With Bernie and Lori from rural Oregon ...... on the island they call Bella ..... looking out on Lake Maggiore

Isola Bella on Lake Maggiore pretty much lives up to its name.

It is just 320 metres long by 400 metres wide and is divided between the Palace, its stylish gardens and a fishing village.

The guide books will tell you it took 400 years for its transformation from a small community on an empty island to a stunning place, visited by the good and great, along with the rich and not so nice, who were the movers and shakers of European society in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

In the process its very wealthy owners constructed a huge palace, laid out the gardens and made it the Beautiful Island, and there is the rub, because during the season it will be visited by countless parties of tourists, all intent on sampling that beauty.

And that can make it a very crowded island.

Not that I am against mass tourism, after all why shouldn’t such a place be available to everyone?

And I have to say that on the day we took the ferry north from Stresa, across the lake to the island, we were not overwhelmed by those who wanted to share the place with us.

True, there were boat loads of them, drawn from all the nearby countries, and some from much further afield as well as a few groups from North America, but the island accommodated us all.

Part of the reason is that as well as stretching out, the island climbs upwards in a series of narrow pathways which twist and turn and rise to the Palace itself.

Dotted along these paths are the shops some of which seem to cling precariously to their neighbours, threatening to topple over with the weight of people and tourist merchandise.

And of tourist merchandise there is a lot, from the inevitable picture t-shirts, and bottles of limoncello, to bags and bags of coloured pasta which look so authentic but will no doubt sit in a cupboard for months before being thrown out.

As is the way of these places much of the material is very expensive, and could be bought for half the price in a shop on the mainland or at home.

But as we all know buying the souvenir at the place is a must, despite the chances that it originates two continents away, made by workers who will never get the opportunity to stand in that tourist shop and buy the goods they produced.

Not, that such petty considerations, should get in the way of enjoying a place which has history, atmosphere and a presence.

Added to which there is always the opportunity to meet people, like Bernie and Lori from rural Oregon and the Swiss party who had travelled south down the lake and planned to take in all the remaining four islands, before heading off to Milan.

We met in the small restaurant with views out across the lake, swapped addresses, and talked about the beauty of the island and joked about the expensive souvenirs.

I doubt that we will stay in touch, but meeting new people is always part of the joy of holidays and at least when I think back to Isola Bella I will smile at Bernie’s story of the purple inflatable plastic aubergine he bought on a whim in Stresa, and the discussion on whether to give it as a gift to his ageing aunt in Florida.

Location; Isola Bella on Lake Maggiore





Pictures; Isola Bella, 2018 from the collection of Andrew Simpson

Why you should never be sniffy at being a tourist …………..

I suppose it’s because I grew up in London in the 1950s, with so much history, that I became very sniffy about being a tourist, and doing the touristy things.

And that was a mistake, because the guide books, the tourist bus and the app offer up an instant picture of a place, which can then be followed up by a leisurely “authentic” stroll through a place’s past.

After years of wandering Rome, with no purpose, we took that guide bus, and all was revealed, which mean visits to Florence and other cities have always been accompanied by a trip in a big open topped red bus.

At which point the sensible thing to do is pepper the story with images of Rome, Florence, and Athens, taken from one of the scenic travels.

But I always do that, so instead I shall celebrate the Heights of Abraham.

“The Heights of Abraham is a tourist attraction in Matlock Bath, Derbyshire, England. It consists of a hilltop park on top of Masson Hill, accessed from the village by either the Heights of Abraham cable car or a steep zig-zag path. The heights are named after a supposed resemblance to the Plains of Abraham, also known as the Heights of Abraham, in Quebec, Canada, where James Wolfe died in battle”. *

We were there last week showing the Italian side of the family the attractions of Derbyshire, and on a whim called in Matlock Bath, where over sixty years ago mother met father and the rest is me, along my four sisters.

I had my reservations at travelling by the cable car up to the summit and despite an optimistic confidence in technology I have a slight fear of heights, made no better when at a given point the cars all stop to allow the occupants, a stunning set of views in all directions.

All of that said the Heights are a rewarding pace, mixing a park, cavern and mine tours with views of the dramatic scenery of the valley of the River Derwent.

And there is a guidebook, which told me that as the lead mining industry began to peter away at the end of the 18th century, some miners turned to tourism, offering trips into the caverns.

Away from the Heights, there is a magical stretch of the river, all fast flowing water and overgrowing trees and foliage, leading to what would be a mundane car park, if it were not for a delightful poster of children’s work beside the railway station, reminding me that for a brief few hours were tourists in Derbyshire.


Location; the Heights of Abraham

Pictures; Matlock Bath, the Heights of Abraham, 2019, from the collection of Andrew Simpson