Learning Italian on Lake Como

We settled into lake life for a week. After moving every few days for a month, we were looking forward to a weeklong stay—somewhere we could unpack and store our suitcases.

We rented an Airbnb in Menaggio on Lake Como, in the foothills of the Alps in Northern Italy. You may have heard of Lake Como—it’s known as a getaway for the rich and famous, who own mansions along its shores.

Being neither rich nor famous, we rented a 500-square-foot apartment with a lovely view—though we did have to drag our suitcases up four flights of stairs.

It was nice to have an apartment with a kitchen where we could make meals. I’ve found that the touristy parts of Europe are creeping closer to U.S. pricing. Credit card readers in Amsterdam and Lake Como now request a tip—something we’ve never seen before.

Wine prices are rising too: where you used to find a glass of local wine for $3–$4 or a carafe of decent house wine for $10, we’re now seeing wines by the glass in the $12 range. Our restaurant in Menaggio had pages of cocktails and an entire book of wine by the bottle—but no wines by the glass. Accordingly, ordering wine on Lake Como can increase your dinner bill by at least $30.

Having the option to eat at home is attractive, as I’m cheap by nature and enjoy cooking. On our first night in Menaggio, we spent $100 on a shared appetizer, two bowls of pasta, and two four-ounce glasses of wine. I commented, “I could make equally good pasta and buy an entire bottle of better wine for $25.” And I did.

We often rent boats when traveling, but this was the first time in years we rented a sailboat for the day. The idea of sailing along the shores of the lake sounded fun and romantic. Having not sailed much in the past 20 years, I had conveniently forgotten the inconsistent winds of lake sailing and the steep learning curve that comes with stepping onto a sailboat you’ve never seen before. Sail size, rigging, layout, and handling were all unknowns.

We found a rental at a sailing school in Dervio, about 30 minutes up Lake Como on the opposite side from where we stayed. We caught the early morning ferry and planned to take the train back to Varenna, since ferries from Dervio only run at 9 a.m. and 5 p.m., while Varenna has one every 30 minutes. After landing in Dervio at 9 a.m., we had an hour to kill, so we grabbed a cappuccino at the ferry dock café and then went walking in search of the sailing school.

Dervio is not a touristy town. It was nice to stroll through residential streets in a lakeside village without crowds or a gelato shop on every corner. Dervio has a sizable shipbuilding industry, and two large ferry boats were under construction. After some wandering—and asking questions in English to people who didn’t speak English—we finally found the sailing school

They were hosting a summer camp, so dozens of teens were rigging small boats. The crew was friendly, though I don’t think they rent many boats to vacationers. The manager gave us a quick tour of our Jeanneau 20 and helped me rig the sails. I had to show him how to start the outboard, which should have been a red flag. After some confusion about whether to steer with the outboard or the rudder, we were on our way out of the harbor. The wind was light, which was perfect for relearning the boat and refreshing our sail-trimming skills. As the wind picked up, we cruised back and forth across the lake. Eventually, I decided that a couple of hours of sailing was enough of a refresher course on an unfamiliar boat, so I had Kel take the tiller while I dropped the jib. I started the outboard and had Kel bring the boat into the wind while I lowered the main—just as the engine quit.

With no engine and no sail power, we drifted, pushed gently down the lake—thankfully not toward shore. I raised the main again to regain control, then had Kel tack us back and forth while I tried to restart the engine, without success. With our old boat, I often practiced sailing into the slip in case I ever had to do it without an engine—but I wasn’t about to try that on an unfamiliar boat, in an unfamiliar harbor, with no backup engine. So Kel called the sailing school, and a few minutes later, a zodiac raced to our rescue. We dropped the main and were towed back to the slip. Back at the dock, I was pleased to see the staff couldn’t start the engine either.

Once safely ashore, we headed to the train station—it was only 2:00, and the next ferry wasn’t until 5:00. The schedule showed trains every 15 minutes, but the station platform was deserted. The electronic board showed trains arriving, and the loudspeaker kept announcing something that sounded like train arrivals—but no trains came. After half an hour, we gave up and searched for a bus.

We stumbled upon a sign offering a free shuttle to Corenno Plinio. Looking it up, I saw Corenno was south of Varenna, so we headed to the shuttle stop. When the shuttle arrived, we asked the driver if he could drop us in Varenna. He spoke little English, and we speak little Italian, but he assured us, “Si, Varenna. Hop in.” So we did.

We began to get concerned when he turned north instead of south. About five minutes later, he announced, “End of the line!” After some back-and-forth, he realized we had meant to go to Varenna. “Ah! I don’t go there,” he said. “But I can take you back to Dervio, and you can catch a bus.” Obviously, our earlier conversation meant something entirely different to him.

We’ve run into this many times while traveling—we think we’re clearly saying a word, but our poor Italian or French pronunciation is unintelligible. It reminds me of the scene in Harry Potter when Hermione is correcting the pronunciation of a spell: it sounds nearly identical to the untrained ear, but done correctly, the feather floats; done incorrectly, it explodes. Our Italian and French often lead to exploding feathers—but no real harm done.

Back to Dervio we went. Rather than figuring out the bus system, we returned to the ferry landing. It was now 4:00, so we figured we’d have a drink at the café and catch the 5:00 boat. There was no ticket office, so we asked if we could buy a ticket at the café. They told us tickets could be purchased onboard—and there was a ferry at 4:06! No time for a drink, but we were home by 5:00—just in time for happy hour at our favorite lakeside café. Onboard, I scanned the printed schedule we had picked up earlier. The 4:06 ferry wasn’t listed anywhere.

As lifetime learners, we took several lessons from our sailing adventure: