Hello Adventure

Chapter 6 - Lake Como, Italy

Lake Como shined like a—like a what? A sapphire? An aquamarine? I marveled at the glassy water and rattled my memory for the names of precious stones that best matched this particular hue of blue, but the truth was no simile in the world would get you to picture the nuanced shade of Lake Como on a rich, purply October evening just before nightfall, so I won't even try. Instead, I'll just tell you, go and see it for yourself because until you do, you'll never know what I'm talking about when I say you just cannot get over it.

I swayed slightly in the cool breeze, taking in the light. I was drunk on the view—but mainly drunk on the champagne, which I had been (over) served on the plane ride over.

We reached Lake Como about a half-hour ago, and Brooke and I checked into the hotel together. Once we got our keys, she went upstairs to her room, but I couldn't pull myself away from the view just yet. It was my first time abroad, and I had to see this.

So for the last thirty or so minutes, I had been standing on the handsome deck of The Grand Hotel Tremezzo in Lake Como, Italy until the lights began to come on—one by one they bloomed white, transforming the skyline, making it endlessly spectacular. But the world spectacular fell short. Ripe green hills butted against slurping and swallowing lake waves. Faded sherbet-hued buildings and bell towers with red pan-tiled roofs heaped and hung off the terrain. This view was straight up indescribable. Even if I stood here all night, the right words would never come.

I shivered. I'm freezing, I realized, the drink and view having numbed me over until that moment. I carefully escorted myself inside, my small suitcase trailing behind like an obedient midsized dog. I hiccupped disturbingly loudly and wondered if perhaps I was drunker than I realized. (This revelation came after only narrowly missing an accidental dip in the pool on my way inside.)

Why yes, there is a very good chance that I am indeed drunker than I think, I concluded. In fact, there is a very good chance that I am downright shitfaced right now!

So how exactly did that happen? You may be wondering. Well, actually I was wondering that too...How exactly did I go from control freak to Euro-trashed?

Oh yes, I remembered then, it was all Basic Brooke B.'s doing...

-

I met Brooke at the airport in Boston; she had come from California and this was her connecting flight to Italy.

Let's keep it positive and start with the good bit: The first thing I noticed was that Brooke had the bounciest hair I had ever seen in real life before. The ends had been tinted the slightest shade of pink. When I commented on this she told me, "It's not pink, it's rose gold ombré," in an older-sisterly way even though we were around the same age, and then she shot me this look like I had a lot to learn. (And hey, I suppose I did.)

I was about to ask her what she'd call my hair color, but I'm pretty sure she'd just say: "Sad." My hair color didn't come with a descriptor other than "dark brown" (or maybe "mousey brown" if you were feeling fancy).

"So, like, I know Swish put us in economy premiere, but I'm going to see if like, I can get us upgraded to business class. My husband got his agent to put in a call." Brooke spoke briskly, pausing only at the word "like."

She walked as fast as she spoke, which was pretty impressive considering she was precisely five foot nothing. We hightailed it to the check-in desk.

"I did a promo on my website with this airline last year when they flew me out for the Brit Awards. Euro pop stars are so much trashier than the American ones. It's divine! I was sitting behind that guy who dated Taylor Swift, and oh my God, he def tried to finger-bang me bathroom while he was off his face on molly. And seriously this was like, a Wednesday evening at 6:45 p.m."