I have visited Lake Como, where snowy mountains look down on lakeside beaches lapped by Italy’s deepest body of glacial meltwater, a dozen times over. But I’ve never found the same lake twice.
In cut-glass sunlight, it ramps up the glamour; every church spire, crenellated bastion, and pontoon is thrown into sharp relief. On cloudy days, it hides its light behind a veil of mist. Against such a fantastical backdrop, many have dreamed their castles in the air into existence. Julius Caesar created the first city of Como out of swampy flatlands, and then Pliny the Younger built two villas—one above the other—and called them Comedy and Tragedy.
