Ciao, Como

The weekend in Como is over. Unless you're hiking, Como is one of those trips for which an itinerary will do almost no good.

Putt-putt golf was the most strenuous part of our weekend. I'm sorry to say that the courses don't measure up to those in the States. Instead of Astroturf, like a quality course has, these are red, rubber contraptions that couldn't be faster. Half the challenge is keeping the ball 'on the red.'

We stayed in Menaggio, a charming little town that's about 45 minutes north of Como by bus. The bus ride is fantastic, though. The 45 minutes flies by, as long as you are on the right side of the bus, where the lake views are available. I'll have to consult a map, but it seemed that we were closer to Switzerland than the town of Como.

We took a boat to Bellaggio on Saturday. This is one of those places whose existence has been revealed to the world by Rick Steeves. Walking past the tourist shops and restaurants, the streets all smell like a flower shop. There are flowers everywhere: every yard is filled to capacity with a random assortment of the plants in a random assortment of colors.

I can barely believe it, but I have only two more weeks in Italy, and then the 'reassimilation shock' about which I've been warned.

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