Lago d'Orta

Do not think about what might have been. It's a useless exercise. Take it as it presents itself. Bad weather and all.

That's my running motto on days when the weather turns foul and I catch myself wishing for something better. Let's see what we can do with what we've got!

This day, our second full day at the shores of Lago D'Orta, starts out decent enough, but I see the warming on the weather site: scattered showers. A few storms may be severe.

What to do...

Tiziano, the resident activities guy (he's the one you turn to if you want to rent a boat or watch yourself fail at water-skis) had really urged us to  go with him to Mastrolino. I wasn't convinced. What's there? -- I'd ask. A hut -- he'd respond. I thought -- heard wrong. A what? A hut. And there'll be animals. So, like a park? No, not at all. 

We'd go around like this for a while.

And I couldn't sell Snowdrop on this idea either. Can't we just go kayaking? (That was the alternative.) 

I thought long and hard and finally took the Tiziano plunge. We can kayak later, even if it rains. But whatever this Mastrolino is, it will be different and it comes with his recommendation. And his willingness to take us there. I mean, why not? He was the one who found a pool noodle for us! This guy tries hard to fit the task to the guest.

We have breakfast on the terrace. Yes, I let her bring her book. 

And then we go with Tiziano to Omegna. 

Omegna is the city that rests at the northern tip of Lake Orta. Unlike Orta San Giulio (yesterday's trip), this town is not at all slated to be a tourist town. It was an industrial center for a long time -- the place where cooking utensils were churned out in factories at great speed. The mocha machine? From Omegna! But, times change. In 2008 many factories shuttered and moved to Eastern Europe. Omegna is trying to establish itself as something else. Maybe tourism will be in its cards after all.

But not yet. Right now, it's a very Italian working town, which, to me is wonderful -- I feel like I am in Italy, the one where life moves at an Italian rhythm.

Tiziano is from here on his mother's side (and from Sardinia on his father's side) and he has a love of the place and of the mountains that is palpable. We first walk through the town and he is full of information about its bests (best butcher, best ice cream, best place to eat an authentic meal...) and its monuments (all seemingly dedicated to World War II losses).

Snowdrop follows along dutifully. But I already know this about her -- an aimless stroll through the city is not on her own list of bests. Still, she's there, she listens, she takes it in.

And then comes the hike up Mastrolino. It's called Alpe Mastrolino and for a person like Tiziano, it takes less than an hour. Indeed, school children routinely breeze up the mountain and down. again. Tiziano said he practically lived there during the Covid lockdowns.

But Snowdrop is not used to mountain hikes. Indeed, even getting to the trail head (walking up an asphalt road) was a bit of a shock for her. This athletic girl started her protest before we put one foot on the rocky path up to the "Alpine hut."

I ignored her protests. We continued and eventually begin the hike up the trail.

And very early on, the mountain transforms her. She scoots ahead, delighted by the scattering of gnomes here...

Everything is wonderful! Her energies soare. Tiziano is a bit taken aback by the change in her. I'm a bit taken aback by the change in her!

The mountain worked its magic.

There are fun stopping points. At the waterfall...

At the spot with the view...

And at the spring water that is safe enough to drink...

But perhaps the highlight is the summit, where the herd of goats roams.

And the hut itself, by which donkeys bray and a pony roams and the mountain goats rest.

Tiziano said he was so proud of this place because everything was built and maintained through volunteer efforts and donations. He felt this place belonged to the heart and soul of the people of his city. 

We could have stayed a bit longer -- there was a tree house that she desperately wanted to explore, the large swing that she enjoyed...

And all the gnomes, for the fun of it!

And of course, just like Tiziano said, there were the mountain animals. But, I got a bit nervous. There were clouds hovering over the nearby summits. Those storms sure looked like they might sweep down on us soon. 

The walk down was more adventurous than the uphill climb. Loose rocks and stiff descents caused us to slide more than once. But the girl managed her first mountain adventure beautifully!

The best feeling comes after doing something hard, no?

Well, sort of: when we were back on the paved road, making our way into town, the grumble came out again. It's as if the forest gave her the strength and passion to keep going. The city street, easy peasy as it was -- left her feeling like her legs were not her own.

(Views toward the more distant Alpine peaks...)

Before getting back into the car, I notice an ice cream shop. Oh, that's the best one. Actually this is my grandfather's house. He has been renting to this Gelateria for generations -- Tiziano comments.

My blueberry ice cream is superb!

Snowdrop, as usual, goes for the chocolate.

And now we are back at the hotel, eating lunch on our balcony, watching the winds blow in what was to be a storm but turns out to be a windy splatter here at Laqua. Still, the winds surprised everyone. Whitecaps on the lake here are a rare event.

When things calmed and the skies turned less ominous, we go back to the pool, because really, it's become a bit of a routine -- to spend time in the warm waters that look out over Lake Orta. (Today for the first time I was glad that the pool is heated!)

[When I am in the pool with Snowdrop, I have a bit of a deja vu: as you'll know from reading Like a Swallow, I came back to this country as an au pair, taking care of a little girl in the course of the summer of 1971. She was seven then and we spent a lot of time in the pool together. Snowdrop, with her wet long hair plastered to her sweet face, looks so much like my charge from some fifty years ago!]

The personalities are not the same. And yet -- they share that ready smile and a good heart. And a playfulness in the pool! Oh, but I was so much younger then! I'm sure I would not have said -- okay, I'm going to flop down on a chair for a while, as I did today. I wasn't exactly tired. It's just that I enjoy watching and daydreaming now almost as much as I enjoy plunging into, say, a heated pool that in its infinity spills out toward Lake Orta.

Before dinner, Snowdrop and I sit out on a deck. She watches a movie on her mom's tablet. I write and sip a Negroni, expertly prepared by the incredible staff here. The sun pokes out now and then, the world is full of beauty.

Dinner? The staff, knowing that I'm not here with a car, recommended the restaurant of the little hotel right down the road -- il Gardinietto. One lovely feature of the place is that the outdoor portion of it extends over the water. The clouds moved on and so we have before us a beautiful evening over Lake Orta.

The food is good and plentiful (pasta and risotto as firsts, fish and veal as seconds), though I think Snowdrop liked dropping pieces of a breadstick surreptitiously into the water even better. (There were ducks, there were fish. All enjoyed the little girl's largesse.)

We walked home in giddy moods. Climbing a mountain, even a tame enough mountain, leaves its mark. A good mark, wrapped in the folds of a very beautiful day.