La photo qui m’a changée : retour au lac de Côme

There’s a photo – actually, a collection of photos – that has shaped, and continues to shape the way I look at travel, identity and belonging. In these pictures, my mother is on holiday with her brothers, their ages spanning the years between childhood and adolescence. My beloved grandmother is behind the camera, capturing these fleeting moments. 

Glamorous holidays were certainly not a regular part of my mother’s childhood. In fact, opportunities for travel were relatively rare. In the 1980s, seeing a Chinese family holidaying in Europe would have been quite unusual, especially a Chinese family that had travelled all the way from Malaysia. Yet, as it turns out, I come from a long line of intrepid travellers: my great-grandfather was one of the first Malaysians of Chinese descent to study abroad and my grandmother studied in England, too, recounting multiple occasions when she was turned away from various hotels and establishments because of the colour of her skin.

This is worlds apart from the reality that I occupy now, where my British passport grants me unhindered access to most countries around the globe. This was also long before the hyper-globalisation of travel as we know it today, where you can book a trip by simply tapping your phone, and Instagram and AI can curate entire itineraries. In my mother’s youth, holidays required painstaking planning and research, along with a bold attitude, given that you were venturing into the relative unknown.

And yet, there they are in the 1980s, enjoying an adventure that still feels extraordinary to me: a tour around Europe, which included a stay at Lake Como’s opulent Grand Hotel Tremezzo, gifted by a generous aunt. In one particular photo my uncles dangle over the balcony of their hotel room, grins as wide as Cheshire cats; in another, my mother lovingly looks over the lake while circling the pool at nearby Villa d’Este. 

Unlike my mother’s childhood, my own was full of movement and cross-continental explorations. Our family holidays shaped some of my favourite childhood memories, such as guzzling gelato while wandering the cobbled streets of Siena, ordering 4am room service because we were jetlagged in Hong Kong, and breaking record step counts navigating New York’s famous museums and galleries. 

These holidays revealed a world far bigger than the city I grew up in, and showed me that travel was all about discovery. My parents were avid travellers, full of curiosity and courage, often navigating spaces that were not always welcome to them. Yet, for all of the curiosity that I absorbed from them, I often felt self-conscious while travelling through Europe (and even within the UK) as a child. I still remember going on a trip to a remote part of Wales and being gawped at as though we were aliens.

More than thirty years after those blurry photos of my mother and uncles at Lake Como were taken, my sister and I found ourselves in the very same place, staying at the very same hotel – Grand Hotel Tremezzo. The full-circle nature of this was not lost on me; somewhere my family might once have been anomalies thanks to the colour of their skin was now openly welcoming me to review the hotel as a travel writer. 

The hotel was every bit as glamorous and glitzy as I had hoped it would be and Lake Como even more spectacular. The expansive water was dramatic and regal in its stillness, sparkling in the sunshine, and wrapped from every angle by mountains and colourful villages. As we wound along the serpentine lakeside in a taxi, I was struck breathless by its enormity. Meanwhile, Grand Hotel Tremezzo has long been synonymous with the lake itself: the grande dame that has straddled its shores for over a century, bright orange canopies fluttering against its butter-yellow facade. A floating pool bobs on the lake in front of the hotel, framed by candy-cane striped parasols. 

Our three days here unfolded in giddy exuberance, from feasting on saffron-infused risotto (sprinkled with gold-leaf, no less), to cruising the lake in a sleek Riva speedboat and mornings spent sipping espresso on our balcony perched high above the water. The stay here was nothing short of glorious: a sun-soaked summer jaunt that felt like we were living the Slim Aarons dream. Visiting Lake Como was, in some ways, a quiet act of defiance. We belonged there, just as much as anyone else. Being invited to review a hotel that once might have felt a little hostile to my ancestors was proof of that.

La photo me rappelle une chose : nous ne serons pas toujours bien accueillis partout, mais cela ne doit jamais nous empêcher d’y aller. On ne grandit pas sans voyager, et cela ne nécessite pas forcément de traverser un océan ou de prendre l’avion ; parfois, il suffit de changer de ville ou de région. Voyager, c’est quitter sa zone de confort, élargir son regard sur le monde, découvrir d’autres cultures et chercher à les comprendre. C’est explorer de nouveaux horizons, goûter d’autres cuisines, rencontrer et respecter des personnes qui ne nous ressemblent pas, et parlent une langue que l’on ne comprend pas. Les sourires et la gentillesse sont universels, et même s’il m’arrive de me sentir intimidée ou pas vraiment à ma place dans des lieux inconnus, c’est cette curiosité profonde — celle de découvrir et de grandir — qui me pousse à avancer. Comparées à ce que mes ancêtres ont dû endurer, ces difficultés sont minimes, et je me sens profondément privilégiée de pouvoir découvrir le monde ainsi.