boat.
The weather was still fairly warm as my birthday came around at the beginning of September, and Miki took me for a night camping on a mountain he had spent much time on over the years. Definitely one of my most memorable birthdays, we camped near the top, sighting only one or two other people while we were up there. We put up our tent under the shelter of a few trees, just a few steps from the peak. Venturing to that top most point, we had incredible 360 views. Peaks, one after the other, fading off into the distance in every direction.
During our time at Lake Como, we had been searching for accommodation in Genova (a northern city by the sea), where we hoped to spend some months. Miki had managed to find us a flat in the historic centre. Small but cosy, with a living room, bedroom, kitchen (with breakfast bar) and bathroom. From our bedroom window, just over an arm’s length away was another window, buildings tightly packed in this central area of the city. Our living room looked out onto a small courtyard. To enter the flat, we had to walk through one building, across the courtyard, and into another building, before climbing the stone staircases to our floor. This separation from the street insulated us from the sounds of the city.
It is hard to describe the feeling of Genova, a mixture of small, maze-like streets and wide-open spaces. A city by the mountains, and also by the sea. Beautiful architecture, and like every city, a split between wealth and poverty. From time to time musicians would set up stage in one of the main streets, their sounds welcoming you towards them, and drifting on with you as you pass them by. We could walk to the water within minutes, where we would wistfully view boats as we walked at the marina – great for us to view but perhaps lacking privacy for the boat owners. There was a noticeable presence of police, a legacy of the tough history Genova has faced. Despite the implied threat, there are still those brave enough to demonstrate for their and others’ rights, with peaceful protests happening from time to time in Piazza de Ferrari, a large open square in the centre of the city.
We spent a wonderful few months in Genova. It was generally a bustling, but never an overcrowded place, though this could have been due to the COVID times we were living in at that moment. Eating focaccia almost daily; walking by the water; taking the funicular to the upper levels of the city to enjoy a day walk in the mountains, where we could admire the sparkling blue expanse of the sea below; and once, before the weather got too cold, we got to swim in the warm waters of the sea. We swam at a spot away from the centre, which we reached on a city-owned electric scooter that you can rent. The cost is based on the amount of time you use it (a concept that unfortunately encourages you to rush from one location to another – probably not the best idea for road safety).
Those first few months in Italy, my first taste of the country, were amazing. From the incredible scenery to discovering how seriously they take tomato bases and biscuits (nearly one full aisle for each in the first supermarket we went in!). Meeting Miki’s family and friends, trying to improve my Italian, and understanding why Italy is renowned for its quality of food. I feel lucky to have experienced the country through Miki, having seen it in a way I surely would not have, had I travelled there alone.
