Watercolour Wednesday: Lazise

I got up late, thankful for a dry day, and after breakfast I cycled along the passeggiata to the nearby town of Lazise, via the port of Cisano. I'd heard that there would be a market. I wasn't wrong!

On arrival at the town I did what everyone else had done and parked my bike by a tree, setting off on foot through the stalls. I soon got caught up in the colours and textures: glass and ceramics of every hue. Soft leather wallets. Fabulous lacy lingerie. My own wallet was considerably lighter by the time I reached the square, but the market spilled over into all the streets of the town.

One thing gave me the giggles. To backtrack a bit, when we were clearing out our family home (again) in 2015, I found some ceramic plates shaped like salad leaves, with a large porcelain tomato in the centre. They'd come from one set of grandparents, probably on the paternal side. They were, frankly, hideous. I gave them to a charity shop that was collecting money for the Mod, which was to be held in Oban that year. A few weeks later, we were shopping with our Mum for her wedding outfit, and noticed that the tomato plates had been placed right in the centre of their window. Quick as a flash, my niece nipped ahead and stood in front of the window as our mother passed by, so that she wouldn't have to see them and get upset about leaving her home and all its assorted contents. Later that year, I watched the Mod on BBC Alba and gave thanks for our small contribution.

Well, I can now tell you where those plates came from. Northern Italy, most likely the Veneto region. Possibly the market in Lazise. Did I buy any more? You must be kidding!

In fact, it's clear from the artefacts/contents of my other grandparents' house that they also visited Lake Garda. My grandfather's mother was from Piemonte, I believe. Time to dig out the cine films ( now on my family YouTube channel) of their tour of Italy in the late 1960s.

Anyway, the market went on and on and there was no real sightseeing possible, because the market was everywhere. I found the bike again and sat at a cafe and read my guide book, but no one came to serve me. I got fed up andvwent back to the bike...

Unfortunately I couldn't find the bike lock key! I turned out my pockets, and my rucksack pockets. Several times. No key.
'There goes my fifty Euros deposit' I thought. Tried to move the bike.
Front wheel locked.
Oh dear.

A couple took pity on me and offered me a rusty key they'd found in the street. It wasn't mine. Mine was on a green tab. Number six.

Eventually, repacking once more, I tried to stuff the guidebook back in the rucksack. It wouldn't fit. Something was wedging the pages open. Something bulky and key shaped.

Phew! I returned to the same cafe, and bought a limoncino and mint spritzer. It was the least I could do. The distant mountains looked watercoloured. The rain was sporadic. By now I was the owner of an umbrella, so I didn't mind. I had the use of the bike again.


Next stop was Cisano, where I parked up again and walked to the small but interesting museum of olive oil production. Some of the wooden presses were taller than a man. It's only the Mediterranean microclimate of Lake Garda that makes olive growing g possible this far north in Italy.

Back at the hotel, I researched dinner options and counted my cents in preparation for Thursday's trip. I decided, reluctantly, to return the bike and reclaim my deposit. Then I walked into Bardolino and had an beautiful meal of grilled prawns, a huge buffalo mozzarella salad, and lemon sorbet at the Trattoria La Virata, in the back streets. A perfect end to a quiet day by the lake.









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