One Lake View at a Time. Barbies shopping, lame sushi town and toll scam

 

The morning started with oatmeal and espresso. The plan for the day was to start at the Franciacorta outlets, then drive around Lake Iseo and have a look at some of the villages there. Before heading back to Como, I also wanted to introduce Gerli and Saskia to Bergamo, one of my favourite old towns in Italy. And, perhaps even more importantly, to the best scissorpizza in the world.

The first obstacle of the day appeared before we had even left Como. A market had been set up overnight, and Gerli would probably have been perfectly happy staying right there among the mohair sweaters instead of going anywhere near the outlets. I, however, had made a plan, so naturally everybody had to follow it. We made our way to the parking garage, collected the car and headed off. Unfortunately, the Italians had not learned how to drive overnight, so Gerli’s opinion from yesterday remained firmly unchanged.

We eventually made it to Franciacorta and wandered around a few shops before deciding it was time for lunch. We chose a cafeteria-style place where all the food was displayed in front of us, mostly because it seemed easier to point at something that looked edible than to try to guess what might be hiding behind an unfamiliar Italian word. Gerli had risotto, which was good but came in a portion large enough to feed a village in Africa. I had vitello tonnato, which was very good, followed by tuna with roast potatoes. The tuna had unfortunately been cooked until it had given up all hope, and the potatoes were somehow watery despite supposedly being roasted. Saskia had a fruit cup, which she approved of, and chicken-and-pork skewers with roast potatoes, which were apparently a bit dry. Then I was asked whether I wanted coffee or espresso. I said coffee. I got espresso. Apparently it had not really been a question.

Shopping went considerably better after lunch. We found clothes and a handbag at Calvin Klein, a Starbucks mug, and eventually a pink Barbie suitcase from another shop. The suitcase was actually a “logistical necessity” on this trip, because we were rapidly reaching the stage where getting everything back to Estonia would otherwise involve leaving either some clothes or one family member behind.

After the outlets we drove towards Iseo, which turned out to be a very cute little town by the lake of the same name. We walked around for a while, took the usual unreasonable number of photos and generally liked it a lot. Compared with Como it felt much calmer and less crowded, which was rather nice after the tourist chaos we had been experiencing there.

From Iseo we continued along the lake, driving through some of the smaller lakeside villages in the general direction of Bergamo. I say “general direction” because at some point I managed to navigate us the wrong way and added a completely unnecessary 16-kilometre loop to the journey. Unscenic detour.

By the time we reached Bergamo, we had a very simple and, in theory, completely foolproof dinner plan. Gerli and I would get scissorpizza, Saskia would get sushi somewhere else, and then we would all sit somewhere together and eat. The pizza part worked beautifully. We chose our slices and about ten minutes later were walking through Bergamo carrying two enormous pizzas and feeling very pleased with ourselves. The sushi part was less successful. There was no sushi. We kept walking. Still no sushi. There also seemed to be nowhere selling anything remotely suitable to take away. There was a sweet shop, but even Saskia did not consider candy to be a proper dinner. Eventually we found a restaurant whose menu had a couple of salads that looked potentially acceptable. The only problem was that they would not let us sit there with our pizzas. Fair enough. We asked whether we could sit there if we promised not to eat them. No. Could we order Saskia’s salad, go somewhere else to eat our pizzas, and then come back so she could eat her salad? Also no. Our rather creative dining arrangement was clearly not going to happen.

So we went to a nearby park and ate our pizzas there with a group of local pigeons watching us very closely. The pizzas were excellent, so at least that part of the evening lived up to expectations. We also had some free entertainment because a wedding couple was having their photos taken nearby. The bride looked lovely, but her veil had clearly had a hard day. By this point it had gone from bridal white to something closer to seal grey and was collecting fallen leaves and assorted Bergamo street debris as it dragged along behind her. At least she would have plenty of physical souvenirs from the city.

Once we had finished the pizzas, we returned to the restaurant and ordered Saskia a roast beef salad and me an affogato. We specifically asked for everything to come together. Naturally, the first thing that arrived was a paper bag full of bread. Then came the water, which to be fair we had actually ordered. Then Saskia’s salad appeared. My affogato was nowhere to be seen. It then became clear that Saskia was not particularly impressed by medium rare roast beef, so she ate the greenery underneath it instead. Not that there was exactly a meadow hiding under there. Possibly ten leaves of lettuce. Eventually my affogato arrived too. We had the roast beef packed up to take away, stopped at the sweet shop, and finally headed back towards the car to drive to Como.

This was when the highway decided that the day had not yet contained enough entertainment. There are toll booths every 10–15 minutes or so, all very helpfully labelled in Italian so that tourists can enjoy a small reading-comprehension exercise while approaching several lanes at motorway speed. Most of the time we managed to work out which lanes were for locals with subscriptions and chose one of the others. At one point, however, there were large European Union flags above some lanes and then white signs with Italian writing above the others. We are Europeans. There were EU flags. The decision seemed obvious, so we drove under the flags. About 20 minutes later, we discovered that perhaps this had not been the correct interpretation. We arrived at the next toll station and, unlike every previous time, no nice little amount appeared on the screen for us to pay. Instead, there was some Italian text. We pressed a button. Nothing happened. We pressed another button. Still nothing. The drivers behind us started honking, which surprisingly also did not make the machine work. Eventually we found the customer-service button and pressed that. A man’s voice appeared and wanted to know why we did not have a ticket. Because we were not coming to a Celine Dion concert? Apparently not the answer he was looking for. He then asked where we had come from. Como, we said. A number appeared on the screen: €73. There was a short silence before the Soviet woman in the passenger seat announced that there was absolutely no way we were paying €73 when every previous toll had been somewhere between €1.80 and €3.70. So we waited. The cars behind us continued expressing their opinions through their horns. Eventually a woman who had been moving around between the lanes helping various confused drivers reached us and asked where our ticket was. We did not have one. She asked where we had come from. Como. She pressed a few buttons and the amount on the screen changed from €73 to €6.50. Much better. We paid and escaped. At the next toll station we decided that, despite being proud Europeans, we would no longer follow the EU flags. Instead, we tried one of the lanes with the mysterious white signs. And that was where we discovered the machine that gives you the little ticket. The ticket that both the man and the woman had been asking us about earlier. Ah. Mystery solved.

We made it back to Como after dark, ordered sushi for Saskia because approximately ten baby lettuce leaves had not managed to keep her fed for very long, and called it a day.

One Lave View at a Time. Between mountains and gelato

  

The morning started at 5 a.m., which is a perfectly reasonable hour to begin a holiday if your goal is to already feel exhausted before leaving the country. By 6, we were at the airport. I’d love to say security was smooth sailing, but apparently I looked especially suspicious today because I got to go through the random explosives test not once, but twice. By the second one I was genuinely starting to wonder whether I had unknowingly walked through gunpowder at some point. Thankfully, I was eventually declared non-explosive and allowed to continue.

Our first flight actually departed early, so we arrived in Stockholm ahead of schedule. We ate, lounged around for a while, and the second flight to Milan went by surprisingly quickly.

And then things got interesting. When I booked the rental car, I had listed Gerli as the driver. The small issue was that Gerli doesn’t have a credit card, which apparently left us with two options: either pay €157 for some kind of extraordinarily luxurious insurance package, presumably one that also protects the car from meteor strikes and emotional damage or make me the “main driver”. I did have my driving licence with me. Excellent. Except it was issued in my old surname. The surname I changed six and a half years ago.

So we now had a driving licence with my old name, an ID card with my current name, and a credit card with my current name. A beautifully coordinated collection of documents. Apparently, however, this arrangement was acceptable so €50 later, we had a car. We had booked an Opel Corsa or something similar and received… an MG3? Some Chinese car, anyway. It had wheels, it moved, and therefore met the basic requirements.

Then Gerli got to experience driving in Italy for the first time. Approximately one and a half minutes later, she had already concluded that absolutely nobody here had ever been anywhere near a driving school. One hour and a significant number of lost nerve cells later, we pulled into a Lidl car park and stocked up on food.

Our apartment is in Como Old Town, where cars are apparently regarded as unnecessary modern inconveniences and parking is more of a philosophical concept than an actual service. So we left the car in a parking structure and dragged our travelling circus — suitcases, bags, groceries and assorted belongings — about 850 metres through town to the apartment.

We ate and then went for a walk along the lake. The original plan was to take the funicular up the mountain and watch the sunset from above. Unfortunately, every single tourist in Como had apparently had exactly the same idea. The queue looked less like public transport and more like Celine Dion tickets were on sale. So we postponed that idea and decided to find sushi instead.

Google Maps took us to our chosen sushi place. Which turned out to be… a shelf inside a grocery store. Technically sushi, I suppose. We bought some food and went back home.

Later we ordered actual sushi through Deliveroo, and while waiting for it to arrive, I decided to prepare my sofa bed. This required moving the sofa slightly away from the wall. Simple. Except during this completely routine operation, I somehow managed to knock over the glass coffee table in such a spectacular way that the entire living room instantly became covered in glass. Everywhere. So. We no longer have a glass coffee table.

On the positive side, we managed to clean it up before the sushi arrived. And that turned out to be very good.

Between Canals and Culture. The Wild Mouse

 

 

Morning began with the now-familiar breakfast routine. Saskia once again refused to take the exciting shortcut through the medical clinic, so unfortunately we had to use the boring, conventional lift like normal hotel guests. Apparently wandering past X-ray departments before coffee is only entertaining once.

Then it was time for Shopping Attempt: Round Three. I had done my research and found what were supposedly some of the best streetwear shops in Hamburg. Surely this would finally be a success.
We entered shop number one. Saskia looked at a few things.
“Nah, bro.”
Shop number two.
A brief browse.
“Nah.”
Shop number three.
Approximately seven seconds of interest.
“Bro.”
Excellent. Another highly non-productive shopping expedition.

We decided to regroup at a very pretty Starbucks, because apparently shopping performance is directly linked to refresher levels. After drinks, the situation improved slightly. Then we stocked up on cookies, which improved morale even further, and suddenly Saskia announced that she would now like to go to Urban Outfitters. Apparently this was the magic shop. She actually bought things, and I even negotiated an extra 10% discount for her, proving once again that my role on this trip is part travel agent, part logistics department and part procurement specialist.

For lunch we went to a Turkish restaurant, where Saskia had köfte and I had chicken. Both were very good, and for once our food arrived without a half-hour taco-related waiting crisis. A definite improvement on yesterday.

After lunch we returned to the hotel and spent a couple of hours doing absolutely nothing. We had late checkout, so there was no reason to rush anywhere. At 4 p.m. we finally gathered all our belongings, dragged everything downstairs and left the luggage in storage.

Then we headed to Hamburg’s summer festival. “Festival” makes it sound slightly more fancy than it was. Basically: amusement park + food + rides + opportunities to make questionable decisions. Naturally, it started raining. So we escaped into one of those fairground arcade/casino places, where Saskia managed to win herself some sort of fluffy bouncy ball. More importantly, we also confirmed an important law of international travel: There is an Estonian in every port. Or, apparently, every amusement park. The woman behind the counter heard us counting our points in Estonian and suddenly looked very surprised.
“Are you Estonian?”
Yes. Of course we are. And apparently so was she.

After that, Saskia chose a roller coaster that, according to her, was “not scary at all.” Teaser: it absolutely was. The ride was called the Wild Mouse, which already should have been enough information for me to make better life choices. A large part of the ride took place high above the ground, with those horrible sharp turns where the carriage seems determined to launch itself straight over the edge. Meanwhile, a young dude sitting behind us was screaming his little lungs out. Thankfully, we eventually escaped the Wild Mouse with all limbs and internal organs still approximately where they belonged.

There was initially another ride I thought of going, but once we saw that at some point they stopped the ride, gave everyone a plastic cup of water they had to hang on to with their teeth and started the ride again, we were like “Nah”. The water was spilling from cups and mouths left and right. But guess, who doesn’t want to have some spit infused water on them? Us.

After the festival, we went to a Japanese restaurant for sushi, then walked back to the hotel. At around 7:30 p.m., we collected our mountain of luggage, ordered a taxi and headed to the airport. We got to the gate, enjoyed some airport sunset and got on the plane. Flight was on time, took us exactly one and half hours and at 1am we met Gerli, who was picking us up.

Between Canals and Culture. The Sephora Girl

 

 

I forgot to mention one rather important detail from yesterday: our hotel room has an enormously heavy sofa. For reasons known only to whoever designed the room, it had been positioned in such a way that if you sat on it, you could enjoy a lovely, relaxing view of… the wall.
Obviously, this could not continue. I managed to drag the whole ridiculous setup across the room until the sofa was facing the window instead. Saskia contributed by moving one corner, which apparently gave her enough ownership rights to immediately declare the sofa hers. And that was that. I redesigned the room; Saskia acquired property.

Today, however, was officially designated Shopping Day. Our first stop was TK Maxx, which we reached by S-Bahn. We had reasonably high hopes. However, Saskia's TK Maxx shopping haul consisted of exactly zero items. Igot one rain coat for Gerli.

Germany, meanwhile, is clearly fully prepared for Halloween. Pumpkins, skeletons, ghosts and all the usual cheerful signs of impending death are already everywhere. At this rate, I assume the Christmas decorations will be out in approximately two weeks.

After our spectacularly rather unsuccessful shopping expedition, we went for lunch at a Mexican restaurant and ordered tacos.
Then we waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Over half an hour for tacos.
At some point you start wondering whether they are growing the corn, harvesting it and making the tortillas entirely from scratch in a small field behind the restaurant. Eventually the tacos did appear, and afterwards we continued to a new shopping centre, where Saskia's shopping luck improved considerably. She managed to score some cosmetics and, equally importantly, a Starbucks drink.

This was also the moment I realised that the problem had never been Saskia's lack of enthusiasm for shopping. I had simply been taking her to the wrong shops. Apparently dragging her into cheap little DM stores was never going to work. She is a Sephora girl. My mistake. Now I know.

While we were wandering around the shopping centre, a girl suddenly rushed over to Saskia and asked where she'd bought her sweatshirt.
Saskia was wearing her red Pink Palm Puff hoodie. The only downside was that I wasn't wearing mine too. Had we both been standing there in matching Pink Palm Puff hoodies, our influencer era could officially have begun.

After shopping, we returned to the hotel, ordered sushi and had a short break before heading out again at around 8:30 pm.
Destination: Miniatur Wunderland.
And I have to say, I absolutely loved it.
Miniatur Wunderland is basically what happens when someone says, “What if we built a tiny railway?” and nobody has the sense to stop them for the next 25 years.
It is the world's largest model railway, but calling it a “model railway” really doesn't do it justice. The whole place is an enormous miniature universe covering around 1,490 square metres, populated by roughly 260,000 tiny people, more than 1,000 trains and over 9,000 vehicles.
You walk from miniature Hamburg to Switzerland, Scandinavia, Italy, Monaco, Las Vegas and all sorts of other places, with mountains, cities, harbours, beaches, concerts, emergency scenes and thousands of tiny details happening everywhere.
And then there is the airport.
An actual functioning miniature airport where planes taxi to the runway, take off, disappear through the wall and later come back to land again. Meanwhile tiny airport buses drive around, passengers wait at check-in and miniature airport life carries on as though this is all perfectly normal.
Every few minutes the entire place switches from day to night, thousands of tiny lights come on, and suddenly the cities glow, concerts light up and the whole miniature world looks completely different.
The best part is that there are ridiculous little scenes hidden everywhere. People getting married, people committing crimes, people having unfortunate accidents, people doing things that miniature plastic people probably shouldn't be doing…
Basically, you could stare at the same square metre for ten minutes and still keep finding new things.
I thought it was absolutely brilliant.
Saskia, meanwhile, politely accompanied me while occasionally yawning.
By the time we left, it was definitely time to call it a day. Back to the hotel, back to Saskia's legally acquired sofa territory, and straight to bed.