What could be more romantic than a night spent on Isola dei Pescatori, one of the mythic Borromean Islands on Lake Maggiore? Turns out even a night at the Holiday Inn in Newark could have trumped it.

It started well. We left the car in the garage of the modern Dino Hotel in Baveno for a mere seven euros per night and took the ferry to the island. Magical blurry time when the sun’s strength starts to dim, and the thin line of the mountains and the cypresses resembles a brushstroke on a Chinese scroll. We entered a simple but well-appointed corner room with a shared terrace on one side and its own balcony on the other. I opened the door to the balcony and suddenly, what seemed like hundreds of ants scurried in all directions. Nothing that a broom, aptly navigated by a blushing girl couldn’t fix. Then we looked up. Sizable spiders hung on the corners. But it was time for dinner, they seemed asleep and the sunset was irresistible. My seafood antipasto was mediocre but the view and the white Roero Arneis weren’t. I ordered grilled lavarello, a local fish, placing what I thought was a safe bet. Fish bones and ants don’t mix well and after a few attempts, I put my fork down. The waiter apologized, took my plate away and summoned the owner who proceeded to tell me, “There were no bones, in that fish, it was clear.” The dreamlike location was starting to feel more like a nightmare. It was time to retreat to our romantic haven.

Unfortunately, the spiders were now ready to dance. We counted fifteen of them and after my husband found one on the bed, there was just one way to go, out!

A boat was called, words were uttered and we escaped, unharmed. Next time you call upon Hotel Verbano on Isola dei Pescatori, make sure your room is not already occupied.

From Verona, I read in today's Corriere della Sera that the Chinese authorities have warned that any restaurant serving dog meat during the Games may lose its license. Reporter Paolo Salom explains that dog has always been a Chinese delicacy and that it's supposed to increase sexual potency.

And just in case, he goes on to describe two recipes, La zuppa (dog soup) and l’arrosto (dog roast) complete with photograph.

Here is a photo of Chocolat, my beloved canine friend who, even with his delicious name, won't ever be served as a stew.

Having first left my native Geneva at age 19, I've experienced first hand more than fifty ways to leave that corner of Switzerland, but my favorite is the route we took yesterday, through the Mont-Blanc, with Chamonix on one side and Italy on the other. The glacier may have retreated a bit but it's still very impressive to catch a glimpse of this ancient ice way, just seconds before you plunge in the tunnel. The long descent in the Val D'Aosta merits stopping at each turn but we pressed on to Aosta for a first bite of Italian life and what remains of the Teatro Romano. It's not easy to imagine that 20,000 people could fit in that amphitheater but my own spectacle was the ability to see the Matterhorn and the Mont-Blanc from the same town. And lunch? At Trattoria Praetoria, a small eatery next to the Roman Gate. Crespelle valdostana, the Italian version of a savory mille-feuilles of fontina cheese and ham, tickled our taste buds, but the carpaccio of pesce spada and the coniglio al forno were worth all the turns.