Lake Como – Flying on Water

Our trip to Bellagio on board MV Milano was relaxed and quite delightful.

Bellagio is one of those “must go to” places that everyone tells you about, my experience is that normally these places disappoint me and yep, you guessed, so did Bellagio!

OK, it’s a nice enough little place, but like many “nice little places” it’s popularity proves its downfall. We found a nice restaurant for lunch and I did manage to find one little alley that wasn’t crammed with shops selling crap or heaving with people!image

Now, I’d been doing a bit of devious planning about our return trip. Where it had taken us two and a half hours to reach Bellagio, I’d figured that forty minutes would be better for the return journey!

You see, Lake Como is one of the few places outside the former Soviet Union where regular Hydrofoil services operate and as regular Blogonaughts know Dookes is rather partial to savouring different modes of transportation!

Years ago I rode the Jetfoil that used to operate between Dover and Oostende, but being an open sea service it was prone to cancellation due to adverse sea conditions. As Lake Como is a tad more sheltered, I was sure that our trip would be more assured!

Because Lake Como is so big, 46km/29 miles long, a high-speed service between the principal towns makes sense. For many years this has been provided by a fleet of Italian built hydrofoil fitted boats, which is pretty apt seeming as how an Italian virtually invented the hydrofoil!

Enrico Forlanini born in Milan on 13 December 1848 was an Italian engineer well-known for tinkering around with various concepts and machines, I think I would have got on well with him! He started playing with hydrofoils in 1898 and by 1911 had a vessel that exceeded 40 mph on Lake Maggiore, just over the hill from Como.

40mph in 1911, on this!

40mph in 1911, on this!

Err, what’s a hydrofoil, Dookes?

Oops! Sorry, I should have explained earlier…

A hydrofoil is best described as the boat equivalent to an aircraft wing and just like the wing of an aircraft provides lift to the aeroplane to make it fly, the hydrofoil wing (which is like a big letter C under the hull of the boat) passing through the water lifts the hull of the boat out of the water. This means that drag is reduced, the vessel moves faster and best of all energy is saved making the whole thing more efficient. On the down-side, hydrofoils are very demanding when it comes to maintenance and that makes running them a very delicate balancing act that most accountants balk at; fortunately, engineers love them and at the end of the day, wonderfully, I’m not an accountant!

Those blasted accountants are unfortunately winning the battle, the ‘foils are gradually being replaced by high-speed catamarans, which though not quite as fast are lot cheaper to build and operate. Anyway, in the meantime, hydrofoils are just so sexy!

Sexy eh?

Sexy eh?

Oh yes, by the way my love affair with hydrofoils can be blamed on that secret agent James Bond 007! In the film “Thunderball,” one of the stars was the “Disco Volant,” a hydrofoil used by the villain Emilio Largo, which obviously was blown-up by Bond in the end!

Disco Volante in "Thunderball."

Disco Volante in “Thunderball.”

Anyway, there we were waiting on the pier at Bellagio for the return service to Como, our tickets for the high-speed service safe in my top pocket. Mrs Dookes is used to me at time like this, I get all excited and stressed up at the same time!

There was quite a crowd, this was a popular service and we probably were not going to be able to pick and choose where we sat, bummer! Once we got on-board, we ducked left and found two seats right at the front of the vessel on the port side (left to the land-lubbers) right ahead of the hydroplane. Excellent!

The hydrofoil the pale blue thing sticking out of the side of the boat.

The hydrofoil the pale blue thing sticking out of the side of the boat.

As we settled into our seats the vessel cast off and the two big 1,400 HP diesel engines propelled us towards the centre of the lake. Safely away from the landing stage the engines spooled up and the hydroplanes began to work, the spray around the windows dropped away as the hull climbed away from the water and we were literally flying above the lake! It’s a bit like being on an aeroplane as you speed down the runway and lift off the ground. I was as excited as anything, Mrs Dookes was less impressed. Boys stuff, I guess!

Looking out of the window at speed, we're flying on that hydrofoil!

Looking out of the window at speed, we’re flying on that hydrofoil!

We skimmed along the lake for around ten minutes before we made our one intermediate stop. Then the process of slowing is very like a water-skier who settles back into the water as speed declines, only in our case it was the hull that dropped back into the water to become a real boat again.

Cut the speed and now the hydrofoil drops the hull back into the water.

Cut the speed and now the hydrofoil drops the hull back into the water.

OK, I admit that the hydrofoil doesn’t have the charm of the more traditional ferries. I love them for what they are, a brilliant example of applied engineering that really does the job very well indeed.

Yes, that’s right it doesn’t take much to make Dookes happy; just a big noisy machine generally!

We sped back to the delightful city of Como with plenty of time to partake of some lovely Italian ice-cream and have a little pause before enjoying a super evening meal in a fantastic little no-nonsense restaurant, but that’s another story!

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Travelling in Time – The Lady of The Lake.

When we decided to visit Lago di Como I did some research about the ferry boats that travel on the lake. You can imagine my delight to discover that there is a paddle steamer, named “Concordia,” that has only recently been restored and which operates regular Sunday excursions from Como. Plans were put into place for a day of steam cruising!

Imagine my disappointment when I arrived in Como to find that the weekend’s excursion had been cancelled – bummer!

All was not lost though, Mrs D and I decided that on the Sunday we would take a trip to the famous village of Bellagio and probably grab some lunch. Looking at the ferry schedule, we had a couple of options, but arriving at Como ferry terminal all bets were off – a major change of plan came into play.

You see, moored against the jetty ready for a 10:00 hrs departure up the lake was the classic 1904 built “Milano.”P1070317

This delightful vessel has quite a history. She was built by N. Odero of Genoa, taken apart and moved to Lake Como where she was resembled and launched into the lake. As built she was a side paddle steamer of 43.2 metres length, but in 1926 she was converted to a diesel-powered motor vessel with screw propulsion and as such has served on the lake ever since.

To say that she is much-loved is a bit of an understatement, basically she is the flagship of the lake ferries and very much in the hearts of the lake side communities.

To see her tied up ready for the morning “end to end” service certainly got my heart racing and fortunately, just before I bought two tickets, Mrs Dookes said “yes!” To be honest, I think she was relieved that it wasn’t a steam-powered vessel, with all the soot, smoke and hot oil that can entail!

We grabbed a pair of seats on the forecastle deck and settled in for the ride. Two minutes later I was on my feet and off exploring; which was how it stayed for the two and a half hour cruise to Bellagio!

I loved every minute of it and to be fair, for different reasons, so did Mrs Dookes!

The old girl is obviously well loved and cared for by her crew, “Milano” that is, not Mrs D! Her beautiful wooden weather decks smelling delightfully of fresh teak oil, whilst brass work was well buffed and polished with the odd trace of brasso left here and there. All companionway steps still have the original cast gunmetal anti-slip plates that proudly proclaim the vessels name “Milano” and all of these have obviously been cared for too, a nice touch.P1070432

The crew themselves seemed a happy bunch and obviously loved their charge, their pride especially noticeable at the many stops that we made as we cross-crossed the lake heading north.P1070438

“Milano” rides the lake waters beautifully, her straight stem parting the water like a keenly sharp knife whilst her counter stern is pure class. Despite the cross winds and at times enthusiastic helm work she is a real lady, without any nasty rolling or pitching – not bad for over 100 years old and without any stabilisers.P1070442

She’s obviously a bit of a handful to manoeuvre when on-shore breezes pin her against the landing stage. “Milano” is not fitted with bow thrusters like modern vessels, but with teamwork from the mooring crew and skilful handling in the wheelhouse it’s not too much of a problem that a bit of time, patience and experience can’t deal with.P1070443

Oh, I forgot to mention, I fell totally in love with this old lady of the lake! The two and a half hours trip to Bellagio and lunch flew by and if it hadn’t been that she filled to passenger capacity at the last two stops I’d have stayed on board all day!

MV Milano, travelling through time.

MV Milano, travelling through time.

As we disembarked it was with more than a slight twinge in my heart that I watched my beloved “Milano” slip away north for the rest of her day’s work. Such a classy lady!P1070462

….and the trip back?
Well that’s another story!

Catch you soon.

Dookes

The Somme – 100

A century ago to-day the most bloody battle that Europe has ever seen began.

An artillery barrage lasting for seven days pounded dug-in German positions, before the signal for soldiers to advance across the shattered landscape of North East France was given.

At 07:30hrs the crash of artillery fire paused and the shrill sound of tin whistles ordered men forward.

Within seconds the mournful whistles were replaced by the stutter of machine guns.

24 hours later 19,240 British and Empire soldiers were dead.
The French Army had lost 1,590; 12,00 German soldiers also died.

The battle raged for a further 140 days and by the time it dwindled to a muddy stalemate over 300,000 men from both Britain, Germany and France had perished and a further 700,000 wounded.

Two words resonate through history and represent the horror, waste and futility of War:

The Somme.

Today Europe is united in remembrance.
May the lessons of the past guide our actions in the present and the future.

Lest we forget.

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“What passing bells for these who die as cattle?” Wilfred Owen 1893-1918

It’s just so Annoying!

There’s only one thing about a road trip that really annoys me.

Packing your bags everyday.

It’s only a little thing, but it bugs me every time I do it!

How come even when I diligently keep everything with the bag it came out of I always have a battle to make things fit in again?

Yeah, I know, the secret to motorcycle road trips is keeping it simple and baggage wise keeping it light. I keep the clothes to a minimum and do my laundry each night.

There are certain motorbike “essentials” that get packed at the bottom of the panniers; puncture repair kit, compressor, rain-suit, spare gloves, spare bulbs and tools. Then there are the modern essentials such as phone and battery chargers; oh and not forgetting my travel kettle and mug, a fella needs his tea you know! Well that lot fits into the two panniers and then my clothes bag goes in the top box.
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It’s the blasted panniers that always misbehave though and seem to shrink every night!

How the hell am I supposed to take back meaningful amounts of good wine?

It’s enough to drive you to drink!

………Once the bike is safely put away!

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Back to Brittany

I’ve just been playing with the Via Michelin App to see what it made of the trip from Como to Brittany, where we are this evening. Interestingly, it nearly came up with the same route that I had, but mine was a bit more interesting and therefore longer!

Today we passed the 2000 mile mark on this little jaunt. Not bad when you consider that three days were spent in Como and on the day we rode Stelvio and Gavia it really wasn’t any mileage at all.

The journey today has been nice and relaxing, if you can ever say that about nearly three hundred miles on a motorbike! We kicked off with a nice little trundle of around twenty miles to warm up before we hit the Autoroute and then followed a spirited 130 miles dash to Angers. That blew the morning cobwebs away!

Baby was certainly on song cruising the Autoroute westwards and to add to my pleasure there was hardly any traffic at all. We stopped briefly for fuel in Bougueil; the town is rightly famous for delightful wines that are flavoursome yet light. Well, we had to grab a bottle whilst we were passing through, it was only polite!

I always look on Angers as a defining point on any journey through this part of France, heading West you enter the wide, wide, valley of the River Loire and coming East it’s the gateway to Brittany. I can almost spot exactly where the wide open wheat fields and vineyards end and the smaller Breton pastures bounded by hedges and old oak trees begin, it’s quite magical!

In France, Brittany is often referred to as “Little Britain,” such is the similarity to the Western parts of the U.K. No wonder I always feel so at home here. You can tell it’s a region influenced by the weather of the North Atlantic, slate roofs steeply sloped to throw off the sometimes copious rain!

I have Mrs Dookes to thank for introducing me to Brittany, as before we met I’d never been to this lovely part of “L’Hexagone.” Merci beaucoup mon amour, je t’aime!

Tonight I’m staying with my friends Denis and Anne, at their delightful Château which nestles on the edge of an ancient wood, deep in the centre of the region. Baby is safely ensconced in the garage, Anne’s Mercedes was evicted to make room! Denis is his usual loud energetic self, laughing at the Euro 2016 football tournament and especially the English losing to Iceland – we both agree on that! He’s threatening to cook me “Carre de porcelet,” which I suppose translates as piglet chops….! Knowing him this is going to be good! Anne meanwhile rolls her eyes at the two of us, she’s seen the floor show before.

I’ll report on the food later.

Now back to the ride….

From Angers we went cross-country, first to the delightful town of Chateaubriant then I just headed West.

Le château, Châteaubriant.

Le château, Châteaubriant.

I know it sounds corny, but I do have an innate sense of direction and so I turned the SatNav off and just followed my internal compass. I find it quite relaxing as well, heading where the mood takes. It must’ve worked, we got here!

So here comes that familiar “end of trip” hollow feeling. It’s sort of a mix of elation that the plan came together and also the realisation that it’s nearly all over, until next time.

I usually fight it off by starting to think about “The Next One.” Therein lies a problem, as Mrs Dookes and I have a shedload of work to do over the coming months. . .
“The Next One” may lay some way off in the future.

Actually, to tell the truth, I have an idea.

Why don’t we go to……….

“Freedom is a dusty road heading to a highway.”

Catch you later.

Dookes

La Cœur de France, The Heart of France

It’s been a long hot hard ride today.

Baby and I kicked off from our overnight stop in a small village called Montaimont near La Chambre in the high Alps.

The view at breakfast I've known worse!

The view at breakfast- I’ve known worse!


After breakfast, our first hurdle was to negotiate the steep, narrow lane from the village back to the D213. With four very tight hairpins and a crumbling road surface I knew it was always going to be tricky, but we only had to resort to walking one bend so it wasn’t too bad. Once on the D213 we sailed through the remaining half-dozen “lacets” as my French friends call them and soon hit the Péage heading for Lyon.

As I was saying my goodbyes to the Alps, until next time, Baby seemed to come into her own. I swear that bike was trying to tell me something; something like, “OK, this is what I do, let’s go!”

So yes, in many ways it’s been an Autoroute cruising day and also one to watch the French geography unfold before us like a documentary film. First there was the Alps, then the young Rhône, the mighty Loire valley and the extinct volcanos of the Puy de Dôme. What better geography lesson could you ask for, how come it was never this good at school?

All the while that big bike of mine just got on with it. Mile after mile was munched up, whilst I enjoyed the comparatively luxurious ride that only a ‘Big-Twin’ Harley can give! Just over two hours after setting out we paused for a spot of lunch not long after Lyon, which was its usual chaotic mess! Grabbing fuel at Thiers, from a place I know just off the Autoroute and then back at it, we cruised into St Amand Montrond at about 15:30.

Time for a cup of coffee and then to head cross-country through the Cher valley to one of my favourite B&B’s near Vierzon.

I always like to spend the last hour of a riding day sort of chilling a bit, taking the back roads and letting the road come to me as we spool down after long fast miles. The scenery around here tends to be quite arable, large fields to barley, wheel or rape seed. The latter does get a bit tedious, it a member of the brassica family and for miles everything smells of cabbage!

I was feeling a bit bad about the River Cher and wanted to get a nice photo to disprove that’s it’s not all weedy and muddy, so we meandered around a bit looking for a suitable spot. Unfortunately everywhere was either weedy or muddy! So no shot I’m afraid!

You’ll just have to be content with this almost timeless picture of the evening train departing St Florent sur Cher. Timeless because there’s no-one there except the staff!

St Florent - The Frech Adlestrop.

St Florent – The French Adlestrop.


It’s a bit like the poem “Adlestrop” by Edward Thomas, except it’s the French version!

As I type, the crickets are chirping away outside my window and pigeons fly past heading to roost, their wigs clapping a farewell to the warm summer day.

Ce soir nous sommes au cœur de la France ce soir/We are in the heart of France tonight. Baby is safely shut away in the barn, content with 360 effortless miles under her belt. Yes, she’s a heavy old lump in the mountains, but a thoroughbred out on the open highway, which is what she’s really designed for and I can’t really ask more than that!

The sun is casting a red glow across the sky and silhouetting the old trees on the horizon. It’s not the Alps, but it sort of feels like home.

Heart of France sunset.

Heart of France sunset.

“Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.”

Edward Thomas
3 March 1878 – 9 April 1917 Killed in Acton Arras

Catch you soon.

Dookes

The Last Col

I had real mixed feelings as I guided Baby from Como this morning.

With Mrs Dookes flying out to be with me, I had to pause, draw breath, stop being self-centred and only thinking of motorbikes for a few days. I’ve got to admit that despite it being quite a difference from my normal road-trip ‘modus operandi,’ it worked superbly and the break from riding did help recharge the old Dookes batteries! On the other hand, I was just about ready to get rolling again by this morning, there’s only so many pastel shaded salmon coloured houses with tile roofs that I can cope with looking at!

There is just one funny thing though, after three days of not riding it came as a bit of a shock just how heavy Baby really is! I supposed I’d got so used to her massive bulk that I’d forgotten how bloody awkward she can be at slow speeds and on indifferent road surfaces, like stone cobbles! Thank you Como for reminding me of that!

Once we got on the open road I was able to relax a tad, if one can ever relax when riding on an Italian Autostrada! Now don’t get me wrong, the Italian motorways are not in my opinion inherently more dangerous than any other high-speed trunk road found throughout Western Europe, you just have to approach them a bit differently. For example, apart from lane one the other lanes have strict minimum speeds and frankly you be crazy to ignore that. What the Autostrada really does is make people use their mirrors properly, not lane hog and anticipate well in advance. True you will see bonkers things occasionally, but tell me a motorway anywhere where you don’t! The only unfortunate thing about the Autostradas is that the majority of them are toll roads and not cheap ones either, so whilst they undoubtably save time you pay for it!

Leaving Como we headed South, skirted Milan and struck out East to Turin where we took the A32 towards the French border.

By Susa and 130 miles of hot, hot, hot slog, I was ready for a change and turned off the Autostrada to find some altitude and cooler air. At 2083metres/6834feet Col du Mont Cenis seemed to fit the bill nicely, it’s just that I’d forgotten how much hard work it takes to get up there! The road isn’t technically very difficult, but I’ve always found that I can’t really get a rhythm going on it and today was no exception!

At the top of the climb is a lake, Lac du Mont Cenis, an artificial lake that supplies water to two hydroelectric stations. During last winter extensive maintenance was carried out on the dam and as yet the lake has still not reached anywhere near its normal level, which made for an interesting contrasts to previous visits.image

As I wasn’t in any particular hurry, I stopped for a most enjoyable lunch at a small restaurant that overlooks the lake. Talk about a meal with a view! image

The road from the Col drops down to Lanslebourg via a delightful ladder of five sweeping hairpin bends, which being nice and wide, were a joy to cruise round on Baby.

We plugged away down the L’Arc valley, whilst surrounded by impressive towering peaks it gets quite tedious the nearer you get to Modane and St Michel de Maurienne. There’s just too much squeezed into a very narrow valley, a major railway line, several freight yards, two main roads, a Péage, various quarries and factories not to mention the River L’Arc!

By La Chambre I was ready for a change.

There was one more big Col on the Dookes list, another classic from Le Tour de France that had been calling me for years; Col de la Madeleine. Despite Baby being such a handful on the narrow mountain roads I decided to go for it, remembering how I’d ridden last year on Col de Lombarde I knew the bike could do it!

From La Chambre to Madeleine the D213 road is 20km long and gains 1522meteres at an average gradient of 8%, that’s quite a climb, over a mile upwards. Oh yes, there’s twenty hairpins as well! At the top you are 2000metres above sea level, that’s 6562 feet.image

I’ve got to say that I enjoyed every single metre of that climb. I just let Baby find her own pace and gear, she’s not a sports or adventure bike, so no point in trying to ride her as such. She is big, long and heavy and as such you’ve got to approach the tight twisties with respect, do that and she’ll do the job! Just like today.image

Arriving at the summit was incredible, I remembered that someone once described Madeleine as “beautiful, but heartbreaking.” imageI’m not sure about the heartbreak, definitely beautiful, but for me to was the culmination of a quest that began by a young boy who over forty years ago dreamed of visiting the great Tour de France Cols.image

As I stood admiring the lovely stone summit marker, a golden eagle called from high in the clear sky above me, it’s call echoing off the surrounding mountains.
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I looked upwards to that majestic soaring bird.

If we dream to soar from what we are familiar, that is normal.
A few are lucky enough to fly with their dream.

. . . and now that last Col has been climbed, where else can the dream lead to?

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Classici Italiani, Italian Classics

Just after arriving on the outskirts of Livigno on Wednesday, Passo D’Eira to be precise, I stopped at a small café/bar/shop.

After getting some supplies for lunch I wandered out and my eye was taken by two georgeous Italian ladies.image
On the right is a 1975 Alfa Romeo Alfetta 1.8, whilst left is a 1974 Fiat 128 Sport 1300 with Pininfarina bodywork. Enzo Ferrari drove one of those as his transport of choice, so they must have been good!
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These two very practical classics were parked there by the bar owner so that people could enjoy them as much as he does. Now that is real Italian style snd I do love a nice Alfa Romeo!

Then, as I stood gawping at these two lovely ladies it got even better. The “Pop-Pop-Pop” of a single cylinder motorbike came into my hearing and this fantastic Moto Guzzi turned into the car park. imageIt turned out to be Signore Passera, the owner of the bar. He parked up the Guzzi and promptly wandered over to look at my bike as I took photos of his! There’s something about Italian cars and bikes, a style that others cannot match even a humble Fiat 128!

He told me that his bike was a 1948 model, single cylinder, fully original and would I like to buy it? As with nine months of winter, it wasn’t a great thing to have a motorbike in Livigno!

We joked about how I could get the bike on Baby’s pillion seat, but agreed I’d have to come back with a truck! Now how can I tell Mrs Dookes about this????

Only joking, I’ve left it, for now.

Then blow me! Next day I’m in Domaso on the shores of Lake Como, I pull up in the crazy heat to take a break and have a drink of water and there’s another old Moto Guzzi! I’m in love all over again. image Shame I missed that piece of cardboard on the ground though!image

Best of all, I arrive at our B&B in Como and our host owns two classic Guzzi’s!

“Wheels, spinnin’ around my brain.”

Catch you later,

Dookes

Lago di Como / Lake Como

Once I got out of my riding gear on Thursday, had a shower and grabbed a cold one, it was time to take stock of where I had arrived.

We are in Como, the city at the South Western end of Lago di Como / Lake Como in Lombardy, Italy. The lake owes its existence to ancient glacial activity. It has an area of 146 square kilometres/56 sq mi, making it the third-largest lake in Italy, after Lake Garda and Lake Maggiore. At over 400 metres/1300 feet deep, it is one of the deepest lakes in Europe and the bottom of the lake is more than 200 metres/660 ft below sea level!

In 1818 Percy Shelley wrote about the place, “This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty, with the exception of the arbutus islands of Killarney. It is long and narrow, and has the appearance of a mighty river winding among the mountains and the forests.” OK Shelley, it’s nice, but maybe not as exquisite as you make out.

Locally the lake is claimed to be the most beautiful in the world. I have to take issue on that point as I rate Llyn Talyllyn/Talyllyn Lake in Wales top of the pile, with maybe Loch Insch in the Scottish Highlands a close second, but hey, such things are personal!

What I can say is that Lago di Como is certainly very big and very impressive!

It’s also central to the local economy in many different ways, tourism being the number one economic driver. Another important role that the lake facilitates is transport, there are over forty ferry terminals along the shores and islands of the lake, which enjoy standard, car or high-speed ferry services from early in the morning until late in the evening.

The ferries are an excellent way to view the lake and get to it’s villages, I can report by experience that driving along the lakeside roads is a slow and painful undertaking!

Over breakfast this morning the weather looked a tad threatening and I was sure that I could hear distant thunder. True to my predictions, by ten o’clock the heavens opened and for half an hour the emptied onto the city of Como. We needed that, the air had been oppressive, heavy and stormy, but after the rain everything freshened up beautifully. In light of the better air, Mrs Dookes and I decided to take the half hour ferry ride to Moltrasio for lunch.

Leaving Como the last vestiges of the storm were still hanging in the mountains and the lake surface still a tad choppy with a keen northerly breeze. The outward ferry was the large “Orione,” which while a bit plastic is quite well equipped with bars, restaurants and comfortable passenger saloons.image

The thirty minute journey slipped by very quickly and after disembarking we had super views across the lake to Torno.image
After a light but enjoyable lunch we decided to head back to Como and the shops. I persuaded Mrs D that we should take one of the smaller ferries that zig-zag across the lake and take a bit longer but looked considerably more fun than the bigger boats.image I wasn’t wrong, the little vessel was superb fun, lively in the water with a good turn of speed and a lovely motion, I was in my element! imageWhilst I bounced around all over the vessel, Mrs Dookes stayed in the saloon for the whole trip.
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OK I did get a bit covered in spray, but at lest you could tell I’d been on a boat! imageI haven’t had so much fun on a boat in nearly 25 years when I used to help run an historic steam launch, but that’s another storyline!

Returning to Como.

Returning to Como.

Catch you later.

Dookes

History Occurred Here

It probably comes through in my blog writings that I have a keen sense of history. Travelling around Europe it is not hard to pass through places that have seen through the centuries both tragedy and triumph.

Riding along the shores of Lake Como I was aware that I was going to be very near the place where a defining moment in European history had occurred.

In the Spring of 1945 the Second World War was drawing to a close in Europe. Italian Dictator Benito Mussolini had taken his country to war in 1940 forming the Axis with Nazi Germany, he met with complete military failure. By 1945, Mussolini had been reduced to the head of a German puppet state in the Northern part of Italy. He faced the ferocious Allied advance from the South and increasingly violent internal conflict with Italian Anti-Facist Partisans.

By April 1945, with the Allies breaking through the last German defenses in Northern Italy and a general uprising of the population taking hold in the cities, Mussolini’s position became untenable. On 25th April he fled Milan, where he had been based, and tried to escape to Switzerland.

Two days later Mussolini and his mistress, Claretta Petacci were captured by local partisans near the village of Dongo on Lake Como. The next day, the pair were taken to the gateway of the Villa Belmont in the village of Giulino di Mezzegra and with a burst of sub-machine gun fire were summarily executed by the anti-fascists.

Gateway to Villa Belmont

Gateway to Villa Belmont

One version of events is that the execution was carried out by Walter Audisio, a communist partisan who used the pseudonym “Colonnello Valerio.” In more recent times, however, the circumstances of Mussolini’s death, and the identity of his killers, have been subject to continuing confusion, dispute and controversy in Italy.

The people of Italy are divided in their retrospective view of Mussolini. To some he remains a hero of their nation, while others revile him.

Today the location of Mussolini and Petacci’s execution is marked by a small black cross in the gateway to the villa in Mezzegra.image

As I was literally passing within 200metres, I felt that I should stop for a moment, not for any morbid fascination, but rather to witness the spot where history had occurred.

As you can see, it’s really very understated and a few flowers, now shrivelled have been left.image

It’s a bit strange really and frankly I don’t really know what to make of it, I came away feeling rather uneasy.

History did indeed occur here, that’s all I’m going to say.

Dookes