The supposedly quick train ride from Malpensa to Stresa was more eventful than planned, with a bit of missing information from the ticket machine and the agent, leaving us at the wrong station or the wrong train, but remedied by a most helpful Italiana so we arrived. The old hotel is quite comfortable once you get used to the pink padded damask walls clashing with the Orange carpet, the high school art in the halls, and the door jambs of screwed on white particle board. The view out the window in the mornings of Lago Maggiore and Isola Bella, and the snowy Alps beyond is truly marvelous.
and what could be better than sitting in the little piazza on a cool day in bright, lazy afternoon sunshine with lactose free gelato? Not much.
The tourists, nearly all well-heeled (literally) Italianos in tiny but new cars, really began to fill the walking promenade along the sea wall and the ristoranti this afternoon as the wind began to kick in. What has been a large placid lake blew colder and harder, the ferries struggled to dock and return to the other ports against the wind, the smaller boats rolled and smashed against waves until they gave up, and waves have become Hawaiian surfable swells crashing into the jetties, and our balcony creaks with the gale---all in a perfectly clear sky with views of the Alpsas the evening darkens.
I perceive it is time for Opa Gnome to move on to escape the crowds.
