Spirals, Spritzes & Sunsets: A Lake Garda Story
Outside B&B La Stua in Erbezzo.
Lake Garda has a way of easing you in gently, then completely stealing your heart before you realise what’s happened.
Our base was a small bed and breakfast tucked away in Erbezzo, high enough that the air felt cooler and the mornings quieter. The surprise came quickly: a sauna in the bedroom (because… Italy) and a free bottle of Prosecco waiting patiently in the fridge. That bottle didn’t last long. We cracked it open the moment we arrived to celebrate Luke’s birthday, travel-weary and grinning, the bubbles marking the unofficial start of the trip.
Watching the world turn
From there, our days unfolded in loops and spirals. The Fiat Panda worked hard as we wound our way up and down the mountains, hairpin turns stacking one after another while music blasted through its tinny speakers. Lyrics were belted with enthusiasm rather than accuracy. The camera rode shotgun, always within reach, while our stomachs stayed permanently ready for whatever incredible Italian food might appear next.
Against Spiazzi cliffside
We drove ourselves into tiny towns that felt almost accidental — places with a single café clinging to the edge of the village, overlooking rolling wine fields far below. Coffee tasted better with views like that. We wandered Lazise and Sirmione slowly, shops bursting with lemon-themed everything, yellow and joyful tempting many a tourist. Somewhere along the way we climbed down a mountainside toward a church we’d been eyeing from afar, the kind that feels like it’s floating when you spot it from a distance. At the bottom, reward came in the form of an Aperol spritz. I keep wanting to love them. I still don’t. But the view almost convinced me.
Verona arrived wrapped in drizzle. Just enough rain for the locals to open umbrellas, not enough to ruin the mood. We ducked through alleyways, stone walls damp and glowing softly, the city feeling cinematic in that effortless Italian way. It was a place made for wandering with a camera — reflections on cobblestones, quiet corners, life unfolding just out of frame.
Under an umbrella
In the centre of Verona
Sweet sips during sunset
Two moments, though, rose above everything else.
One was Villa Calicantus. A wine tour that stretched into an evening of food, conversation, and the kind of sunset that makes everyone go quiet without agreeing to. Church bells chimed on the hour, echoing across the hills. Luke was in absolute heaven, stroking cats to his heart’s content while golden light spilled across the vineyards. It felt timeless — the sort of place where you forget what day it is and don’t care to remember.
The other highlight was Milan.
Milan isn’t just a city to me; it’s a chapter. I lived there for two years when I was sixteen, and returning felt like stepping into an old photograph. We stopped outside our old apartment on Via Giuseppe Sacchi, and I found myself pretending to walk the route I used to take to the school bus, which stopped near the Castello Sforzesco. Back then, two Yorkshire terriers would tug us eagerly toward the park, far more interested in grass and pigeons than teenage routines.
Outside Castello Sforzesco
Wandering through Brera
Luini’s Panzerotti
Vineyard views
This time, it was Luke I tugged along instead — and he followed willingly. I pulled him all the way to Luini’s, driven by memory and hunger, only to realise with absolute horror that they were closed for Ferragosto. Tragic. Truly. Some disappointments stay universal across time. I’ll just have to return again someday.
Lake Garda wasn’t just a destination; it was a rhythm — winding roads, clinking glasses, bells ringing, rain falling softly, memories overlapping with new frames waiting to be captured. The kind of trip that lives on not just in photographs, but in the feeling you get when you look at them later and remember exactly how it all sounded, smelled, and felt.
