The waters of this lake are the loveliest colour imaginable: purple in the shade and emerald green when they break on the white rocks…
~DH Lawrence
The eight glacial lakes that comprise Italy’s lake region lie on the south side of the Alps. While the lakes are located in northern Italy, a portion of two of them also creep over the southern Swiss border. You’ve undoubtedly heard of Lago di Como (the deepest of them all), home to Bellagio made famous by Steve Wynn and his Bellagio Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. I’ve written about Lago Maggiore (the larger of the two that are in Switzerland), and I visited Lago di Lugano last year with my friend, Amy. Unfortunately, I’ve been a little lax in visiting the other lakes….until this year.
Last week, I headed to Desenzano del Garda, a town on the western shore of Lago di Garda, the largest of the lakes. I am taking my next group there, and since I have never been to the town, I needed to do a little research. I found the town and the lake absolutely beautiful.
Lago di Garda
Formed by glaciers at the end of the last ice age, Lago di Garda cuts into the edge of the Italian Alps. At its maximum points, the lake is about 32 miles long and 10 miles wide. While its maximum depth is 1135 feet, the average depth is 446 feet. Five large and numerous small islands dot the lake.
The area has had inhabitants since prehistoric times, and while Romans had been there for a couple hundred years, they started their domination of the area around 2-1 BC. Remains of some Roman ruins still exist, and you can see the Grottoes of Catullus in Sirmione.
Desenzano del Garda
“Where is that?” Mike asked me when I told him I was looking at places in Desenzano for the group. “And, why are you taking them there?” Both are good questions.
Desenzano is are sort town on the southwestern shore of Lago di Garda. Home to about 30,000 residents today, it has been around since the Bronze Age. At one point, it was the favorite getaway for the rich and famous of Verona. Today, it is a favorite destination due to the lake, its views, its beaches, and its bars, restaurants, and hotels.
All that make Desenzano a great town, of course, but that’s not why we’re going there. I’ll leave that to explain next week while we’re actually there. Suffice to say, we have a good reason.
The Air Show
I arrived in Desenzano on Friday and spent a little time looking for a place for the group to eat next Saturday after we arrive. Saturday, I visited the first place we’ll go once we arrive in Desenzano, and I walked back to the hotel. On the way, I noticed polizia and carabinieri stopping and redirecting traffic. The closer I got to the hotel, the more street barriers I saw in place.
As I got to the lungomare (lake front), I saw crowds of people looking at the sky and noticed signs announcing the 2025 l’Air Show del Garda di l’Aeronautica Militare. I thought I was a little late for the show (which was free, by the way) because I didn’t see many planes. When I had lunch at 2:30, there was hardly anyone left on the promenade.
Sunday morning, I checked out of the hotel at 9:30 and told the owner that I was going to work in the lobby for a few hours since my train to Milan was after noon. She and I talked a minute about my group’s arrival next week, and I sat and started to work. People came and went while I worked in the lobby, and I just concentrated on doing what I had to do.
At 11:30, I packed the laptop and got up to ask for a taxi. No one was at the front desk. No one was actually on the first floor of the hotel except one gal who was cleaning the floor. I stood at the desk a minute and looked around. I thought I saw the owner across the street looking at the sky. She never looked at me, so I went out and stood on the curb. She didn’t turn around.
I crossed over to her. “Can you please call me a taxi?” I asked. Her face went white.
“I don’t know if we can get one,” she muttered. “The air show. The streets, they are blocked.” I think I blinked my eyes about 100 times. She called a number, and no one answered. She redialed, and the phone rang and rang and rang. “What time is your train?” she inquired.
Knowing full well that my actual train was 12:53 and that I was fibbing, I blurted out, “12:15 or 12:20.” At that point, it gave me 40 minutes to make that 12:20 train. She shook her head, and we walked back to the hotel. She tried calling a taxi again, got now answer, and disappeared behind a door.
Get Thee to the Train Station
“You are going to have to walk,” she informed me when she returned. “There are no taxis that answer.” The look on my face was probably something akin to horrified. “I would take you in my car, but the streets are all blocked.” Just then, a plane roared overhead, and I was glad she could not hear what I said in English. She told me how to get to the train station, and I put it in my phone’s GPS and took off.
Now, honestly, I love Italy. I love the old buildings and fountains and monuments. I understand why they keep so many of the streets and sidewalks cobbled with stones and blocks.
That said, they are a pain to walk on. If you do not pay attention, you can end up twisting your ankle or, worse, tripping and falling. The worst thing, however, is yanking and shoving luggage over them… especially if one piece is large and weighs about 40 pounds…. and you are alone…. and moving uphill…. with hoards of people rushing in the opposite direction because, even though they can see the planes are roaring overhead (and close enough to whip their hair into a tangled mess), they need to get near the water for some ungodly reason.
So, I walked five minutes and stopped in the shade….walked five minutes and stopped in the shade…walked and stopped…walked and stopped. You get the idea. About two-tenths of a mile from the station (I checked to see how far I had to go at each stop….Obviously I like to torture myself.), I came to a place where the sidewalk was still cobbled, but the road was blacktop and somewhat smooth. It was a round-about, and all four roads leading to it had blockades. I yanked my bags over the curb and into the street and, without going to the crosswalk, cut directly across.
“SIGNORA!” A wanna-be volunteer carabinieri waved his arms and yelled at me. “SIGNORA! YOU CANNOT WALK IN THE STREET!” I kept walking, and he said something I didn’t understand. I glared at him but kept walking.
“The street is closed,” I yelled back. “I am too old for this crap, and I’m walking on the street,” I continued. Under my breath, I added, “And if you were a gentleman, you would help me.” He glared at me, but I glared right back until he turned around to watch nothing happening.
My Guardian Angel
At about the point the train station came into view, a woman walked up behind me. “Signora, can I help you with your bag?” She didn’t wait for me to answer, grabbed the handle of my big bag, and took off. When we got to the station, she waited until I caught up. “Can I please buy you a caffe or cold drink,” I asked her, but she refused.
“Have a nice day,” She smiled as she disappeared into the crowd.
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