My trip and a romantic getaway

I doubted for a minute if it was even worth waiting a couple more hours to be able to hop on the train this time. I’ve been waiting over 3 months for this weekend and this was our last day together, so I knew it was worth it, but would he think the same way? For sure the next train was going to be as crowded and filled with sweaty tiffosi and that particular smell of tourists on a hot summer day as the one that we had just lost…

- Sì sì, certo, aspettiamo e prendiamo il prossimo, he said to me.

Pff, thanks God.

A couple hours later, we were now slowly moving through the Lombardy plains, past the small creamy color palette villages, all the way to Monza, were the ocean of red caps and cavallino rampante t-shirts got off, leaving the wagon alone, just for me and him. Behind the window, emerald shining waters started appearing, crowned by tall green mountains, but the back of his dark brown, morning pillow head and his sun-kissed skin was all that I could think about. For the next hour, the rocking of the train, Ultimo singing in my left ear and his silhouette in front of that paint-like scenery accompanied me. I could not help but travel back in my mind to those spring months we had spent together in Prague… Was he as excited as I was that we were together again? Had he been also anxiously waiting for this little reencounter?

The train stoped slowly and a small orange station with a blue sign welcomed me back from my thoughts. According to my quick Google search, Varenna was supposed to be “a picturesque, traditional and slow-paced village, located on the eastern shore of Lake Como”. Apart form that, I knew nothing about the place, other than my preconceived idea of Lake Como being the ideal fairytale-like getaway, where people had the most wonderful weddings or where the romantic Star Wars scenes were filmed. So I was just hoping for something of the sort, I guess that is what you do when you are on a mini trip with the cute Italian guy you met months ago and couldn’t help falling for, right?

Dove andiamo? he said. Since being there was really me just following a friend’s recommendation, it just seemed natural that we followed all the other expecting tourists towards the narrow downhill streets, in between plant covered walls, hoping they would lead us to something worth seeing. And they did. This amazing scenery which we had had sneaks peaks in the train opened up right in front of us. As if he now knew where he was going, Edoardo started leading the way. He did not seemed to get the memo of it being a “slow-paced” destination, as he instead rushed though the cute lakeside narrow promenade. We flew by what was ironically called Passeggiata degli innamorati, until we reached a small beach-like area, were I was finally able to admire the view. The water, oh it was so clear. It started with a shade of emerald green, which developed into turquoise and turned into a cerulean blue further down. Fishing boats and cute little sailboats floated in the calm waters. I made my way down stepping on the rocky sand and stretch my arm into the crystal water. Tiny fish danced around. It was just perfect, wasn’t it?

È freda, I turned back to him. He smiled, sitting under the shade of a bright-green tree, and wearing his brown sunglasses that stopped me from seeing into his eyes and guessing if he also thought this was perfect. I sat under him, and he hugged me. Not for long though. Or at least not for as long as I wanted him to. Andiamo? He said, as if he knew that I was starting to overthink. Si, certo. And I tried to distract myself by focusing on the beautiful two-floor colorful houses, with plants hanging form the balconies, and red and pink flowers shining under the sun. We regained our rushed walk over to the narrow cobble streets, this time upwards, past the gelato shops and the postcards stands, through stairs under the unmistakable Italian green windows, up to to a beautiful balcony. The tall stone arches framed the view, turning it into a real life painting. It was mesmerizing, but why did it felt like one moment I was high up in the green mountains when he smiled at me or hold my hand, and the next I was deep into the emerald cold waters when he rushed past me or did not spoke to me?

Still, following my friend’s recommendation, the time came for me and him to take the ferry over to Bellagio, another “super-romantic spot” by Lake Como shore. We sat on the top benches, surrounded by dirty windows and steel structure. No air was flowing, neither a conversation. Was he bored? He took my hand and whispered, andiamo sotto? Down on the deck, my hair started flying, his shirt dancing. I could feel his warm strong body right beside me. A cheerful, even insightful chiachierata developed, as if the soft cold wind had reminded us of those Czech spring days we had spent together. My eyes then wondered over the scenery as the ferry opened its way through the clear waters. Layers of mountains that seem to be endless, filled with colorful little houses, stone bell towers, grand white villas and even a castle all the way up. Then Bellagio appeared in right in front of us. Fancy yellow, orange and pink hotels greeted me and him as the we floated by, all in pastel colors. Trees lined up in the water front, even some palms, and further in the back pine trees. But the peaceful moment I had reached slowly faded as I noticed how this cute town was also smaller and full with tourists. I knew Edoardo hated crowded places. Would he be annoyed? Was it the right choice to come here as well?

We got off the ferry and sprinted away from the congested streets, him leading the way into the little stores, past vine-filled balconies, me in the back. I knew he was searching for some painino or 5 euro pizza, but once more I wanted to do something more ad hoc with the place, something romantic. So I chose the cute little restaurant with pink table cloths by the stairs. We were tired, the pasta was not good and definitely not worth the price. One more strike to add to my list of insecurities and things “Edoardo is not enjoying”, I thought.

At least food gave us a bit more energy to keep going for the last part of the trip. We got to a park with a lakeside view, and if as he had heard my troubling thoughts and tried to help me with them for once, he stopped rushing. We laid down on the slightly wet grass. My head on his lap, his hands on my hair. His eyes on mine, then my lips on his. For a moment it was like if there was not one else around. Like if it was only me and him. Like if for the first time in a while it was finally “us”. Quietly staring at the emerald lake together, it hit me. I realized that the whole day I had been traveling around Lake Como but there was a whole other trip going on inside my head. One of self-doubt and second-guessing, one that didn’t allowed me to appreciate fully the place, and our presence on it. I had spent so much time overthinking that I didn’t realize he had been there with me all the time. He had been there, sharing his music on the train with me, following my plan, exploring the colorful streets while holding my hand, even eating bad pasta and just simply trying to enjoy and reconnect with me.

My romantic getaway had been there all day long, since he first insisted on taking the train, I just had to stop second guessing and be present to notice it.