Introduction: The Pearl of Lake Maggiore
Just speaking the name Stresa somehow warms the depths of my chest. This small town in Italy’s northern Piedmont region nestles along the western shore of Lake Maggiore as if cradled in its embrace. The landscape of Alpine peaks reflecting in the lake’s surface eloquently tells why 19th-century writers called this place “paradise on earth.”
The town’s history stretches back to Roman times, when people first settled here. But it was during the Belle Époque era of the late 19th and early 20th centuries that modern Stresa took shape. European aristocrats and the wealthy embraced it as a summer retreat, building elegant hotels and villas one after another. Those traces remain throughout the town today, and simply walking through it creates the illusion that time has stopped.
The Borromean Islands floating in Lake Maggiore are truly Stresa’s crown jewels. Isola Bella with its magnificent Baroque palace and gardens, Isola Madre with its botanical gardens, and the humble fishing village of Isola dei Pescatori. Each shows a different expression, quietly stirring the hearts of visitors.
From Mount Mottarone overlooking the town, a panorama of lake and mountains spreads before you, and on clear days you can see all the way to the snow-capped peaks of Monte Rosa. This is not merely a tourist destination. It is a special place where the human soul harmonizes with nature.
Day 1: Arrival at the Lakeside and a Quiet Evening
About an hour by train from Milan, the moment the blue lake surface appeared in the window, excitement for the journey filled my chest. Stresa station is small, and upon stepping off, the scent of the lake immediately tickles the nose. The afternoon sunlight in April was gentle, and I walked to my accommodation through cherry blossoms dancing in the air.
I chose a small lakeside hotel called “Villa Aminta.” This building, said to be a converted 19th-century aristocratic villa, features a beautiful Art Nouveau decorated facade. From the room’s window, Lake Maggiore spreads before me, with mountains on the far shore quietly casting shadows on the water’s surface. After placing my luggage and taking a breath, it was already near evening.
Setting out for a stroll, the lakeside promenade glowed golden in the sunset. The sight of locals walking slowly was striking—no one seemed to be in a hurry. On café terraces, elderly couples conversed quietly over espresso while children played by the lakeshore, throwing small stones. This sensation of time flowing slowly healed my heart, weary from urban noise.
Dinner was at the lakeside restaurant “Il Violino.” An elderly waiter welcomed me with a gentle “Buonasera.” The menu was naturally in Italian, but he patiently explained each dish. For the appetizer, I chose carpaccio of persico (perch) caught in Lake Maggiore. The acidity of lemon and olive oil brought out the delicate flavor of the fish, making me truly appreciate the lake’s bounty.
The main dish was traditional risotto al persico. This creamy risotto filled with generous amounts of perch was a masterpiece of local cuisine. The fish’s umami had penetrated each grain of rice, creating an exquisite harmony with the deep richness of Parmigiano-Reggiano. Paired with local wine, a red Gattinara, the flavors deepened further.
For dessert, I chose panna cotta, a Piedmontese specialty, rather than tiramisu. The caramel sauce wasn’t overly sweet, and its smooth texture elegantly colored the dinner’s afterglow. Outside the window, moonlight danced on the lake surface while distant mountain ridges formed silhouettes.
Walking back to the hotel, I explored the town center. Street lamps cast soft light on stone-paved pathways, and church bells announced nine o’clock. In the square, several locals sat on benches, conversing quietly. Though a tourist destination, there was certainly real life here. I felt a strange sense of unity, as if I too had dissolved into that daily rhythm.
Returning to my room and stepping onto the balcony, the lake surface reflected the starry sky. Small lights on the far shore twinkled like jewels while the night breeze gently caressed my cheek. Savoring both anticipation for tomorrow and the tranquility of this moment, I fell into deep sleep.
Day 2: Magic of the Borromean Islands and Mountain Peak Views
At 6 AM, I awoke to birdsong. The lake viewed from the balcony was mirror-still, with morning mist softly enveloping the mountains. The hotel breakfast was simple but heartfelt—fresh cornetti (croissants), local honey, and rich cappuccino colored the morning’s beginning.
Around 9 o’clock, I headed to the lakeside pier. Boats to the Borromean Islands depart every thirty minutes, and the morning service was peaceful with fewer tourists. The captain was a weathered, elderly man who warmly welcomed me with “Benvenuti” (welcome). As the boat left shore, Stresa’s townscape gradually grew smaller, revealing the view from the lake.
My first visit was to Isola Bella (Beautiful Island). The Baroque palace and gardens built by the Borromeo family in the 17th century were truly a paradise on the lake. The palace interior was magnificently luxurious, with frescoed ceilings, tapestries, and antique furniture telling stories of aristocratic life. Particularly fantastical was the room called the “Shell Grotto,” where walls decorated with countless shells and pebbles cast mystical light.
The gardens are divided into ten terraced levels, each planted with different flora. Now in April, camellias were in full bloom, their vibrant colors creating beautiful contrast with the ancient stone structures. From the highest terrace, the entire lake vista spread out, with Stresa town appearing toy-like in the distance. White peacocks walking through the garden showed elegant grace, adding to this surreal beauty.
Lunch was at a small trattoria on the island. Locally caught fish fritto (fried fish) with simple salad and chilled white Soave wine. The delicate flavor unique to lake fish, different from ocean fish, was memorable. From terrace seating, the lake surface sparkled in afternoon sunlight, with occasional passing boats creating small ripples.
In the afternoon, I visited Isola Madre (Mother Island). Famous as a botanical garden, it cultivates rare plants collected from around the world. Particularly impressive was an enormous Kashmir oak tree, several hundred years old. Sitting at its base reading a book, with only bird voices and wind sounds audible, it felt as if time had stopped.
Deep on the island stands a small palace, with rooms once used by Napoleon’s wife Josephine still preserved. The view of gardens and lake from the windows was like a painting, making it understandable why so many notable figures were captivated by this island.
In the evening, after returning to Stresa, I took the cable car toward Mount Mottarone. The aerial journey to the 1,491-meter summit takes about twenty minutes. Though requiring one transfer at Alpino station, the views from there are also magnificent. As altitude increases, Lake Maggiore’s full scope gradually becomes apparent.
By the time I reached the summit, the sun had begun to set. The 360-degree panorama was breathtakingly beautiful—Lake Maggiore, Lake Orta, and even the snow-capped peaks of Monte Rosa visible in the distance. I sat on a viewing platform bench, quietly watching as sunset painted the lake surface gold and mountain ridges became silhouettes.
By descent time, lights had begun twinkling in the town. Dinner was at a different restaurant, “La Piemontese,” specializing in Piedmontese cuisine. For antipasto, I chose vitello tonnato (veal with tuna sauce). Thinly sliced veal topped with mild tuna sauce—a representative appetizer of this region. Though the combination seems unusual at first, it’s surprisingly harmonious.
The main course was Piedmontese beef brasato al Barolo (braised in Barolo wine). The long-braised beef was so tender it could be pulled apart with chopsticks, with Barolo wine’s deep flavor maximizing the meat’s umami. The accompanying polenta (cornmeal porridge) absorbed the sauce, creating a rustic yet profound taste.
Dessert was hazelnut gelato. Piedmontese hazelnuts are considered the world’s finest quality, and their rich flavor was unforgettably delicious. The grappa (distilled spirit made from grape pomace) served at meal’s end pleasantly washed away the day’s fatigue.
Before returning to the hotel, I walked the lakeside once more. The nighttime lake showed a completely different face from daytime, with lights from the far shore shimmering on the water surface. Sitting on a bench, reflecting on the day’s events, I felt anew this place’s specialness. Memories of the islands, mountain summit views, and local people’s warmth—all were being etched deep in my heart.
Day 3: Morning Wandering and Time of Farewell
The final morning also began with bird voices. During these three days, I never once used an alarm clock. I was rediscovering the comfort of surrendering to natural rhythms. After finishing breakfast early and packing my belongings, I checked out. With time before the afternoon train, I decided to explore parts of town I hadn’t yet walked.
Walking through residential areas slightly removed from the center revealed a different face of Stresa. Laundry swayed in the wind from windows, and in small gardens, elderly women tended flowers. When I called out “Buongiorno,” they responded with smiles. Though words didn’t connect, their warmth touched the heart.
I visited the town church, Santa Marta. Though modest in exterior, beautiful frescoes remain inside. Morning mass was being held, and watching locals quietly offering prayers, I felt the depth of faith rooted in this town. It serves not only as a tourist destination but also as the center of people’s lives.
I also peeked at the market. Several shops lined a small square, displaying local vegetables, fruits, and cheeses. Particularly memorable was an old man selling lake-caught fish. Calling out “Persico, persico!” energetically while arranging fresh fish. Beside him, a farm woman selling homemade honey offered tastings. The honey made from acacia flowers was transparent, spreading gentle sweetness through the mouth.
Lunch was at a small lakeside pizzeria. The margherita pizza, baked in a wood-fired oven, was simple but highlighted quality ingredients. The tomato sauce’s acidity, mozzarella’s creaminess, and basil’s fragrance—because it’s a basic combination, the quality difference of each component was clearly apparent.
After eating, I walked the lakeside promenade one final time. Being a weekday afternoon, tourists were few, and local daily life felt more vivid. An old man walking his dog, a student reading on a bench, a young mother pushing a stroller while talking with friends—each spending time at their own pace.
Around 2 PM, the time came to head to the station. Reluctantly rising, I began walking with my back to the lake. Looking back, the Borromean Islands appeared small, with Mount Mottarone resting peacefully. Memories of scenes witnessed, dishes savored, and people encountered during these three days glowed quietly in my chest.
While waiting for the train on the station platform, I pondered again about this town called Stresa. Why does such a small place contain so much charm? The answer might be simple. This town has human-like living. There’s harmony with nature. And above all, there’s tranquility unrushed by time.
The Milan-bound train arrived, and I gazed at the lake’s final view from the window. Lake Maggiore’s blue surface sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight. Eventually the lake disappeared from view, replaced by pastoral landscapes. But in my heart, Stresa’s memories continued to live vividly.
Conclusion: What Was Certainly Felt Though Imaginary
This journey is a product of imagination. I never actually stepped on Stresa’s soil or felt Lake Maggiore’s wind on my skin. I never walked through the Borromean Islands’ palaces or stood atop Mount Mottarone. I never exchanged words with locals or tasted persico risotto.
Yet these three days of memories certainly exist in my heart. The morning sun’s brilliance reflecting on the lake surface, camellia flowers blooming in island gardens, the panorama’s grandeur viewed from the mountain peak—all are fiction spun from words and imagination, yet somehow carry the weight of actual experience.
Travel isn’t simply about moving between places. It’s about the heart moving, making new discoveries, and being liberated from routine. In that sense, this imaginary journey was certainly a “journey.” By learning of beautiful Stresa’s existence and imagining its charm, my heart was genuinely enriched.
Will the day come when I truly visit Stresa? How will these imaginary memories overlap with actual experience then? Surely there will be beauty beyond imagination and unexpected discoveries. But simultaneously, I should be able to find the tranquility and warmth felt in this imaginary journey within reality too.
Travel’s true value lies not only in places visited or scenes witnessed, but in emotions felt and insights gained there. This imaginary Stresa journey taught me to forget daily rushes and remember the importance of natural beauty and human-like living. It reminded me that there exists a way of time flowing as quiet and deep as Lake Maggiore.
A journey that, though imaginary, feels as if it truly happened—this is also proof of imagination, that special ability only humans possess. Someday, carrying these memories in my heart, I dream of stepping on Italian soil and meeting the real Stresa. With that hope, I close this record of imaginary travel.
