Sogni d’Oro (Dreams of Gold)

The nonchalance of gondoliers on sun-gilded gondolas belies their promise (and delivery) of dreams come true.

Colors of Venice

Certainly not a match for the wild colors of Burano, island in the Venice lagoon, Venice still is no monochromatic city.

Map – Lago Maggiore

This is the southern end of Lago Maggiore. Ranco is where my paternal grandfather, Carlo Brovelli, was born. Angera is where my paternal grandmother, Emilia Monteggia, was born.

SEPTEMBER 17, 2006 – ANGERA AND LAGO MAGGIORE

Watery canals and watery skies on our last morning in Venice. We took off early, catching a vaporetto to Piazzale Roma, where there were cars and other vehicles. No more traffic-free town. We disembarked and nosed our way to the Europe Car office, just across the street. This time we were assigned a truly “compact” car. Just for riding, it was fine, but when we had to stuff our growing baggage into the tiny trunk and pack the souvenir sacks around our feet, we appreciated our previous luck for a free upgrade. It would not have been so bad but for the raindrops plopping down while we juggled. Finally we were settled and took off, me at the wheel, following the dubious directions of the clerk. They turned out to be fine, and the road was well marked. We easily found the autostrada and pointed ourselves west towards Lombardia. Initially heavy, the rain lightened up and eventually cleared as we drew closer to our destination. We made one stop at an Autogrill for a quick snack, then back on the road. Mom was navigating with the map from the back seat and directed us straight to Angera, the town of my grandmother’s birth. Without much trouble we found the main street that parallels the shoreline of Lago Maggiore. The drive from Venezia to Angera took us about four hours, but it had seemed to go by quickly.

We parked and saw a sign for our hotel, Hotel Pavone, just a few feet up a little alley. Checking in, we learned that two different cousins had already been by to see if we had arrived. Settling into our clean and comfortable rooms, I opened a window and peered down onto the little alley below. On the side of the building directly across was a carving of the symbol of the Visconti family, a noble family who ruled Milano during the Middle Ages to the early Renaissance.

This symbol was on the wall of the building across the alley looking out our hotel room window at Hotel Pavone in Angera. As explained elsewhere, this motif is a symbol of the noble Visconti family and depicts a snake wolfing down a boy. You can find this same symbol on an Alfa Romeo.

Learning of our arrival, our dear friends, Gianni and Donatella, popped over to greet us and we all walked down towards the Sunday market in full swing on the spanse of ground between the waterfront road and the lake.  Mom suggested we stop at a little bar on the corner for a cold drink, but Donatella asked why since it wasn’t a hot day.  Instead, we ate gelato from a nearby gelateria.

Italian gelato is irresistible! Photo by Mario Brovelli.

Italians have very definite ideas and rules regarding food and firm beliefs behind the reasons for these rules.  For example, no respectable Italian ever drinks cappuccini after noon.  After that hour, the milk is bad for the stomach.  (However, they are used to Americans ordering cappuccini at all hours and don’t flinch unless you ordered one late at night with dinner.)  Similarly, Italians do not like ice in their drinks.  The ice can give you stomach cramps.  My Italian teacher swears to this.  When we are in Italia, we drink cappuccini only at breakfast and then espresso (cafe’) the rest of the day.  And I prefer my drinks without ice.

While we wandered through the market, Donatella disappeared, but returned shortly with Dad’s cousin, Mariuccia, in tow. We had met her during a previous trip and were happy to greet her again.  We were back in the land of Brovelli’s.

Gate Aging Gracefully

Angera, along Lago Maggiore.

Via Torriani

Walking our way up to La Rocca, the castle fortress overlooking Angera at the southern edge of Lago Maggiore. Zipping by in a car, this delightful wall and gate would have been an unnoticed blur.

Ferry

Mom and Dad on the ferry returning to Angera from Arona after a busy market morning.

Lago Maggiore

Gino in Arona, across the lake from Angera. We’re prepping for a serious market day.

Overlooking Angera from La Rocca, the castle fort perched on top of the hill. For exercise and a perfect picture, we climbed up here at sunset. To our dismay, we found a locked turnstile blocking our way to the castle’s arches overlooking the town. To get this shot I had to squeeze under the turnstile, scamper up the stone path (all the while, hoping no one would spot the intruder), slink through the stone portal, and up to the arches for this breathtaking view. Good thing I’m 4′11 and quick on my feet.

Sunset in Angera

One of the many magical moods of Angera at the southern end of Lago Maggiore.

Ranco, Lago Maggiore

I’m very happy to be sitting in the town where my grandfather grew up — soaking in the vibes of my ancestors.

A pastry bakery with my last name. Although my grandfather was born in this town, the proprietor is not related. On a previous trip, we had met the baker and his wife, who gave us an impromtu tour of the bakery. This time, as we wandered the small deserted streets of Ranco, we recognized the sign and peered in the back door. The proprietor, a kindly-looking man intent on his work, saw us peeking in and motioned us inside. He remembered us from three years ago and offered us each a brioche, which we gratefully accepted.