Garda-ing Leave
The throaty V8 growl from deep inside the mountain; the tortured squeal of rubber relinquishing road; the crump and tear of breaking barriers, the kaleidoscope images of cloudless sky, naked rock and then deep, deep blue.
Well, it’s all very well for Bond in his latest outing, A Quantum of Solace, but it’s not an overly satisfactory way to see the best of Lake Garda.
The largest of Italy’s lakes, Lake Garda was only fully circumnavigated in the 1920’s when Mussolini hacked some sixty tunnels through the mountains to build La Gardesana, the 100 mile route around the lake. The lake has two distinct characters. To the south, nearer the large cities of Verona and Milan, the lake is wide and relatively shallow. Speedboats and ferries dart across its surface and the lake has a sense of bustle. From the long promenade of the namesake town, Garda, you can sip idle espressos and listen to the buzz of the world going by. From the elegantly long finger of Sirmione’s peninsula, under the gaze of the magnificent Scaligeri castle, you can browse tourist-chic, upmarket boutiques whilst Salò retains its own time-warp air of a 1920’s Mediterranean resort. Head north-east though, past villas owned, past and present, by the likes of Mussolini and Michael Schumacher and the lake narrows to just a mile or two across. The water deepens and the mountains rise steeply out of the depths. It is here that the rough-hewn depths of road tunnels stand testament to the human scale of Mussolini’s project. It is easy to see why the route was used in the forthcoming Bond movie. Easy to see how the road and the mountains conspired to wreck the Aston Martin being delivered, by an enthusiastic stu
nt-man for filming. The narrow valley funnels the breeze and fans wind-surfers whilst statute reduces the lake traffic to little more than the regular ferry and leisure yachts. The north of the lake has not escaped the ravages of tourism but somehow the pace feels easier.
Riva del Garda sits, dramatically, at the most northerly point of the lake. Nestled between the mountains with the Sarca valley hanging behind it, the town commands the northern reaches of the Lake. Despite being one of the largest town’s on the lake, Riva’s medieval centre, still enclosed by ancient city walls, has an unhurried air. Even in the height of summer, the place never feels rushed or cramped. Narrow streets twist and cobble their way down to the harbour between tall, timelessly shuttered buildings. Intersections offer unexpected glimpses of the mountains just a short (but energetic) walk away.
Once the north-western route out of the city, Via Fiume used to carry trade up to the mountain passes towards Austria. Until the First World War, this was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. What were once storage cellars are now converted to artists’ and artisans’ shops, galleries, smart boutiques and restaurants. At Atelier Le Petit Montmartre (http://www.jbversini.com ), local artist Nerino Versini paints the most exquisitely simple, serene images of the lake. Despite his slightly crumpled diffidence, he has a clear eye for a market opportunity and offers his work as “anti-stress”. He suggests I hang one near my computer and calls his wife from their apartment upstairs to work the credit card machine. Versini’s wife, Jacqueline is also an artist and works in watercolour and inks producing delicate, affecting pieces with a
n Art Nouveau feel.
A little way from the Versinis’ studio, the premises of Leonardo Guizzetti (http://www.leoguizzetti.it) carries the heady scent of new leather. Amongst the polished hides are displayed beautiful bags and belts and the sort of leather-bound journals which cry out to be taken on long voyages, to be filled with images and memories of exotic places and encounters.
Across the street, at the restaurant Leon D’Oro, the matriarch, in her trample-heeled, ancient slippers, greets you like an old friend, shakes you by the hand and ushers you to your table all the while chattering away in rapid Italian which is at once completely indecipherable and altogether comprehensible. The restaurant, entwining through three adjacent buildings, offers the quality of cuisine and sincere concern lacking from some of the more overtly commercial, waterfront restaurants which line the Piazza 3 Novembre. The piazza is, however, unavoidably attractive. The heart of the old town, it looks out over the harbour and lake and is perfect for cappuccino in the mornings watching the boats come in; for a lazy afternoon espresso beneath a sun-shade or for chilled Trentino wine in the evening as the locals come out to promenade and the street clown squeaks and squeals with the children across the square.
Beyond the city walls, the area offers a wealth of activities and distractions. Torbole, in the next bay, is a popular centre for wind-surfing and water-sports. A couple of miles inland, the ancient town of Arco – with its ruined castle – is famed for its rock-climbing. Throughout, the area is laced with cycle and foot paths. Just a short hop – by road or by “steamer” (the lake’s ferry service) - is Malcesine whose romantic Castello Scaligeri 
dominates the old town and from where you can catch the new, revolving cable-car to the 1,750m summit of Monte Baldo. Go early and walk out along the ridge to enjoy the angular chime of cow-bells, the clockwork whirr of grasshoppers. Watch out for sky-larks over the meadows and golden eagles high over the lake.
Malcesine’s castle is one of many built by the Scaligeri family in the 14th century as they consolidated their power around Verona and Lake Garda. Like Sirmione (but unlike Riva’s later remodelling), Malcesine’s stronghold bears the distinctive battlements shaped like inverted papal mitres as a calculated affront to Rome. Nearby Verona – a whole glorious, beautiful destination in itself - is home to the gothic splendour of the family’s tombs.
In all, Lake Garda is a beguiling destination. It offers history and beauty; exhilarating activity and languid, sophisticated sloth. It has charm, romance and the Italians’ love of great food. And it has the most magnificent storms where the indigo rumble of thunder echoes off the mountain-sides and jagged, violet lightning paints the sky. A single stay is not enough to absorb all that the area has to offer and, on the way back to Verona’s Valerio Catullo airport, I took solace (just a quantum, of course) in the certain knowledge that I would be back again soon.