Lake Garda is the largest lake in Italy. It's situated in the foothills of the Dolomites in a moraine valley that widens into flatlands in the south. As we crossed over the northern Gruppo Del Baldo (Baldo Mountains) we caught our first glimpse of it. The setting sun beamed through a heavy mist that swallowed up the lake into a horizon that would have reached infinity if not for colliding with abrupt rock walls that formed both sides of the steep valley. It was a meeting place of worlds – rugged rocky mountains, turquoise water, and distinct Mediterranean villas that populated Riva Del Garda. As we sat on the overlook I strained to visually drink in as much of the scene as the setting sun’s fading light would allow.
First Misty Glimpse of Lake Garda
Our hotel was on the southwest corner of the lake in the province of Brescia, which was still an hour’s drive away. The road there was literally carved through the rock wall. It was comprised of a hundred tunnels, overhangs, and ledges. The ancient towns along the way were geographically isolated until the road was built in the 1930’s. The isolation showed through a rich architecture that was relatively unpolluted by modernity.
The Road Carved into the Rock
Limone sul Garda
Residents there have a mutant protein in their blood that binds to cholesterol allowing people to live to very old ages.
We were staying at the Hotel Colomber, high above the lake in the hills of Garda National Park. Google Maps had picked the most direct route through Gardone Riviera, which turned out to be a narrow set of alleys so steep that the Ford Fiesta bogged down in first gear. The Hotel Colomber is a family owned inn and restaurant several hundred years old. It was refreshingly devoid of the tourists that populated Gardone Riviera below and Salo to the south. The other guests were a group of stately Italian pensioners who were engaged in laughter and bridge on the porch. A visiting family from Denmark who’s oldest son challenged me to a table tennis tournament and an elderly lady and her mother listening to opera on a portable CD player.
Hotel Colomber
The grassy hill behind the pool was home to Big Sur Sky Park. Big Sur is run by former Italian National Hang Gliding Team pilot and instructor Ignazio Bernardi. Iggy had an infectious energy that seemed to have no end. In the morning he showed up with a glider for me, loaded us in his rig (a tricked out Land Rover Defender), and enthusiastically drove us up to launch. At 2800’ above the LZ and another 1000’ above the lake the view from launch was impressive. It was an inverted day, with a muggy stratus layer loitering overhead, but I was still keen to take an extended sledder to the LZ.
Big Sur Sky Park
Iggy Showing Us the LZ
The Drive Up to Launch
Launch
A Giant Mushroom
My Borrowed Rig
Visiting New Zealand Team Pilots
Iggy Doing a Tandem
Taking in the View
The LZ
Landing by the Pool
Post Flight Lunch
After the flight Jo and I headed to the lake for a swim. The best option was a slim stretch of beach on the west side of a small peninsula. In town we scored one raft and one mask and snorkel. The clear turquoise water was just as bliss from underneath as it looked from above. Below our feet steep rocky walls covered in underwater forests descended into the abyss. Between gasps of air I explored the underwater forest harassing every fish I could find. Afterwards we finished the day with our friends at the Hotel Colomber with a traditional spaghetti dinner.
The Beach
One Raft and One Snorkel
A Poorly Inflated Raft
The Snorkel Worked Great
Chasing Fish
Dinner
In the morning we met up with Iggy again, but this time it would be Jo who was doing the flying. She was going to take her first hang gliding lesson. Jo has done a tandem, but never a flight on her own. Learning to hang glide is literally following in the footsteps of Otto Lilienthal and the Wright Brothers. You learn how to fly the kite on the ground by running down a small slope. After a few steps the glider is flying and carrying its weight so all you have to do is control the pitch and roll. By the end of the day most people are “moon walking”, flying a few steps at a time. Jo picked it up astonishingly fast, especially considering her lack of knowledge of the principles of flight. Iggy was a great instructor, yelling passionately “Run woman, run!” By the end of an hour Jo was running off the first incline of the hill, flying with her feet just above the grass.
Jo's First Hang Gliding Lesson
Iggy Flying with His Feet
Success
After a lunch of fresh mozzarella and incredible views Jo and I bid Iggy a fond farewell and headed down to the water. The beach at San Felice del Benaco rented paddle boards. Lake Garda’s largest island, Isola del Garda, lay just across the other side of a busy strait. Paddle boarding is the recumbent bicycling of board sports, but even so it is super fun. Camera in my pocket and snorkel around my neck Jo and I set off. It was slow going at first, but we soon found our rhythm. Cross in the strait was super hectic. There were boats of all types and all speeds coming and going from every direction. Their churning wakes made a cauldron of waves that would be hard to paddle a white water raft through, much less a paddle board. Jo exercised good judgment and turned back to shore while I paddled on, determined to make it to the island. Crossing the strait was sketchy, but the reward was worth it. On the west side of the island was a sheltered clear-water reef that was teaming with swans on the surface and fish below.
Lunch
San Felice del Benaco
Paddle Boarding to Isola del Garda
Taking a Break
Made It
The Reef
Snorkeling the Island
After an hour of snorkeling it was time to paddle back to shore. Our time in Italy was near its close, I paused to take in the scene. Turquoise water was lapping at my feet. The low sunlight was casting long shadows off the rocky walls. A vacation is supposed to be a break from the daily grind. Ours was more of a desperate escape from it. The idyllic scene was a stark contrast to the months of monotonous work that preceded it and the inevitable months that lay ahead. I breathed a deep sigh, committed myself to the moment and paddled on. I met Jo at the beach and we loaded up for the long drive back to Austria. On the way we had dinner at Bogliaco, a harbor town in the middle of the lake where the shoreline gets really steep.
Bogliaco
It was a five hour drive to Northern Austria. The drive through Bolozano, across the border, into the Alps was transformation from the rocky faces of the Dolomites to the manicured green Austrian Alps. The sun had long set by the time we hit Innsbruck, but the faint outlines its dramatic mountains penetrated the dark. Our hotel for the short night was about ten kilometers off the A12 in the mountain village of Westendorf. It looked like a mountain biking mecca. Unfortunately, we only had enough time to experience it through the posters that were plastered on every wall.
The Drive to Austria
Our Inn at Westendorf
Where We Could Have Done This
Or This
