Four Ferries and a Funicular (3 days in Lake Como)
- Subrosa
- Jan 5
- 8 min read
Updated: Jan 7
Day 1: Como City
It’s a fantasy world painted with Van Gogh’s palette. Vivid slashes of blue, green and grey. Jagged mountains pierce the sky, bands of deep forest hug the lower slopes, roofs of terracotta sprinkle the base like confetti. At the centre of the masterpiece, the lake. Changing colour and texture, shimmering turquoise to undulating mercury, it waits ominous, silent, powerful... That’s great, Wordsworth, but where’s George Clooney’s gaffe?
Yes, we’re going loco down in Lake Como. A catchy marketing campaign I’ve proposed to the Como Tourist Board, but have yet to hear back. First things first, Como is simultaneously an Italian province, a famous lake, and a city at the lake's southern tip. Which, one fine early September day, is where we begin. The hour-long train from Milan costs €8 (in the UK, it'd be £85 + bonus rail replacement in Peterborough) and stops right on the waterfront, where late-season tourists, Sunday afternoon locals and herds of tour groups stroll along the promenade.
In the medieval old town's cobbled streets and statue-laden plazas, colourful cafes and infinite gelaterias shift pizzas, spritzes and ice cream by the ton. Like provincial England and Wetherspoons, every town/city/hamlet in Italy MUST have a cathedral. And the towering Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta sucks everyone towards it like a tractor beam (why is it called a tractor beam?).
We try to pop in and see the Gothic interior, but there’s something on. Still, for me, that’s the culture box ticked, and while the hotel prepares our Presidential Suite (well, wait an hour for check-in to open), there’s only one thing to do. My finely-tuned instinct to find the cheapest drinking den in any immediate vicinity leads us to Bar Argentino. Does it get better than sipping a cold beer in the sun at a pleasant European town while casually judging people? It does when a small bowl of complimentary crisps arrives. Ciao bella!
Checked in, all cobbled roads lead to - my preferred mode of transport - the funicular. On one hand, it's a staggering feat of 1892 engineering that effortlessly glides up a mountainside to the village of Brunate. On the other, it only leaves every 15 minutes and the queue snakes around the block. It’s almost as if they didn’t foresee mass tourism back in the 19th century. Alcoholics take note - salvation lies within. For some reason, there’s a bar inside the ticket hall.
One hour, two Aperols and a claustrophobic ascent later, we’re in a different world. Birds and butterflies flutter, alleyways and stone staircases wind and climb, sun-drenched terraces overlook the valley. After an almost-blind wander, taking in the foliage-draped buildings and a church that makes becoming a vicar almost seem like a sensible move, we refresh with a couple of Hugos and panoramic vistas from the Bellavista Boutique hotel.
Back down on ground level, we stumble into bustling Piazza Alessandro Volta, named after (checks Google) the man who invented the battery and was born in the city. Volta… volts… the clue’s in the name innit. Two front row seats, two beers, and two bowls of Tarallini at Il Sorso = people watching paradise.
Glamorous couples parade like peacocks, tour groups trudge en masse behind bored guides on autopilot ("follow the flag you lazy gits"), and the previously unheard of, by me anyway, clothing brand Boxeur is everywhere. In the cafes and bars, students make a single beer last all evening, parents exhale as their kids finally become hypnotised by devices and shut up/sit still allowing them to stares at their own phones. Crucially, are there now more people with tattoos than without?
We open our pizza account at Caffé Duomo, which, as you'd imagine, is next to the now-floodlit house of God. Watching fellow diners’ reactions to being stung by an opaque €6 per person cover charge, that seems to constitute two bits of bread delivered mid-meal - priceless. An unnecessary and oversized bowl of Pistachio ice cream closes out proceedings.
Day 2: Menaggio and Bellaggio
Let’s get down to brass tacks - we’re here to see the lake. In 30 years' time, I will still be having dreams/nightmares (it’s a fine line) about the app and website of Navigazione, who, seemingly, have a monopoly on the Lake Como ferry system.
In terms of planning, there are:
35+ stops around the lake
several set daily routes
slow boats with many stops, fast ferries which go from A to B and link key spots
one and two-day passes - however, these may be mythical
routes bookable online and routes seemingly not bookable online
Do you even need to book? Can you just show up? What time is it? Who’s the president?
Bellagio, the most famous and popular town on Lake Como, sits at the centre of the web. Many people head straight there and stay. Or, due to its connections, use it as a crossroads, a 'Como Junction' if you will - a catchy name I've proposed to the Como Tourist Board but have yet to hear back. After hours of research (Googling ‘pretty towns in Como’), we decide to stop at Menaggio and then stay in 'Bell' for the night. Of course, this ticket/route, despite existing on the map, isn’t bookable online. With limited time and online horror stories of boats being too busy to board, we head to the ticket office at the crack of dawn (well, 8.30am). To find… nobody in the queue. Tickets booked, we now have 45 minutes to wait until departure.
For the record, there is a fast ferry from Como to Bellagio, but, viewing it as a sightseeing tour, we take the 3-hour slow boat, which basically does the same route but stops at EVERY single house and shack on the way.
Like my mum getting up from the sofa, the Milano slowly shudders into life and, from two prime top-deck seats, this geographical wonderland opens out in front of us. Cascading mountains, glass-like lake, photogenic towns with cafes desperate to be frequented.
The route heads up the left ‘leg’ of the lake, painstakingly criss-crossing from place to place, picking up and dropping off almost nobody at each stop.
Private islands slip by, seaplanes fly overhead, villas, mansions, palatial shag pads beyond belief line the shores. Was that Madonna’s house once? There’s a location from Star Wars... Which one? Rise of the Clones... Forget about it. And yes, there is the most important spot in the whole region: George Clooney’s place. From afar, without having to pay the rent, the area is a version of paradise. Let’s move here and live out our days as writers? Sure, why not?
Eventually, a little windswept (we could’ve gone beneath deck at any time), we arrive in Menaggio on the lake’s west coast. A small marina, a classic square, a yellow shop selling all-yellow produce (it couldn’t be any yellower), a chapel with a mildly disturbing display of crochet doll scenes, and, of course, a Duomo. We sign on for the day with a spritz and light lunch at the well-reviewed Caffe Centrale, which is full of tourists and the odd grizzled local eeking espressos into their second hour. After a stroll through the alleyways and along the flower-lined promenade, we watch an American bride-to-be and her giddy bridesmaids board a cool, James Bond-esque speedboat and zip off to Bellagio.
“Got room for two more?”
They don’t reply, so we board Ferry No.2, which is ten times slower. Named after the Las Vegas casino, Bellagio is straddles on a hilly peninsula at the ‘groin’ of Lake Como’s ‘two legs’. A description I've proposed to the Como Tourist Board but yadda yadda yadda. The town centre runs along the stunning waterfront and is loosely split over two levels linked by several staircases that double as side streets. It’s picturesque, it’s pretty, it’s busy. Every building is some form of bar, cafe, restaurant, souvenir shop or hotel, milking tourists like fat Chianina cows.
It’s also a good place to study overtourism. Getting from A to B is painful. Tourists arrive by coachload and boatload to join the shitload already in situ. After checking in to the wallet-melting hotel and checking out the views from Punta Spartivento, it's Spritz o'clock:
Cool corner bars and terraces in the sun. Gambrinus Tavern, Caffé Bar Sport, Hotel du Lac, and a couple of tricky-to-identify waterfront places. Spare seats and tables are like Wonka’s Golden Tickets and need to be grabbed and defended. We hit double-figure bowls of crisps and tarallinis, the free snacks that come with every drink.
For some, Bellagio is a place to be seen. Couples, groups, and hen parties. People dress like they're in fashion magazines or going out to nightclubs. Others, mostly British and German tourists, dress like model railway enthusiasts. And then the Yanks... God help them. A drunken ride on the Trombetta Express (a miniature ‘noddy’ type sightseeing train) seems like a good idea. A full circuit costs €5 and reveals a different side of Bellagio… I think.
More spritz, a beer to cleanse the palate, a pizza, some ice cream. Please no more crisps. Please, no more of those little bread things. No more crowds. Then just no more.
Day 3: Varenna and Lecco
They rarely mention hangovers in books and films, do they? Let’s ignore The Hangover film for the sake of this sweeping statement. A brisk 15-minute voyage to Varenna, ferry No.3, blows out the cobwebs.
Similar to Menaggio but with a few more in and outs (not an official geographic term), Vara stretches along the coast and has a waterfront path that makes exploring easy. While it’s far from a ghost town, it’s refreshing to escape Bellagio’s sheer mass of humanity, and we weave through almost empty cafe terraces and tempting patio bars (easy tiger - my blood is still 80% Aperol), underneath arches and through shaded back streets. Lake views come and go along the way.
If mankind has achieved anything, then the creation of botanical gardens is right up there… alongside crisps. The Villa Monastero’s terraced foliage and Roman features are worth the hefty €15 entry fee alone. Watching the Instas posing for ridiculous photos in the gardens is a bonus.
A pleasant square with, of course, a Duomo, hosts a strip of cafes. After lunch at Bistro Varenna, it’s time for Ferry No.5. You can take a cheap, straightforward 30-mins bus from Vare to Lecco, our destination, but we’re here for a good time, not a convenient time. Thus, after a quick change of boats at Bellagio Junction (yes. we actually had five ferries instead of four, but it’s not as catchy a title), in soporific afternoon conditions, we glide down Lake Como’s ‘right leg’, cutting back and forth between the towns and jaw-dropping backdrop. It’s easy to take the scenery for granted after a while.
Like Como City, Lecco is another gateway city to the lake - both are easily reachable from Milan via train and have cheaper accommodation than the small, picturesque towns further up the lake. The boat docks at the city’s pier, which literally enters a bar-restaurant called Imbarcadero. And, hold on to your hat - it’s aperitivo time. Often confusing to non-locals (certainly Brits), aperitivo usually involves paying a bit extra for your drinks in order to get a supporting plate of food/snacks at great value, but the process can sometimes be confusing. This particular offering results in the strangest array of items I’ve seen since I watched a man scoop jelly and ice cream onto a plate of pizza slices at a Pizza Hut buffet.
Still, while picking off a few olives and analysing a suspiciously fishy beige blob, the view is glorious as the sun begins to set over the lake. But wait, what’s that in the lake? An otter frolicking amongst the nearby seaweed.
We finish with a short stroll along Lecco’s pleasant main drag, a couple of beers from a bar on a square that’s hard to identify, and yet one more gallon of Pistachio gelato.
Arrivederci.
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