An Invitation to Exhale: My Time at Villa Lario

Written by Kaci Smith

You don’t go to Villa Lario by accident. It’s not one of the better-known names on the lake, and it doesn’t announce itself like the grand dames of Como. But that’s part of its allure — and charm.

Tucked into the cliffside near the quiet town of Pognana Lario, this villa feels like something you were invited to, not something you booked. And maybe that’s why it stays with you — long after you leave.

I arrived with my husband on a warm afternoon in early May, a bit bleary eyed and jet-lagged, but so excited for what was to come. As we pulled up to the Villa after an easy drive from Milan, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.

We settled into the rhythm of Villa Lario almost without noticing. Mornings unfolded slowly over coffee and stunning lake views — the kind where you’re not quite sure where the water ends and the sky begins. Afternoons passed in sun-soaked gorgeousness, and by the second day, it felt like the pace of the place had somehow become our own.

I remember our second afternoon vividly – we cozied ourselves into white plush robes that had been hanging in the closet and waiting patiently for us, and opened a bottle of crisp white wine on the private stone patio just outside our room.

The air was crisp but still felt warm – like summer holding its breath. From where we sat, the view opened wide across the lake, with villas dotting the hillside in soft tones and small boats trailing silent wakes through the water below.

It was peaceful in a way that felt rare. The kind of quiet that wasn’t about silence, but about the absence of noise — no traffic, no bustle, no manufactured atmosphere. Just the breeze through the trees, the hum of the lake, and the stillness that seemed to settle over everything.

Villa Lario offered a kind of elegance that felt unspoken — the setting, the feeling of peace, and the view doing exactly what they were meant to do –  in unison without interruption.

What stood out most at Villa Lario wasn’t extravagance — it was awareness. A kind of thoughtful ease that made every interaction feel natural, personal, and perfectly timed. With only eighteen suites, the property never felt crowded. It felt curated — quiet, familiar, and beautifully unhurried.

One evening, without a reservation, we wandered into the dining room just as other guests were beginning to settle in. A table was set for us in the corner of the room — plush seating, candlelight flickering against the stone, and the hum of conversation underlined by the soft clink of silverware. It felt like being welcomed into someone’s home, not seated at a hotel restaurant.

Dinner wasn’t just a meal — it was an experience. Most guests dined around the same time, not out of schedule, but because the energy of the place gently pulled everyone toward that moment together. The atmosphere was intimate without being quiet, elevated without being formal.

Service flowed without interruption or performance. The staff knew when to engage, when to pull back, and how to make you feel both cared for and left alone — a delicate balance most properties never master.

As an American traveler, I’ve come to recognize the difference between service that’s polished and service that’s intuitive. Villa Lario understood the rhythm of relaxation. It wasn’t about what was offered — it was about what was anticipated.

By our third and final day, we weren’t ready to leave. Not in the usual “we could stay forever” kind of way, but in a quieter, more settled sense — like our nervous systems had just caught up to the pace of the place. We had finally sunk into it fully, and now we had to go.

There’s something that happens when a hotel understands how to fade into the background just enough to let life happen. No one was trying to impress us. No one was trying to entertain us. And somehow, that’s what made it feel most luxurious.

I’ve stayed in properties that were stunning, well-reviewed, expensive — but they didn’t shift anything in me. Villa Lario did.

It reminded me that the best hospitality doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t crowd the moment. It just holds space — for you to rest, reconnect, and feel like yourself again. It reinforced something I already knew but hadn’t named until that point: this is the life I want more of. Not just the views or the meals or the luxury, but the feeling of being immersed in something beautiful, thoughtful, and completely intentional.

I left with a renewed sense of what fills me up about traveling — the planning, the anticipation, the experience itself, and the memory it leaves behind. This is what I love: discovering places like Villa Lario, where the setting is elegant and the details are just right. Where nothing feels forced, and everything is exactly as it should be.

That stay reminded me that beauty matters. That slowing down matters. That there’s something powerful in helping people feel something — even through a space, a service, or a small, unexpected moment.

And maybe that’s what I took with me most: the desire to keep chasing that feeling — and helping others find it, too.