You know that fantasy you have while sipping Select spritz—the one where you’re an Italian count with a villa on Lake Como, a custom Riva at the dock, and just enough leisure time to learn the rules of bocce? Passalacqua is that fantasy made inconveniently real—minus the title, but with all the trappings. Let’s start with the setup: 24 rooms spread across an 18th-century villa, a palazz converted from the stables, and a slick lakeside house. It’s set high above the water in Moltrasio, a village so picturesque it feels like set dressing for a Fellini remake. The hotel, recently revived by the De Santis family (a name worth knowing if Lake Como is your thing), is a fever dream of Italian craftsmanship. Frescoes. Marble. Murano glass. Enough silk to upholster a Maserati showroom.
And yet—somehow—it doesn’t feel like a museum. Passalacqua’s genius lies in walking the very fine line between palatial and personal. You’re not just a guest here; you’re a temporary resident of a world that operates on espresso, elegance, and total quiet from 3 to 5 p.m.
Suites Built for Kings.
This is where you come to sleep like a duke: hand-embroidered linens made from birch-tree fibers (seriously), carved ceilings, antique desks with just enough room for your Moleskine and the lie that you’re “working on a novel.” TVs are hidden inside vintage-style trunks. Light switches are solid brass. And every bathroom looks like it belongs in the Vatican guest wing. Dyson Airwraps in every room, too—ostensibly for the ladies, but I won’t judge you if you go full Como wave.
You Call It a Garden. They Call It Seven Acres of Tactical Beauty.
Outside, you’ve got terraced gardens that feel like something Napoleon would have commissioned on a good day. Olive trees, rose bushes, lemon groves, and lavender that practically begs to be Instagrammed. There’s a bocce court (because of course), a chicken coop (which you will unexpectedly find charming), and a 200-year-old greenhouse that now moonlights as a poolside backdrop. It’s hard to tell whether it’s meant for relaxation or fashion photography—probably both.
You Can Dine Anywhere. And You Should.
The kitchen here doesn’t operate like a hotel kitchen. It feels more like a private chef’s home base. No QR codes or room service menus—just walk in, talk to the chef, and tell him what you’re craving. He’ll probably smile, nod, and whip it up better than you imagined. Want to eat in the Rose Garden? Done. By the lake? Of course. On the terrace with a bottle of Barolo and a view of the Alps? Naturally. The food leans classic—seasonal Italian done without ego. House-made pasta. Vegetables from the garden. Jams that somehow make you reevaluate jam. Breakfast is a low-key banquet. And if you’re traveling with a small human, the staff will make them feel like royalty. Slippers. Robes. Sweets. A soft toy. Good luck convincing them to leave.
Come for the Quiet. Stay for the Swagger.
This isn’t a party spot. It’s not scene-y. You won’t find poolside DJs or influencer brunches here. What you will find is a deep, satisfying silence, broken only by the sound of lake water, soft footsteps on stone, or someone carefully opening a bottle of Franciacorta on the terrace.
The staff gets it. They’re sharp, attentive, and efficient, in that northern Italian way that suggests they know more than you and won’t say a word about it. They’ll remember your name, your wine, and how you take your coffee—then vanish until needed.
A masterclass in Italian hospitality, a place where the grandeur isn’t performative—it’s personal. Whether you’re a seasoned Como veteran or a first-timer looking to ruin all other hotels for yourself forever, this is the spot.
You don’t need to pack much. Just a crisp linen shirt, a good book you won’t read, and the humility to accept that someone’s done leisure better than you.
By Lucas Raven (a man who showed up for the lake, stayed for the sheets, and now dreams in stucco)
