It was 1990 and we were on the road again in northern Italy.  We had to vacate our one month rental for a week because of a prearranged booking.  We signed on to the deal , even with this contingency, because it was just where we wanted to be…..Tignale, a little communal group of hamlets that sits high, high, high above Lake Garda.

But now it was early April and we had to get out.  We decided to follow a lead we were given by a tuscan innkeeper who had a sister who ran a hotel on an italian island…..Isolo Giglio.  With not much more than that intriguing bit of info, we called that tuscan innkeeper, asked her to book us in with her sister, got directions to the place, and set off.  

We zoomed down the mountain and headed for the tuscan shore, drove right onto a car ferry and bundled up as we faced high seas and high winds with even higher expectations for an island holiday.  What were we thinking?   It was cloudy and gray and the forecast was dismal but we were so curious about the idea of being on an italian island that we didn’t care.  Behind a cement truck and a semi rig  loaded with groceries, we sputtered off the ferry in our little renault at the very cleverly designed port…….two outstretched arms with an entry channel between them….boats get in, high seas do not.

Isola Giglio Port

We found the hotel easily for a couple of reasons…..there was only one road out of town, and the place stood out prominently because it looked like a movie set…..a castle-like structure with crenellated outlines sitting on the edge of a cliff.

Monticello Hotel

We were welcomed very sweetly by Gina, the aforementioned sister although her husband was less enthused by our arrival.  We soon discovered why.   

As Gina led us to our room, she called out to a man who was painting a wall to come help with our bags.  We were the only guests at the hotel which was technically closed for another month and the cars and activity that we saw as we pulled up to the place were evidence of the work crews going about their business before the start of another summer season.  The painter eyed us suspiciously and with good reason……it was raining, the wind was howling, and here we were checking into a summer destination, smiling all the while, stepping over lumber and paint cans in the hallways but positively gaga when we saw the view from our room.  The ensuite bath cinched it for us, though…. right back to the 60s we went as we surveyed the pink walls, shiny black tiles and best of all, those “waffle” towels that we have come to love!

60s Bath w/Waffle Towels

We slept well, ensconced in this safe harbor of a place while the wind howled and the rain poured down.   The next morning, the sun actually came out and on Gina’s advice we took a walk up the mountain behind the hotel…..”it’s a roman road” she said….and she also kept referring to a castle-something we would see at the top.  We weren’t really too excited about the whole thing because it seemed like a very steep climb, but since we had nothing else on the agenda for the day we took her up on the idea and began the trek as she waved us on. 

Before long, we were lost in wonder.  The path began just behind the hotel as a few flat stones edged with shrubs, but it soon got much wider and the stones became even flatter.  They were beautiful, as if someone had polished them to a warm patina of grays, brown, rust…each one was worn down to softness.  We were soon absorbed in the climb and also in the reverie of roman soldiers, togas flying in the breeze, laying the stones all those centuries ago.

The Roman Road

We also noticed just how high we were as the hotel receded into the distance………. I know the photo is hazy…..but this was 1990.  No cell phones, just a regular old camera with film that had to be developed……but if you look closely, you can see just how far down the mountain the hotel is situated. 

Monticello Hotel as seen from the Roman Road

Just as we were beginning to wonder about the wisdom of this trek, the path turned sharply and I came face to face with a donkey.  He brayed, I yelled, and someone called out in the distance and the beast retreated.  I stopped and tried to calm down which was a chore since I was already out of breath from the climb, and as I looked around me I saw that we had come to a high wall.  The path led to a break in the wall

Roman Road entrance to Castello

and we stepped into an entire bustling other world…..people, dogs, houses, stores, cars, laughter….we felt like we had discovered Oz.  We took a quick look around and then bravely headed back to the path and braced ourselves for the walk back down…..we knew we didn’t want to do that in the dark…..our car was down there and we wanted to come back up here for dinner…..but not on foot.

We did go back up the mountain in our car that night…..drove right into a large square so full of activity we got the last parking spot.  We were so hungry we just followed our noses and wound up at a simple storefront….wooden door, no name, no sign, but people sitting at tables and a menu board on the wall.

Castello Osteria

There was no english to be spoken here….so we asked for what we knew how to say….pasta, insalata, vino…..and we dined like kings.  We went back often during the week and marveled at locals who came in to eat or take food to go…..leaving with their dinner on plates that would be returned the next day. 

For the rest of our time here we explored this wonderful island that has very different personalities depending on where you go.  

Liveliness in Castello, the little city at the crown of the island.

Solitude in the southwest corner which is largely uninhabited with vast fields of wildflowers (although we did encounter a hermit in his hut on a rainy day walk)

Tourism in Campeggio, the camping enclave at the water’s edge in the southeast.

Seafaring and lots of activity at the charming Port itself with its  bars, restaurants, shops.

Sunbathing at Aranella Beach, a tiny spit of sand between two rock peninsulas……..

Russ at Aranella Beach

Aranella Beach

We covered all of the island in our 6 day stay…..we knew nothing about the place before going.  The internet was not yet part of our lives.  It was only a piece of advice we followed that got us there, and then we formed our own opinion about the place once we arrived.  I guess that’s what made it an adventure…there was no preconceived idea of what we could expect, what we might find, but we went ahead anyway.

On our last day there, Gina gave us a tour of the hotel which had now been refreshed and was ready to welcome a new summer season.  Included in the tour was a rooftop visit where there was a tiny studio apartment which has a grand claim to fame.  At the height of her career, in order to find some solitude, Brigitte Bardot used to visit and spend a few days up there sunbathing……tutto nudo, of course!

We headed to the port for our last dinner, stopping at the only phone booth to make some calls home.  As we arrived back at the hotel we were greeted by a crowd gathered around the TV in the lounge…..a newscast was blaring the latest road tragedy to befall a group of Italian youths…..the disco craze was booming all over the country and young people would drive 2 or 3 hours to a venue, sample the drinks and drugs that were becoming all too popular in a culture that is not known for imposing limits on their children, and there you have the formula for fatal crashes that had now become regular weekend occurrences.

Monticello’s TV Lounge

As we retired to our room and began packing I made the frightening discovery that I had lost my tiny little gray address book.  We tore everything apart but it was nowhere to be found.  Everything was in there.  All the numbers back home in the States, all the contacts here in Italy.  My stomach was churning as I remembered the last time I had it in my hands….down at the port making calls in that lonely phone booth.    We raced down there but alas, aside from a trillion cigarette butts there was nothing to be found in the little cubicle.

Totally crestfallen, we walked into the bar facing the port.  As we walked in, the barkeep called out to us…..”americani?” he asked.  And he held up my little book!  One of his customers had used the phone, found the book, realized it was written in english and figured it must have been us because we were the only americans on the island and we would certainly show up sooner or later at the bar.

Parting Gift of Towels

Thanks to that barkeep, we were able to  sleep peacefully and greet the next morning with smiles, say our goodbyes and head down to the ferry dock.   Russ was still scowling over how much we had to pay for breakfast each day (about 9.00 each for a packaged roll and some coffee) but Gina showed up at the last minute with two of those wonderful “waffle” towels as a goodbye gift so as far as I was concerned we were even.

Leaving Giglio

 On the ferry back to the mainland, an elderly couple approached us.  They couldn’t speak english but we managed to communicate…..did we recover our address book she wanted to know?  They had found it in the phone booth,  figured that as americans visiting the island we would certainly have wanted an aperitif at the bar sooner or later so that’s where they left it.  They were so proud to have chosen the right place to leave it…..and we were so happy to be able to thank them in person……

Laudomia View

 Back on the mainland, we spent the night at another tuscan inn before heading north again….…this one was run by the third sister in this amazing triad of innkeepers!   But this inn (Laudomia) is a story for another post.

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