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Welcome to Get Sleepy, where we listen, we relax, and we get sleepy.
I'm your host, Thomas.
Thanks so much for being here.
Tonight, I'll be telling you about a traveler named Amelia and her day exploring a gorgeous lake in the north of Italy, one that I myself have been lucky enough to visit a couple of times.
A big thank you to Leila for writing this lovely tale.
So, my friends, before we whisk you off to the sunny scenes of Northern Italy, it's time to welcome in rest and relaxation, to release our grip on the day and let it softly fade into our memory.
Nothing more needs to be done.
So allow your mind to shift from the desire to problem-solve and complete tasks to a desire for peace, reassurance and rest.
Wherever you're situated, as you settle down for sleep, just appreciate the safety and coziness of the space you're in.
Draw in a deep, full breath.
And let the exhale extend out a little longer than the inhale.
See if you can maintain that flow and rhythm for the next couple of minutes.
And as you continue to breathe gently, invite everything in your surrounding environment to become a piece of this restful experience.
Any sounds, even external ones, can all blend into the experience of this moment.
And then, kindly welcome rest for both yourself and the world around you.
Any activity in the mind is welcome to be a part of this restful environment, too.
Perhaps you'd even like to repeat these words to yourself.
I welcome relaxation for myself. and the world around me.
I welcome calm for myself and the world around me.
I welcome rest for myself and the world around me.
Now that you're hopefully feeling ready to indulge in the luxury of good rest, we can turn to our story.
Picture a lake sparkling with reflected sunlight and the peaceful blue of the sky.
Feel a breeze sweeping across you and the sun on your skin.
Hear the sounds of Italian voices drifting to you across the water.
Let your mind take you to the lake country of northern Italy.
This is where our story begins.
A gust of wind blew across the lake, and Amelia clutched her hat.
It was a warm day beneath the bright Italian sun, and the breeze felt welcome and refreshing.
Emilia sat on the top deck of a ferry boat that was making its way across a huge lake in northern Italy.
Called Lake Garda.
It was so big that the ferry from the south end to the north end of the lake took roughly six hours, although that was with many stops at towns along the way.
Amelia thought.
She wasn't traveling nearly so far, however.
Her ferry ride would be around an hour.
She was going from the town of Bardolino, on the western edge of the lake, to the picturesque Sirmioni, a village at the southern tip.
To be honest though, All the towns ringing Lake Garda were picturesque, as far as Amelia could tell.
Bardolino, where she was staying, was a charming tangle of cobblestone streets, wide piazzas and beautiful buildings all strung out along the blue lakefront.
A wide promenade ran along the lake, where colorful boats were moored neatly in the shallow water.
She had walked the promenade after first arriving this morning, admiring the sparkling water and the ornate phyllis that overlooked it.
These graceful buildings had stood for centuries, reflected in the placid surface of the lake, ever since they were built by wealthy merchants from Venice hundreds of years ago.
Still, even if all the Lake Garda towns were lovely, Silmione was particularly renowned and she was looking forward to seeing it.
The town had a medieval castle that jutted into the turquoise water, one of the best-preserved castles in Italy, as well as the ruins of an ancient Roman villa on bluffs beyond the town.
She was eager to see it all, but she was in no hurry, for the ferry ride itself was already a delightful experience.
Amelia loved boats, and the feeling of gliding across the water was absorbing.
She felt as though she could sit there all day, basking in the wind and the sunshine and watching the lake scenery slide past.
The water glittered under the midday sun. and the blue sky stretched out above it.
She could see mountains in the distance marking the boundary of the lake to the.
These peaks were part of the Italian Alps, with one, Mount Baldo, dominating the panorama.
A bird swooped past, turned into a dark silhouette by the sun behind it.
She could see buildings along the closer shorelines of the lake, but she couldn't make out the details at this distance.
Soon though, the ferry would be approaching the shore for one other stop before it reached Sirmioni.
The ferry would pull in at the town of La Cisse first, before making its way across the open water to Amelia's chosen destination.
She was looking forward to her glimpse of La Cisse, too.
It also had an intact castle from the Middle Ages she knew, although it was privately owned and not open to visitors.
She was certain that the view of the town from the water would be breathtaking.
When the ferryboat turned towards the shore and she caught her first sight of La Cisse.
However, Amelia was astounded.
Nothing could have prepared her for how lovely it was.
She stared in awe at the medieval towers rising up on the lake shore next to crenellated walls, those classic castle walls with square cutouts at regular intervals.
A small marina crowded with boats clustered around the dock where the ferry was headed.
This town, like Bardolino, faced onto the lake the way a house faces the street.
The water along the shore reflected back a rippling facsimile of the picturesque town, complete with antique buildings and a soaring castle.
People around her on the ferry stood up to snap pictures of the scene, but Amelia chose to just sit and drink in the view, letting herself fully inhabit this moment.
And then, in what felt like hardly any time, the ferry was pulling away from the dock again.
It motored towards the middle of the lake, headed out and south towards Sillimioni.
Amelia knew from looking at a map that Silmione was located on the tip of a narrow peninsula that jutted out into Lake Garda from its southern end.
Here towards the middle of the lake, The wind picked up a bit more and Amelia reveled in the cool air blowing across her face.
Beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat, her hair fluttered agreeably in the breeze.
She had bought the hat especially for her trip to this sun-drenched lake in northern Italy, with its blue skies and villages steeped in history but teeming with life.
The hat's wide brim shaded her face and shoulders from the sun's rays and heat.
The hat was a pale straw color with a wide navy blue rim around it, which matched the dress she was wearing.
The dress had a navy and white pattern, and it was made out of lightweight cotton that felt cool and comfortable on what was a hot day.
The sundress was fitted to the waist, where it gently flared out to her knees.
The neckline was square, with wide straps that perfectly covered the bathing suit that Amelia wore underneath.
She had come prepared because she was planning to swim at Sirmione, in addition to soaking up its sights and exploring its historic buildings and winding streets.
Blue leather sandals with a flat sole completed her outfit.
They were comfortable enough for her to roam for hours and walk upon uneven cobblestone streets with ease.
She had enjoyed shopping for the few items of clothing that she brought on this trip, which she'd chosen for comfort and elegance.
They all worked together, and she could mix and match them day by day.
There was another navy dress, this one solid-colored and ankle-length, made out of a light, flowy fabric that swished around her ankles as she walked. and there were silver leather sandals that could dress up either outfit for evening.
She also had a cardigan that was the vivid pink-orange color of sunset, in case she encountered any cooler weather.
Though, so far, she'd only used it on the airplane.
On the more casual side, she'd brought along navy shorts that she could pair with several tank tops.
The tank tops were comfortable cotton, one striped in cream and navy, one sunset-colored and one navy with narrow sunset stripes.
Over today's sundress, she was carrying a small navy bag with a long crossbody strap in which she'd packed a few essentials and her ultra-thin travel towel for after her swim.
The peninsula that held the historic town of Sirmione came into view then.
Amelia spotted the tumbling walls of ancient Roman ruins at the very tip of the peninsula.
The sight of the ruins sent a stirring of excitement through her.
It was amazing and wondrous to realize the history that had occurred in this place 2000 years before.
The view was spectacular too.
Below the remnants of the villa, The land fell away into shallow aquamarine water that reached out around the base of the peninsula.
Flat rocks slide just below the surface of the lake here, creating extensive shallows ideal for swimming.
Amelia could hardly wait to go there and float in the aqua water, gazing up at the ancient walls.
First though, she would disembark from the ferry in town and wander around the old village, as well as the castle situated at its heart.
She knew from her guidebook that Sirmione had been an important location at least since Roman times, two millennia before the present and throughout the intervening centuries.
Silmione's long skinny peninsula jutting into Lake Garda had long been prized for a number of reasons.
To begin with, there was its stunningly beautiful location.
And on top of that, it occupied a very strategic position on the huge lake.
A hot spring that welled up with thermal mineral waters near its eastern shore, became widely famous for its healing and relaxing properties.
The ruins that lay above the beach at the tip of the peninsula were a grand Roman villa that overlooked the lake, surrounded on three sides by the crystal clear aquamarine water.
Amelia knew this from the brochures she'd pored over back in her hotel in Bardolino as she eagerly planned her visits around the lake.
She'd read that the sumptuous villa was built during the reign of Emperor Octavian Augustus, from 27 BCE to 14 CE.
The site is known as the Grottos of Catullus, after a famous poet of ancient Rome who owned a villa in Siromione, then known as Siromio, and wrote lovingly of the place.
Of the islands which, in stagnant waters and vast seas, Neptune holds.
Sirmio, the pearl of islands.
Now my heart with you rejoices.
The poet wrote.
He called the peninsula of Sirmione an island, a poetic license that Amelia thought might partly reflect differences in the Latin language.
The words island and peninsula were closely related in Latin.
The word for island was insula, and the Latin word for peninsula simply meant almost island.
So, perhaps dropping the almost part mattered less in Latin than in English, she figured.
At any rate, Amelia had read that explorers of the ruins named them for Catullus because of local lore that his villa had stood on the site.
Subsequent archaeology however, showed that the mansion was built after the poet's death, and so could not have been his.
There was an interesting twist, though, in one of the brochures.
This said, that earlier remains on the site were eventually uncovered, and these may indeed have belonged to Catullus's family.
The poet's description certainly seemed to evoke this place at the tip of the slender peninsula.
His poem finished, Hello, charming Sirmio, whom I enjoy enjoying, and you, rippling lake of lydium waves surrounding my home, drown out all other noise.
The wind wafted through Amelia's hair as the ferry boat rounded the peninsula.
The turquoise waters and romantic ruins slid out of sight.
They cruised along the coastline towards the town of Silmione itself.
The ruined villa had certainly not been the only Roman buildings on the Silmione peninsula, but other remains of Roman-era habitation were superseded by later construction.
Indeed, the famous Silmione Castle was built atop previous Roman fortifications.
The turrets of that castle slid into view now.
They rose above the roofs of colourful Venetian-style buildings that surrounded a beautiful piazza full of people, right on the waterfront.
The castle at Silmione was built on the orders of the della Scala family of Verona, which also commanded strongholds at other points around the lake, as the family warred for dominance with the rulers of other Italian city-states.
During the later Middle Ages, the Della Scala family controlled the area around Lake Garda, which was a strategic thoroughfare.
Eventually though, the lake's eastern side fell to the Republic of Venice, which controlled the area starting in the 1400s.
During this period, wealthy Venetian merchants built grand lakefront villas like those in where Amelia was staying.
In the late 1700s, Napoleon Bonaparte's armies marched from France into northern Italy.
Then the Austro-Hungarian Empire seized Lake Garda and built more fortresses and roads for military purposes.
During this time, the area drew wealthy Austrians seeking a getaway or the healing benefits of its famous thermal springs.
And so, more villas sprang up around the scenic lake, this time built for Austrian noble families.
These new Austrian mansions joined the vacation homes constructed by other elites across the centuries, all the way back to the Roman villa whose remains she had admired.
By the time this part of the lake fell back into Italian hands under the newly unified Kingdom of Italy in 1866, taking the waters for health purposes was a popular reason to travel Up through the present.
Spa experiences, and even health tourism remained key elements of the local economy.
As Amelia admired the sight of the charming village with its fairy tale castle, The boat docked in front of the lovely piazza.
Amelia stood up to join the queue of people slowly making their way off the ferry.
The air had stilled now that the boat was no longer in motion and warm air enveloped her like a feather-light duvet.
She knew she might feel hot later on as she explored the town under the afternoon sun, But for now the warmth felt cozy and welcoming.
And no matter what, the cool aquamarine waters awaited her on the other side of her explorations plus maybe, a smooth Italian ice cream.
The line of people was exiting the boat and walking onto the dock now.
Amelia, in turn, stepped from the ferry onto the crowded dock.
The lake water rippled softly on either side of her.
It felt a little strange to stand on solid ground after being on the gently rocking ferry.
Here in the port, the deeper water was a shade darker than the aquamarine of the shallows at the tip of the peninsula.
The color was just as electrifying, though, a rich, deep blue that made her pause and stare.
Then she looked up and walked along the dock and across the busy piazza which was paved with careful patterns of interlocking stones.
She headed across the piazza. to the small winding streets beyond.
She began to roam them peacefully, soaking up the lovely historic sights without any particular agenda.
After all, it was a small town and anywhere she walked was equally stunning.
She would take her time strolling around wherever she wound up, although she did want to make sure to take in some good views of the castle at some point.
When she was done exploring the town, she would walk around the peninsula to swim beneath the Roman ruins.
Amelia wandered happily up one small street and down another.
She walked through a tiny street so narrow that it was hardly more than a single-file pedestrian path, with a thin slice of castle wall visible at the end.
All the streets were paved with flat stones or grey bricks.
The walls that lined them were painted in various enchanting tones, from earthy terracotta to rich red, sunny yellow and lake blue.
Another street took her through an arched opening in the old city walls, so thick that the archway was like a short tunnel.
Above the arch Pale purple bougainvillea climbed to the old stone walls.
The abundant pinkish-purple blooms and green foliage made a striking contrast against the yellows and greys of the stone.
And then, the castle loomed up ahead of her, surrounded by water, except at its entrance.
It was the perfect image of a medieval castle from a storybook, with its moat, crenellated walls and towers rising symmetrically on both sides and a wide entrance.
Its solid stone rose majestically against the backdrop of blue and white formed by fluffy clouds drifting low in the bright sky.
Amelia admired the castle for some time, daydreaming drowsily about nights and the age of chivalry.
Finally however, she decided to continue on towards the aquamarine waters and the promise of a refreshing dip.
She was planning to return one evening for a tour of the castle during the cooler hours.
So this afternoon, she was free to swim and relax by the lake.
She again walked through the narrow streets, this time with purpose, heading for the opposite side of the peninsula.
Her path briefly took her uphill over the swell of the high land before descending to the other shore.
There, the placid waters of the lake appeared again, with a tower of the castle framing the scene on one side.
In front of the tower, a profusion of bougainvillea flowers bloomed.
The colors of the turquoise water, blue sky and purple flowers beside the castle tower were so dazzling that Amelia decided instantly that she would take up her hobby of painting again.
She stared at the gorgeous scene for a few minutes, committing it to memory.
When she returned to her home after this trip, she would render it in oil and canvas.
She would enjoy the creative exercise and the opportunity to relive her adventures.
Smiling to herself at her plan, Amelia went out to a little path that wound along the water.
She would follow this all the way to the small beach at the tip of the peninsula.
As she made her way towards her destination, she looked out dreamily at the lake.
Its waters were so pure and clear that they drew the eye somehow, requiring all her attention just to appreciate their brilliance.
There was little room left in her mind for conscious thoughts as she absorbed the hypnotic ripples of the small waves that blew steadily over the lake.
Tiny white caps swept across the rich turquoise water, seeming to reflect the milky white of the clouds that sailed across the azure sky overhead.
A family of ducks, paddled by a handful of young ones, swimming confidently just ahead of their mother, who trailed serenely observing her flock.
Further out, boats scurried across the water And as Amelia watched them pass, another bird caught her eye.
This one was a large white swan floating regally on the blue lake, its long neck held high and proud.
It reminded her of a family of swans she'd seen back in the harbor in Bardellino as she waited for the ferry.
There'd been two big white feathered parents with black around their eyes and sunset orange beaks, followed by four grayish youngsters.
All the birds with their sweet little families were a pleasant surprise at the lake.
She'd expected lots of history, scenery, and charming towns full of fun.
But the birdwatching was a wonderful bonus.
The Regal Swans were another site that she would paint when she got back home, she decided.
She would need to get some good new oil paints and a number of canvases in different sizes.
She might get watercolours too, she thought.
Amelia had made her way along most of the peninsula now, and the land was curving away to the left.
She stepped around and saw the aquamarine shallows stretching out in front of her.
People were splashing happily in the shallow waters, which looked so cool and inviting.
Amelia quickly found a spot on shore for her few belongings, then took off her sundress and hat.
She waded out into the water, which was pleasantly cool. but not cold, around her feet.
She walked in deeper, feeling the slick stones beneath her toes and the lake washing over her legs.
When she was deep enough, She submerged quickly.
The water flowed up and over her, refreshing her and sweeping away the hair from her forehead.
She blew bubbles and then surfaced. blinking the droplets out of her eyes and looking around.
There, on the hillside behind the beach, she saw the remains of the ancient Roman villa.
She lay back and floated, drifting peacefully, supported by the cushiony water.
Amelia stared at the shape of the old Roman walls and the ageless hillside outlined by the deep blue sky.
Olive trees grew thickly among the jagged walls.
Their dusty green foliage was striking against the blue.
The cool waves slapped against her skin, and the sun warmed her.
She let her gaze go fuzzy as she stared into the tranquility of the sky.
She thought of the many people who must have enjoyed these cooling waters over the centuries.
The ancient Romans who vacationed at the villa in this picturesque spot.
The medieval lords from Verona.
The Venetian merchants' families, the Victorian-era travelers who came for the healing thermal waters.
After swimming and then relaxing on the waterfront for a while, She planned to walk up the small hill to explore the remains of the Roman villa.
She looked forward to wandering through it and imagining what it was like in its heyday.
She would see what was left of the grand halls and the private suites, with views out across the lake.
She would admire the remnants of the indoor baths, heated plumbing and sophisticated water storage that the villa had contained.
For this moment though, she was perfectly content.
Right here, right now, drifting on the soft buoyancy of the vast aquamarine waters of Lake Garda, gently pulling her to and fro with the calming rhythm of the softly rippling water.
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