Lac de Côme

Lake Como has been the retreat of the discerning since Pliny the Younger kept two villas on its shores. Little has changed in what matters: the Alps still descend abruptly into deep, still water; cypress and oleander still frame villas the colour of faded apricot; the ferries still cross between Bellagio, Varenna and Menaggio as they have for generations. Stendhal and Mark Twain both fell under its spell, and one understands why. There is a hush here, a sense of time held in suspension, that no other Italian landscape quite achieves. Como is not a destination one visits; it is a state one enters.

From Paris-Le Bourget, a private jet to Milan Linate places the lake within easy reach; first class from Charles de Gaulle is the graceful alternative. At the aircraft steps, the FFGR network in Italy takes the relay — same house, same exactitude, your preferences transmitted before departure. The drive north traces the lake's western shore, one of Europe's most beautiful roads, and asks for the Mercedes V-Class when travelling with family or the S-Class when travelling alone with thoughts. Around Como and Cernobbio the road narrows and curls; your driver knows each turning, each viewpoint worth a pause. By the time the water first appears, Paris already feels like last season.

Villa d'Este at Cernobbio remains the lake's grande dame, its floating pool and centuries-old gardens unchanged in spirit; Passalacqua, just above Moltrasio, offers the newer pleasure of an eighteenth-century villa kept like a private house. Cross the water by classic Riva launch — the only correct way — to lunch at Il Gatto Nero above Cernobbio or at the Locanda dell'Isola Comacina. Reserve an afternoon for Villa del Balbianello at Lenno, its loggia suspended over the water, and another for the gardens of Villa Carlotta. At dusk, take the boat out once more, when the lake turns to pewter and the villas light one by one. Then, simply, stay.