Stresa was a much more touristy place than Arona, English was understood more and it had been more cosmetically maintained.  The big hotel on the front looked as if it had been zapped out of a Jane Austin novel, even down to the wrought iron table and chairs on each little veranda with cloths and cushions.  There is a ski lift type gondola which I bravely agreed to ride to the top of a beautiful mountain where I was able to enjoy a stiff brandy to calm my nerves.  Sitting there enjoying the clear air and the views, I was suddenly addressed from behind by this slow American drawl, enquiring if I was English.  One glance at Alex’s expression transported me to the Fawlty Towers sketch! In my unwilling role of Sybil I attended to their tales of travel with interest feeling my level of discomfort rising as they started to relate their itinery for the next day on their tour which included a trip to Switzerland, returning to Stresa to visit two Islands, then getting ready for dinner to travel to the third island (isola). Alex’s contribution to the conversation finally emerged with an exclamation of how that was all far too much, in true Basilesque, until he finally noted my disapproving stare!