Lido Palace - Riva del Garda

After a temperament-testing 5am budget-airline check-in and a hair-raising ride along what Mr Smith and I have coined The Bonkers Road (Milan-to-Venice Autostrada A4), we arrived in Riva del Garda a little frazzled. It took us several drive-bys to finally click the indicator and make our manoeuvre down the long, palm-tree lined driveway to the Lido Palace. Silence immediately ensued as the modern rustic gate came steadily closer…

‘Buongiorno, may I take your name?’ came a warm voice through the intercom. ‘Welcome, we have been expecting you,’ she continued, and the gate opened to reveal a palatial mansion behind a canopy of trees. Mr Smith and I turned to each other, our lips curling into the beginning of two excited grins conveying the kind of telepathic happiness you get when you know that whatever is about to happen, it’s going to be good.

We were greeted by the charming Danilo, who before we knew it had whisked us into reception while the car had disappeared behind the trees – our bags had vanished to we didn’t know or care. There was a feeling of being in safe hands as we stood in the all-glass atrium, a cutting-edge addition to the 19th-century building where old meets new in utter harmony.

It’s a juxtaposition that runs throughout the hotel. A humongous canvas of abstract graffiti art (that we were told is valued at a whopping €800k) takes centre stage on the original staircase; the palatial reading rooms with high ceilings, Corinthian columns and huge bay windows are furnished with bold, sweeping turquoise chaise lounges; and the bedrooms have the feeling of a brand-new Manhattan penthouse but with the kind of breath-taking views across Lake Garda that you would have expected here a century ago.

Arriving in our room after a tour of the hotel (where we’d clocked two lake-side seats on a wooden perfect for prosecco-sipping), Mr Smith and I did what we always do – we inspected the room with a running commentary. ‘Look! A loo with a view!’ and ‘Have you seen the size of the bed?’ (It was the kind that my mother always tells me belies an unhappy marriage: absolutely brilliantly massive). Despite all this, it wasn’t all-singing and all-dancing extravagance. Like the mountain town it is nestled into, Lido Palace is the definition of discreet luxury; the kind of place where the linen and pillows, Acqua di Parma toiletries, walk-in rainforest shower, and magnificent lake views speak – make that whisper seductively – for themselves.

Since we were only in town for two nights, we headed straight out to explore (via that deck of course). Mr Smith and I know Italy well but neither of us had been this far north. I can’t remember what we were expecting, but whatever it was, it was superseded by tranquillity, beauty and a general sense of peace. Riva del Garda is more picturesque and manicured than the charming southern scruff we are used to. Antiquarian bookshops are hugged by cobblers and wine bars, cafés and tobacconists while cobbled streets sidle up to stretches of grass bursting with brightly coloured blooms.

By the afternoon we were back at the hotel giggling like teenagers as we swaddled ourselves in the sumptuous bathrobes and made our way down in the lift to the Centoundici Spa. I thought it would take more convincing to get Mr Smith seen in public belted at the waist with spa slippers on, but the promise of six sauna rooms with mood-sensory lighting and triple-effect showers was clearly all the incentive he needed. We floated between the chamomile-infused warm bath, an uplifting citrus-vapour Turkish bath, the Mediterranean sauna and a salt room, before finishing in the relaxation room with a tea infusion.

Next we napped like babies in that big bed (cuddled into just one half of it – I love to dispel my mother’s myths), awaking to the sound of the lake sploshing gently against the shore and the sight of evening sun bouncing off the water. I left Mr Smith to doze as I slid my robe on again and returned to the spa for a 50-minute CXI massage – it topped all other massages. My treat of the trip ticked, it was only fair to spoil Mr Smith with the sole thing to pull him from slumber: food. The hotel offers two restaurants, the Tremani for long and languid lunches and the Il Re della Busa for elegant mountain-view dinners. We found a spot of the terrace where we bathed in late sunshine and dined on trout carpaccio, linguine ai frutti di mare and shrimp tempura (all locally sourced and the more delicious for it), marvelling for the hundredth time at the spectacular views.

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering hand-in-hand around the lake, then the village, and then the lake again (‘oh go on, just one more time’) before early-evening Shirley Temples and Aperol spritzers served with generous antipasti at the excellent Nuovo 900 restaurant on Via Gazzoletti, a five-minute walk away. Lost in time, Shirleys were swapped for pintas (a drink-me-more blend of bitters, prosecco, soda and lemon) and our sojourn carried on spontaneously late into the night (exactly the kind of wise decision one makes when ridiculously well-rested and the early flight the following morning seems insignificant). Despite our Aperol heads, we arrived back at Milan Bergamo airport the picture of calm. What a difference to your state of mind a spell at Lido Palace can make.