Lombardy, a region of striking contrasts, is home to Italy’s financial powerhouse, Milan, and the glamorous shores of Lake Como, where celebrities park their million-dollar villas. But what truly captivates visitors are its pristine lakes that seem plucked from a storybook, villages that look like they’ve been painted by an artist, and lush wine country that stretches as far as the eye can see. Whether navigating the bustling city streets or soaking in the peaceful countryside, Gigia handled it all like a seasoned travel pro—though she did draw the line at shopping for designer handbags. (Why carry Prada when you’ve got fur?)
From the glittering fashion capital to the soothing shores of Lake Como, she embraced every moment with the poise of a feline who knows how to make the most of her nine lives. Whether she was touring the lake by ferry like a mini VIP or cruising through Milan like she owned the place, Gigia proved that Lombardy isn’t just for humans—it’s a playground for cats with a taste for the finer things in life.
Bellagio (CO)
Bellagio,(CO)
Bellagio, often hailed as the “Pearl of Lake Como”, lives up to its reputation with breathtaking views, grand villas, and paved lakeside promenades. Beyond its beauty, the town is famed for its centuries-old silk production—though Gigia was more interested in the grass than the fabric, understandably.
Despite its small scale, the traffic rivals that of big cities, and finding parking on a weekend proved to be quite the challenge. (Think Fast & Furious, but with more hand gestures and fewer explosions.) Gigia, ever the good-tempered companion, put us humans to shame. She wasn’t content with just a ride in the backpack—she insisted on exploring the grassy fields and strolling along the lake parapet on her own paws, soaking in the vibe herself.
Undisturbed by the bustling tourist crowds, Gigia enjoyed being admired like the true star she is. Whether she was posing for photos or casually ignoring the chaos around her, she proved that even in a place as glamorous as Bellagio, a statuesque cat can steal the show. Who needs a villa when you’ve got a backpack and a crowd of adoring fans?
If you’re looking for a good meal and want to avoid the tourist crowds, try Ittiturismo da Abate, outside Bellagio. This charming spot offers fresh, locally sourced seafood and a relaxed atmosphere—perfect for refuelling after a day of exploring.
Bellagio’s blend of glamour, history, and natural beauty made for an unforgettable visit, but it was Gigia’s star power that truly made the trip special. We now know that a cat can outshine the “Pearl of Lake Como”!
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Bergamo (BG)
Bergamo (Bergamo)
Gigia's whiskers twitched with triumph as she held court at Coin Bergamo, the province's most elegant department store. "They doubted a cat could command Lombard attention," she'd later muse, stretching across her book stack like a furry conqueror - a status confirmed when she silenced a yapping terrier with nothing but her cross-eyed emerald stare. The mutt retreated behind its owner's legs, while Gigia resumed her royal pose on the red carpet - the first of many conquests in a land where Venetian walls crumble into valleys and Renaissance pigeons critique your espresso technique with their heads.
Beyond the city’s famed piazzas, Bergamo Province unfolds like a storybook where every turn reveals another contradiction. San Pellegrino’s Liberty-era spa glamour sparkles just valleys away from Ubiale Clanezzo’s ancient wooden bridge—a creaky feline tightrope over the Brembo River that earned Gigia’s "five-paw rating for historical drama". Zogno’s cobblestones, polished smooth by generations of clogs, lead to the Residenza del Frate, a 15th-century friar’s retreat where shadows cling to frescoes like secrets. Here, Gigia discovered a cemetery so sculpted it resembled an open-air museum, its cypress trees standing guard over stone angels frozen mid-gesture...
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Brunate (CO)
Brunate (CO)
Perched high above Lake Como, Brunate more than earns its title as the “Balcony of the Alps” with panoramic views that steal your breath. Between its Art Nouveau villas and the quaint funicular railway to Como below, this town is pure magic—though Gigia seemed convinced the real attraction was the mirror-like lake far beneath our B&B balcony. For one heart-stopping moment, she peered over the edge with the focus of a birdwatcher (or perhaps a would-be skydiver), before wisely deciding to keep all four paws firmly planted.
Heights, of course, were no match for Gigia’s adventurous spirit. She claimed the vista like a furry monarch surveying her kingdom—though the local birds held far more appeal than any alpine scenery. (Let’s be honest: Even the Swiss Alps pale beside the thrill of a fluttering sparrow.)
As she held court on the parapet, whiskers twitching at the lake’s shimmering reflection, Brunate’s grandeur met its perfect match: a cat who understood that true luxury isn’t about villas or funiculars, but about claiming the best sunbeam with a view.
Castellaro Lagusello (MN)
Castellaro Lagusello (MN)
The medieval walls of Castellaro Lagusello had stood for centuries against invaders, but they were no match for the most dangerous threat of all: cat-obsessed travelers. As Gigia conducted her usual archaeological survey of the village's sun-baked parapets (standard feline fieldwork), we encountered a couple whose roaming camper van came complete with its own resident tabby—a grizzled veteran of European roads.
Their eyes lit up with alarming intensity when they spotted Gigia. Before I could react, their hands were all over her, stroking her fur with the reverence of art thieves handling a stolen masterpiece. "What a special cat," they murmured, their tone suggesting they'd already measured her for a custom camper-van throne. My grip on her harness turned vice-like.
Gigia, ever the diplomat, tolerated their admiration with regal indifference before executing her signature move: strategic elevation. Scaling the nearest medieval wall, she left her would-be abductors earthbound, their van (and presumably jealous cat) waiting uselessly in the parking lot. Below, the couple watched with naked longing as Gigia claimed the high ground—literally and metaphorically.
The village's famous heart-shaped lake remained unseen, but we discovered something far more precious: proof that some cats are simply un-stealable.
Lovere (BG)
Lovere (BG)
The Santuario delle Sante Loveresi—a neoclassical jewel cradling the relics of Saints Bartolomea Capitanio and Vincenza Gerosa—beckons pilgrims to this quiet lakeside town. On our first trip, fate (or perhaps divine mischief) kept its doors shut. But some wonders demand patience—so we returned, and oh, was it worth it. The sanctuary is truly awe-inspiring, its soaring dome and golden light a testament to faith and artistry.
Gigia, of course, had her own pilgrimage. While I marveled at frescoed heavens, she found rapture in a sunlit patch of catnip, rolling with the abandon of a mystic in ecstasy. The saints may have performed miracles, but Gigia proved that bliss comes in many forms—some holy, some herbal.
We left with my soul full of sacred beauty and my cat’s pupils blown wide with earthly delight. Worth a second attempt to visit? Absolutely. Some journeys require persistence—whether for divine encounters or a certain feline’s quest for the perfect nap spot.
Mantua (MN)
Mantua(MN)
Mantua may boast its Gonzaga palaces and mirror-like lakes, but history will remember the day true royalty arrived - wearing a coat of velvet fur and an attitude worthy of the Sistine Chapel. Gigia didn't merely visit this Renaissance jewel; she conducted a meticulous, paw-by-paw annexation of its most hallowed spaces.
The Palazzo Ducale staff (saints in museum-livery uniforms) instantly recognized their new sovereign. When "no cats beyond this point" signs dared challenge her regal progress, Gigia magnanimously compromised by holding court in the ticket booth like some whiskered Borgia, holding attendants hostage with purrs until tribute arrived in the form of treats. (Historical footnote: No Gonzaga prince ever commanded such instant obedience.)
Not content with palace domination alone, Gigia then treated Ponte San Giorgio to her death-defying high-wire act. As she glided along stone railings with the nonchalance of a cat who considers gravity optional, three undeniable truths emerged: she was born for Baroque-level drama, Italian safety regulations exist solely as light suggestions, and her human would require extensive wine therapy later.
The grand finale unfolded at a farm brewery where Gigia - ever the discerning connoisseur - conducted solemn "quality control" on artisanal ales before dismissing them all with a flick of her tail. The perfect sunbeam for her nap mattered more than any human notion of "craft brewing excellence." After all, true Italian cultural immersion means transforming centuries of tradition into your personal napping backdrop.
Mantua's masters once filled ceilings with celestial frescoes, but the city's greatest masterpiece arrived centuries later - a four-pawed virtuoso who proved Renaissance splendor is best appreciated from precarious heights, with an entourage of treat-bearing subjects, while reducing grown humans to anxious whispers of "please don't jump."
Because why merely tour history when you can rewrite it - with tail held like a scepter and an entire city wrapped around your delicate paw?
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Milano
Milan: A Cat’s Culinary Detour (Because the Duomo Can Wait)
Milan doesn’t need an introduction—but let’s be honest, we didn’t come for the fashion or the Duomo’s spires. No, our mission was far more pressing: Gigia demanded a jury trial for Milanese-Chinese fusion cuisine. (The verdict? Delicious, but she’d never admit it outright—that would spoil her aloof brand.)
What began as a whimsical detour turned into a four-restaurant rampage, a dumpling-fueled odyssey where Gigia held court like a whiskered Gordon Ramsay. She sniffed at chopsticks with deliberate disdain ("Primitive utensils for thumb-havers" her tail flick seemed to say), opting instead for the timeless elegance of stealing food directly off my plate.
The alley thrummed with the percussion of cleavers on cutting boards, the sizzle of oil in woks, and the lively cacophony of lunchtime orders shouted in rapid-fire Mandarin and Milanese dialect. Yet Gigia remained utterly unfazed—lounging in her royal transport (a.k.a. my backpack) like some feline empress surveying her chaotic kingdom. With half-lidded eyes and one paw draped casually over the edge, she exuded the quiet arrogance of a creature who not only expected to be fed, but fully believed the entire culinary district existed solely for her discerning palate. When she eventually deigned to nap between courses, it wasn’t out of exhaustion, but strategic indulgence—a gourmand preserving her appetite for the next delicacy.
Milan’s Chinatown, with its labyrinth of steam and soy-scented alleyways, became the stage for Gigia’s latest revelation: Travel isn’t about landmarks—it’s about claiming every new city as your personal buffet. Who knew Italy’s most discerning gourmet was a cat with a penchant for pork buns and dramatic exits?
(Next stop: Negotiations are underway for a gelato tasting. Or possibly a hostile takeover of a fish market. Her agenda is… fluid, and entirely on her terms.)
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Nesso (CO)
Nesso (CO)
Tucked between Lake Como’s emerald folds, Nesso feels like Italy’s best-kept secret—a village where time moves at the pace of drifting willow leaves. Most tourists speed past on their way to Bellagio’s glamour, but we knew better. Here, ancient Roman arches frame thunderous waterfalls, and cobblestone alleys smell of woodsmoke and centuries-old stone. Gigia, ever the discerning travel critic, approved immediately.
The Orrido di Nesso stole the show. As the ancient Ponte della Civera trembled underfoot from the force of the waterfall’s plunge into the gorge, Gigia stationed herself like a furry gargoyle at the railing. Her pupils dilated into black moons, tracking the cascade’s spray with the intensity of a general plotting siege tactics. Why merely observe nature, her twitching tail seemed to say, when you could theoretically conquer it? (I noted her claws kneading the mossy stone—calculating trajectories, perhaps, or simply imagining the birds foolish enough to nest near such a spectacle.)
We wandered the Borgo Antico afterward, where Gigia conducted a thorough inspection of every sun-warmed step and shadowy doorway. The village’s quiet magic unfolded slowly: a nonna shaking out a tablecloth from her balcony, the echo of our footsteps in vaulted passageways, the way the golden-hour light gilded Gigia’s fur as she posed atop the bridge’s time-worn Roman stones.
Nesso doesn’t shout its wonders. It whispers them—in the rumble of water over rock, in the way even a jaded city cat might forget her aloofness to chirp at darting fish in the lake shallows. As we left, Gigia cast one last, lingering look at the waterfall. I recognized that expression: part wistfulness, part scheming. Somewhere between those millennia-old arches and that fairy-tale cascade, Nesso had proven something essential. The best adventures aren’t found on postcards—they’re the ones where your cat forgets to be cynical, if only for an afternoon.
