When Italy Stole My Heart
Some trips are penciled into calendars with work in mind. Others are scribbled in your heart with longing. Ours was both.
The Mr and I took the rare opportunity to live out one of my travel destinations this past summer, Lake Como and the floating city, Venice. Out first stop was the lovely Como, where to my delight time seemed to slow. The lake shimmered like a secret only the mountains could keep. We stayed in a hotel room that felt like living inside a painting — walls patterned like poetry, rugs that looked borrowed from Kandinsky, and chandeliers with the confidence of runway models. It was the kind of room that made you feel glamorous just by waking up in it.
Before we ever glided across the lake by boat, we did the most decadent thing of all — nothing. We spent the afternoon stretched out at the hotel’s beach club. Now, if you’re picturing sandy shores and crashing waves, let me stop you. In Europe, a “beach club” doesn’t always mean the beach. It’s more of a lakeside sanctuary: rows of loungers lined up like couture gowns, striped umbrellas keeping time with the sun, and attendants who somehow know the exact moment you need another spritz. There’s no sand between your toes, but there is that perfect balance of leisure and luxury. You’re close enough to dip into the pool, or the lake itself if you’re feeling bold, but far enough away that you never break a sweat unless you choose to. It’s the art of lounging, Italian-style — and let’s be honest, no one does pleasure quite like the Italians.
Eventually, pleasure turned into curiosity, and we wandered into town. Cobbled streets spilling with wine bars and boutiques, stairways climbing and twisting like something out of a painting. We sipped, we tasted, we indulged. A board of local cheeses here, a plate of handmade pasta there, gelato melting faster than we could eat it. That’s the thing about Como — the town itself feeds you just as much as the scenery does.
And then, on the last day we enjoyed the memorable and ‘must-do’ boat ride. We drifted past villas, each one dripping in history and cinematic allure. One made its cameo in Succession. Another, Villa del Balbianello, played host to Bond in Casino Royale and even Naboo in Star Wars. Villa Balbiano starred in House of Gucci. Suddenly, Lake Como wasn’t just a lake — it was Hollywood with better lighting. And as our boat skimmed the water, I wondered: were we on vacation… or simply extras in someone else’s movie?
With a touch of reluctance, yet hearts still full, we left the beauty of the Lake District and set our sights on the ever-enchanting Venice.
Except how do you call it work when every commute is by water taxi and every wrong turn leads you into another labyrinth of beauty? Venice is less a city and more a seduction.
We wandered, got lost (intentionally), and let the city unfold itself like a love letter. The gelato was unforgettable, especially a flavor I never knew I needed: Dubai Chocolate. If Como was a dream, Venice was dessert — indulgent, layered, impossible to resist.
We carved out time for the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, and suddenly work felt like worship. Peggy didn’t just collect art — she collected courage. Picasso, Pollock, Magritte… her palazzo was less a museum, more a manifesto. Standing in those rooms, surrounded by boldness on every wall, I thought: maybe Venice isn’t just about canals and gondolas. Maybe it’s about women like Peggy who dared to curate life on their own terms.
And then, of course, there were the clothes. My mirror became my diary. A pink bathing suit doubling as a bodysuit and linen trousers by the lake. A slip of blue satin for Venetian evenings. A bikini under the sun that reminded me pleasure isn’t just found in destinations, but in the details. Every outfit a chapter, every photo a timestamp.
In the end, Como gave me joy, and Venice gave me perspective. Pleasure and business, woven together like silk and linen. And as I boarded the plane home, I couldn’t help but wonder… was I falling for Italy, or was Italy reminding me how to fall in love with life itself?
And because no trip is complete without the outfits — here are all of my looks from Italy. Each one is more than fabric and thread; they’re postcards from my own diary, stitched into memory.
