Lago Maggiore: On top of the world

September 17, 1:42 PMItaly Culture & Travel ExaminerLucia Mauro

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Il Monterosso in Verbania, Piemonte.

Forty hairpin bends. The idea nestled in my throat before traveling down to my respiratory tract and settling in my gut. A roller coaster, I realized. Our accommodations are at the top of a roller coaster! That was my reaction when the reality of driving up to our agriturismo B&B on one of Lago Maggiore's highest hills sank in. My husband Joe and I began our trip in Germany, where we met friends (an American couple and their four-year-old daughter), then continued through Switzerland into the Northern Italian region of Piemonte - arguably one of the country's most epically scenic.

Rooftops of Lago d'Orta.

Prior to our departure, we booked a stay at Il Monterosso, a working farm-hotel in Verbania - sold on its romantic description: "Just 20 kilometers from the Swiss border, halfway along the shore of Lago Maggiore, is a farmhouse ideally situated 700 meters above the lake. It commands a 360-degree view, which includes the Alps and lakes Mergozzo, Monate, Varese and Maggiore."

But so intent were we to luxuriate in this secluded Alpine paradise, we didn't pay much attention to the directions: "Before Verbania, at Pallanza, take Via Azari to Monterosso up five kilometers of winding road that includes over 40 hairpin bends."

Feline resident of Isola di San Giulio.

Yes, 40 hairpin bends.

The thought of those impossibly narrow turns during the day made me shiver, let alone at night - on slick, waterlogged pavement. About halfway through our Swiss-Teutonic road trip, we got caught in a thunderstorm. Many flooded roads were closed. So countless detours later (nearing midnight), we arrived at Verbania's Via Azari and a key landmark: the skeletal Santuario della Madonna di Campagna, an architectural specter of Dickens' Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. The Romanesque-Renaissance church glowed spookily against foggy halogen lights.

Our only clue for Il Monterosso's elevated location in the rain and darkness was a small sign with the picture of a horse on it and an arrow pointing up. Indeed, at the base of this nearly imperceptible path, began those 40 obstacle-course curves to our agriturismo property. With only headlights to guide us, Joe cautiously accelerated, shifted and braked all the way up the slippery hill. Occasionally we glimpsed a half-open gate or an abandoned barn right out of The Shining. Our minds were surely playing tricks on us.

Then something extraordinary happened. When we reached the top of the hill, music and laughter poured out of Il Monterosso's rustic restaurant. Cars were parked at crazy angles on the grass. Big, lumbering dogs greeted us with slow-wagging tails. And the kind-hearted owners Giorgio and Iside Minotti met us with umbrellas. Inside, pitchers of Barolo flowed and guests sang. I felt like I walked into a rehearsal for Les Miserables' Tavern Scene - thankfully, minus the villainous Thenardier.

The next morning, after opening the shutters of our comfortable room, Joe and I found the white-knuckle ride up Il Monterosso's private mountain beyond worthwhile. Snow-capped Alps stood immovable against the serpentine lake district set off by flower-blanketed meadows and powder-blue skies. Seated at long benches, we nibbled on a homemade plum tart and bread with fresh apricot marmalade in the wood-beamed dining room. Windows revealed more natural art work: horses grazing in front of those spectacular omnipresent Alps.

In 1983, the Minotti family began restoring this high-altitude farmhouse, which opened as a restaurant five years later. They've continue to expand and renovate, with more apartments and rooms consistently added over the past six years. All the food is grown and raised on the premises. The farm provided much delight for our friends' little girl, who had her own personal petting zoo: goats, cows, piglets and rabbits. Vegetable gardens and vineyards stretched as far as the eye could see.

I spent some time learning how to ride English style on a rather lumpy-looking but sweet old mare. She had the disproportionate figure of a horse a first-grader might draw and tack to the family's refrigerator. Joe, a runner, enjoyed jogging around the 40 hairpin turns. While familiarizing ourselves with Il Monterosso's unpretentious grounds, we frequently encountered a colorful character named Davide. His long curly hair made him uncannily resemble the soprano sax-loving jazz musician Kenny G. Davide also favored bib overalls and a variety of psychedelic headscarves. Once, we spotted him boogying in the kitchen. Another time, he was lying shirtless in the grass with a blaring boom box at his side. He often served the cornucopia of fresh, seasonal dishes in the B&B's naturally gregarious dining room.

We enjoyed every meal: antipasti of prosciutto and bresaola; roasted eggplant, bell peppers and potatoes; butter-sage ravioli; gnocchi with gorgonzola; grilled steak; veal in a white wine/mushroom sauce; rabbit stew; and a variety of goat's milk cheeses - to name a few. Whenever I needed a break from the natural bounty and beauty before us, I would retreat to a garret in the property's watchtower to read. Legend has it that Ernest Hemingway may have begun writing his Lago Maggiore-set novel, A Farewell to Arms, in this very same loft. Joe, meanwhile, answered emails in a nook near the kitchen - hunks of prosciutto and drying hot peppers dangling above his head.

While writing in my journal upstairs, I looked out the window and unexpectedly caught sight of one of the farmers butchering a fresh-killed pig. Though I can appreciate being close to the source of my food, my urban background tends to get the best of me. I turned away in horror. And I semi-reluctantly passed on the prosciutto that evening.

Over the course of one week, Il Monterosso became our base for exploring the lush and demure Lago Maggiore towns of Stresa and Baveno, as well as the Borromeo Islands - all adorned with Belle Epoque villas, onion-dome-shaped bell towers, parks, botanical gardens, serenely floating swans, lakefront cafés, and an understated air of affluence. I began to get drunk on the overpowering scent of bougainvillea, artfully draped across scrolled white fences facing immaculate promenades and still, crystal-clear waters. In Pallanza, we visited the Villa Taranto and its 50 acres of manicured gardens. Stresa's Villa Pallavicini and Zoological Park shelters pheasants, deer and llamas. The filigreed Austro-influenced 19th century estate brought to mind the Von Trapp family singers more than Verdi's La Traviata. Plus, the distant Alps and embracing green mounds made me want to twirl around and belt, "The hills are alive..."

Lago Maggiore's proximity to Switzerland mirrors the ordered and pristine ambience of its fastidious neighbor. The area, particularly in and around the idyllic Borromeo Islands, was heavily influenced by the aristocratic Borromeo family beginning in the Middle Ages. With several ecclesiastical offspring (most famously St. Carlo Borromeo, Archbishop of Milan, 1538-84), the tight knit clan also was involved in the Church's Counter Reformation. The saintly archbishop's colossal bronze statue, erected in 1697, presides over the town of Arona, and visitors can ascend the interior (much like the Statue of Liberty) for panoramic views.

During our stay in Lago Maggiore, our group spent a lovely day in nearby Lago d'Orta, a tiny majestic town surrounded by castles and monasteries perched atop craggy cliffs. We browsed gift shops (one literally propped up by the tangled branches of a tree pushing through the interior walls) and snacked on olive bread, cheese and salume at the many waterfront cafes. Then we took a boat ride, passing mustard- and cranberry-colored villas set deep into the mountainous foliage, to the minuscule Isola di San Giulio, an unexpected patch of land in the middle of the lake.

It mainly houses the basilica of the same name, where a glass crypt holds the skeletal remains of the Fourth Century Bishop St. Julius. The unusually long bones of his toes almost protruded through his gold-filigree slippers. The saint, similar to the beatified George and Patrick, apparently arrived on the island to rid the place of dragons and snakes. He then planted flowers and trees. Five centuries later the Romanesque basilica, in honor of Christ's apostles, was built. Today, sleepy-eyed cats seem to run this sequestered island - home mainly to those who have taken religious vows.

Once back on Lago d'Orta proper, we continued to drive up the area's dramatically winding cliffs until we reached the Baroque-era Santuario della Madonna del Sasso, which practically dangled off the edge of a summit. It left me a little unsettled to learn that the gleaming white church was constructed to commemorate the spot where a village girl was pushed to her death by a jealous lover. At dusk, against a faint fog, we felt as though we could touch the clouds.

Though an intense and storied spiritual haven, Lago Maggiore is most fulfilling as a place to become one with nature.

A light steady drizzle marked our last night at Il Monterosso. Earlier Joe and I had washed some of our clothes, but the damp air kept them soggy. So at daybreak the next morning, we were forced to lay out our underwear on the dashboard of our car. The night before, we bid farewell to the Minotti family, who had graciously packed us a lunch. We tiptoed out, climbing over the big sleeping dogs. Surprisingly, "Kenny G" appeared wearing a flashy purple-and-red scarf frayed at the edges. I was so startled that I ended up blurting out how much I admired his scarf. He quickly took it off and flung it around neck, insisting I keep it. Then he disappeared in the darkness.

Our drowsy party prepared to once again face those 40 hairpin bends, this time downhill. At sunrise, we joyously took the curves. I rolled down the window, and we all whooped and hollered - with our intimate apparel and Kenny G's tattered scarf blowing in the chilly morning air.

END

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