Rising abruptly behind Riva del Garda, mountains are integral to the landscape. You can be swimming in or sailing on the Lago di Garda and those sheer limestone flanks will bewitch you, morphing with the light and the weather. Ever dramatic, they signal the beginning of the Dolomites to the northeast as well as the Austrian border and the Tyrol. Queen of this easternmost Italian lake is Riva, tucked into the waterside apex, now a thriving holiday town – and my destination this August.
Living for a couple of years in Italy – back in the day as they say – the blissful lakeside town soon came onto my radar. While based in nearby Padova I made firm friends with a gregarious young woman, Claudia, of Austrian heritage who, it turned out, had a family home in her birthplace – Riva del Garda. So there I spent the odd weekend until life took me elsewhere. But we remained in touch and I’ve returned to her main home in Padova a few times since – read my post about it here.
The lakeside villa
After many decades, this August I decided to join Claudia and her extended family in their beautiful sprawling villa between the mountains and lake. The Biedermeier furniture I clearly recalled was still there, as was the large, semi-tropical garden (including banana-tree and a towering stand of bamboo, planted by Claudia’s grandfather). Otherwise the four floors had been completely transformed to accommodate three generations of this family. So Italian in style – as well as the odd feud and a few prowling cats. Elena Ferrante – where are you? Naples maybe.
Riva’s Austrian heritage
Riva del Garda was under Austrian rule until 1918 when the end of World War I brought it into the Italian fold. This long Austrian history left a clear stamp on the atmosphere and architecture of what was an essential lakeside port. Now part of the wealthy autonomous region of Trentino-Alto Adige, its neighbours are the Veneto to the east and Lombardy to the west – all Italy’s most prosperous regions. Equally intriguing is the parallel story of Trieste, once the Austro-Hungarian Empire’s main sea port on the Adriatic, that is still a strange, alluring hybrid – my post about it is here.
Vineyards (notably producing light, red Bardolino wine) blanket the eastern flank of the lake and the climate does wonders for other forms of agriculture but these days it is tourism that fuels the economy. They’ve even installed a cable-car up one of the mountains which offers sweeping panoramas. Somehow I missed out on that due to the Italian family chaos.
Technicolour back-streets
The tourism influx strikes me immediately as we stroll through the narrow, winding streets of Riva del Garda’s old town – high on colour and picturesque, but heaving with visitors from all over. These included, unexpectedly, lots of Muslim families, their mothers in hijabs, pointing to the seduction of the climate, fresh air and scenery. As a less attractive sideline there is a succession of clothes and accessory shops where most goods are Chinese-made. A sad end to the Italian tradition of family-owned artisan businesses. But today’s low prices are predictably loved by young visitors.
Yet the atmosphere remains, from a medieval castle and a striking 13th century clocktower to the triangles of little yachts and windsurfers whisked over the water by the Peler and Ora winds. Or the quaint, colourful backstreets, or the dozens of pizzerias, their terraces packed from 6pm. They eat early up here, possibly the Germanic influence. Then of course gelati abound – and no shortage of late-night bars, something I was made fully aware of in the early hours.
Diving into Lake Garda
Swimming off Riva del Garda’s beach into the cool fresh water is a wonder – but so targeted by crowds that finding room on the grass to dry off is tough. So on a couple of days we headed north, twisting through the mountains, to reach an offshoot of the lake, again sandwiched between stunning mountains like a theatre-set.
The Italians have perfected the art of socialising, so even here there was no shortage of large family groups or canoodling couples – luckily nourished by an excellent, casual restaurant. Somehow, between a couple of dips, the afternoons slipped away pleasantly, and my rusty Italian made a comeback.
Then, finally, it was goodbye to my old friends and this paradisical spot, off to the nearby station of Mori and back on the train to Verona (my post about that beguiling city is here) for a very different setting and menu.
