A little bar hopping around Lake Como.

10th -13th May 2019

It’s not what you think.  No louche bars, no gaggles of giggling women, no boisterous men brawling in crowded, dank corners.  In Como, it is actual a very civilized, cultured experience which only on certain occasions calls for a dash of something intoxicating…  But it does revolve around potable liquid: coffee to be more precise.  I have landed in Italy, the land of coffee and cofficionados par excellence!!  And boy, do I love coffee.  Fuel for the morning, fuel for the brain, fuel for the body, just not particularly good for the heart…

I happened upon the word ‘cofficionado’ perchance…  It is entirely possible I had read it somewhere before, but here I was, totally convinced I had coined a new expression.  An effortless blend of coffee and afficionado.  It rolled off the tongue, as smooth and delectable as the finest Italian cappuccino.   The word may not have yet found its way into the Oxford or Cambridge dictionary, but alas, it transpires cofficionados are responsible for the superior flavour of Kenco Coffee administered to the taste buds of British coffee connoisseurs since 1923… Furthermore, the online Urban Dictionary seems much more open to novel and inspirational ideas and has already embraced the expression.  It will be only a matter of time before more distinguished lexicographers bow to the inevitable. No claim to fame for me, it appears.

I arrive at Malpensa – the lesser Milan airport where the budget flights end up – on a sunny Friday afternoon.  I travel on my own this time, feeling very confident of knowing the ins and outs of Italy’s public transport!  Of course, it helps that I have the expert advice of a friend in Como, a colleague and housemate from my teaching days in India.  Add to that the mountain of tips from my Airbnb host in Como, and, without so much as the need to utter a word of Italian, I find my way across Lombardy, all the way from Malpensa to Como, changing trains in Saronno.  I learnt the ropes of Italian trains and buses the hard way, some years back on a trip to Florence, only just getting away with a ticking off for not ‘validating’ my ticket.  How was I supposed to know it was not sufficient to buy a ticket, you also have to poke it into a little machine to add a time and date stamp… This time I get it right though and immediately spot the green ‘convalidatrice per biglietti magnetici’ next to the platform…  And just to ensure no tourist can claim ignorance, it even says so in English!

My first coffee encounter doesn’t happen until the next day, breakfast time.  Caffeine intake in the afternoons tends to have an adverse effect on my sleeping habits, so I leave the elixir of drinks to be enjoyed exclusively pre-lunch…   Although cooking facilities and coffee are supposed to be available at my accommodation, a rather prolonged Greek-brandy-infused bonding session with my Airbnb host the previous night did not stretch to breakfast practicalities.  Instead it spanned all kinds of topics ranging from politics and the dire state of Venezuela (host’s native country), singles’ life in Como, the dos and don’ts of online dating and vague notions of some coffee bars to the left and right of the building.  My bleary-eyed peruse of the kitchen does not immediately bring coffee making essentials to light.  There’s the authentic Italian Bialetta espresso maker – brainchild of the Italian engineer Alfonso Bailetta – perched on the hob, but without any ground coffee to hand, or in the few cupboards I cautiously open, there is no quick route to my wake-up cuppa.  Off I go to the nearest bar…  It’s what Italians do for breakfast according to my friend who has lived in Italy for the last three years. 

On a Saturday morning, the bar is empty, bar the barista of course and a whole display cabinet full of breakfast pastries.  I would have preferred something a bit healthier to start the day, but when in Rome – or in Como for that matter – do as the Romans do!  Not exactly well-versed in the Italian coffee lingo, I stick to the familiar and my friend’s recommendation: ‘Italians drink cappuccino in the morning.’  What I really thirst for is a simple, no-nonsense Americano-type coffee, milk on the side.  Not too strong, not too weak and definitely not too milky.  ‘Cannella  o cioccolato?’ the barista enquires with Saturday morning laze.  Cinnamon may have earned its place in many a spice cupboard, but not on my cappuccino.  I play it safe and opt for the more conventional, at least more conventional in the UK: ‘Chocolate, please.’  I choose a large croissant as accompaniment and hope it will stave off the hunger until lunchtime. 

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When it arrives, I am blown away: a cappuccino of unrivalled frothiness, the like of which has never before touched my lips.  Not the sugar-laden confectionery I have drunk in lesser countries, but an unadulterated, wonderfully smooth shot of espresso melting away into the heavenly foam on top… Just a dusting of chocolate, and not a single grain of sugar added.  Perfection in a cup.  The only drawback??  Small cups!!  How can one cappuccino ever suffice as my morning caffeine fix?  As Italians opine that just one milky, airy cappuccino is a meal in itself, I don’t want to appear greedy and move on.  I settle myself in the next bar and repeat the whole process: another cappuccino and another croissant…  I admit that by day three I am no longer encumbered by such civilities and order two cappuccinos and two pastries in the same bar at the same time with not so much as a single blush on my face..

Piazza Vittoria,

I meet up with my friend in the Piazza Vittoria – Victory Square – with its imposing monument to Guiseppe Garibaldi, the famous Italian general credited with liberating the city from the Austrians in 1859. From there we saunter through Como’s delightful little streets and squares, towards the lake in search of Ristorante/Bar Il Laria… 

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because, of course, how else to continue a day that has barely started than with another coffee…  My friend’s gentle nudges towards a macchiato fall on deaf ears…  Somehow this in-between coffee to be drunk at any time of the day and consisting of a measure of mind-blowing espresso topped with the tiniest dash of floaty milk just doesn’t enthuse my taste buds.  Or perhaps a caffe latte, she suggests, but I prefer coffee with milk rather than milk with coffee if you get what I mean… And I am definitely not tempted to order a latte; in Italy I would be served a glass of milk.  So mid-morning my fussy self – at least where coffee is concerned – sticks to the tried and tested Italian cappuccino.  No one does it as the Italians do…

With coffee needs tended, we get on with sightseeing:  a stroll along Lake Como and a fun ride on the funicular up to the little town of Brunate for spectacular views of Como’s historic centre as well as the lake.  And for those with energy to spare, there is a hike up to Volta’s Lighthouse, a hilltop lighthouse and memorial to electrical pioneer Alessandro Volta, that at night alternately flashes the green, white and red colours of the Italian flag. No such trek for me I’m afraid, as I begrudgingly concede that an hour-long climb up a steep hill might just be asking for trouble… Did I not spot a defibrillator box (minus defibrillator..) at my bus stop in the morning??? An omen, perhaps??? Better have another capuccino to smooth the day. The grey sky dulls the views but what the town and lake lack in lustre and shine on a moody, cloudy day is more than made up for by the glisten and glimmer of night-time Como. 

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After yet another evening of fraternising with my Airbnb host – just a little less alcoholic lubrication this time  – she decides it is her turn to introduce me to the breakfast delights of Como… Sunday morning Como is slow to awaken and for a long while only our banter fills the empty streets.  Nevertheless her favourite bar is busy with customers on the hoof, barely touching the ground as they gulp cappuccinos and munch breakfast pastries at the counter.  My friend A. had explained this earlier, ‘Cheaper to drink your coffees at the bar, you will be charged more when you’re seated.’  But as it’s Sunday, my host and I want to enjoy our breakfast at leisure and decide to settle ourselves in a quiet corner. 

I pay for my coffee and the barista pushes the receipt into my hand.  ‘No,’ I signal, ‘I don’t need my receipt.’  She insists, I relent and immediately deposit the slip of paper into the nearest bin.  Such a no-no!!!  It is only later that I am made aware of the existence of Italy’s tax police.  In order to curb Italians’ lifetime habits of dodging a bit of tax – don’t we all??? – and maybe giving a friend a freebie, customers are expected to be able to produce their receipt on demand within the shop or restaurant as well as in the streets..  Proof of purchase is essential, otherwise the tax police slap on a hefty fine for not just the customer but also the shopkeeper.  I start my collection and on my return to the UK, purge trousers pockets and handbag from all the bits of paper that accumulate from then on…

With plenty of time on our hands on a leisurely Sunday morning, and my host not in a rush to head back home, she suggests another bar, another favourite…  ‘You must try the Marocchino,’ she advises as she selects some mouth-watering nibbles to complement the sweetness of her drink. But as I am still craving my second cappuccino, I am not yet ready to give that one a go.  ‘A mixture of coffee and chocolate,’ she muses, ‘often laced with a layer of Nutella at the bottom…’  Chocolate spread and coffee???  I make a mental note to give it a try, just not for breakfast… Cappuccino, please.

Today I am meeting my friend at the bus station for a trip to the neighbouring villages of Bellagio and Menaggio, with a quick glimpse of George Clooney’s Como residence along the way. No sign of George, of course… more’s the pity. Just a mere hint of his intended presence sets the town atwitter and these days rumour has it that George rarely visits Como, being too busy with wife and twins in more desirable parts of the world. What’s wrong with Como??? Unfortunately, the bus whizzes past, not even a chance of taking a blurry shot. Still the lake with the Alps as the backdrop is the real attraction and beautiful it is indeed, but better seen with the naked eye than through the lens of my phone camera. Somehow the pictures don’t do it justice…

It is pretty cold by the time we arrive in Menaggio and we immediately look for shelter in one of the bars. So is everyone else clearly and it takes us a while to find one with an empty table and two chairs inside.. Whilst my friend orders a cappuccino, I plump for a marocchino… let the chocolate extravaganza begin!! The addition of oodles of gooey chocolate happens to be quite pleasant to be honest, although not a patch on a cappuccino. Still, it pays to be adventurous and broaden the culinary horizons.

In the meantime a nasty wind whips up angry waves on Lago di Como. Not a good thing for us, and many other tourists, as ferries do not cross the lake on blustery days. Our plans for a boat trip to visit Belaggio on the other side thwarted, we trundle along the narrow, winding streets of time-honoured Menaggio and indulge in smoked salmon and pasta for lunch before heading back to Como.

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Monday morning, after my last Italian breakfast cappuccinos for a while, I set off to meet up with my friend before she heads off to work and I board the train back to Malpensa airport and onwards to the UK… How better to say goodbyes than with another cup of coffee. I cannot remember what kind I chose, but for sure I never tried a real caffè… I leave that for my next visit, and might just ask for a caffè corretto: a shot of espresso ‘corrected’ with a shot of liquor!! That will definitely get a buzz going!

There’s much to be said about coffee in Italy, or Como for that matter…

Italia: un amore di caffè