1. In Cinque Terre, Italy, there are five small towns along the coast that make up one of the more beautiful places on earth.
A trail leads from town to town but unfortunately as we arrived, flooding and landslides caused the trail to be mostly closed down.
Our hotel was in the southernmost town of Riomaggiore -- a small, hilly town with wonderful locals and good food.
The night we arrived it had just finished raining and I took to the road for a run up into the hills south of Riomaggiore. Water was gushing down the road and a light rain was still falling from the sky.
The hill kept climbing and climbing as my legs ached more and more with each step. I passed a small bar that looked out at the water. I passed dozens of small cars and some bicycles that sped down the hill into the town.
My shoes became sopping wet by the time that I was able to turn around and make the quick descent down the hill back into town.
The run had literally taken my breath away. The view only figuratively did.
2. We ate at a restaurant in Riomaggiore for our first meal and as seems the custom in Cinque Terre we were warmly greeted by the restaurant owners -- a beautiful Italian family with the grandfather serving as the gracious host. I would call the food at La Lampara good but not great -- however, the wine and ambiance were incredible.
We laughed the night away drinking glass after glass of wine until we ended the evening at a bar up the road with some good, American mixed drinks. Even with a cocky (kind of a jerk really) waiter, we managed to enjoy ourselves.
3. Run number two was to become more of an adventure race than a run for me. I overcame my hangover with some late morning prosciutto and bread from a market near our hotel and filled up my Camelback bag with water. Up the hills once again but this time heading north on the paved road leading to the next town up the coast. I ran at least 5 or 6 miles to get to the town but pleasantly ran into the Waldorf group by the time I arrived.
On my way there I took time to enjoy an espresso and blood orange on that bar overlooking the coast, I found a place to swim in the ocean for a while and I meandered about the town before running into the group.
We sat to drink some schiacctera (sweet dessert wine) and eat some cheese before heading back to Riomaggiore in the late afternoon.
4. That evening was kind of a drunk-fest. Not going to lie. I bought a bottle of Chianti and we headed down to the water to do some swimming and jumping off rocks. My and 3-4 of the Waldorf girls braved the really cold water and swam around for a while in the salty, ocean water. (The wine helped us stay warm!).
After that we headed to dinner in Moterrosso (and I managed to get a 50 euro ticket for not having a train ticket on the way there -- by the way, Italian train police are absolute douschebags and are the main reason that I am cheering against Italy in the World Cup -- a bunch of dramatic babies!).
Dinner was fun and we enjoyed great service and quality food (and more wine!).
When we got back to Riomaggiore, guess what!, more wine!
The night ended at the spot we had been swimming earlier in the day with that "jerk" of a waiter from the night before, a bunch of Norweigan women who loved my blond hair and a couple of the Waldorf kids. We drank more wine. We drank Limoncello. We drank beer.
The former "jerk" Italian waiter was now our friendly guitarist for the evening and he sang Bob Marley songs as we drank the night away.
As 4 AM rolled around, I decided to stumble up the hill to our hotel. No running for me on this jaunt -- heck, I could barely walk.
5. Leaving Italy the next day with a severe (and I mean severe) hangover in tow, I realized that my romance with Italy was falling apart.
My first trip to Italy had been a punch-drunk love affair. The museums, churches, food and wine, the culture......they had made me fall in love with an ancient remnant -- a life lived in the past but a life not lived by me.
This second trip to Italy was an open-eyed balancing act. Teetering on the edge of affection for the beauty that the country provides while nearly slipping into the frustration and anger that came from a boastful people clinging to old ways without accepting the new.
I realize now, looking back on the trip, that Italy doesn't have to be a singular idea in my head. It can actually be a place that changes for me -- from good to bad, a love-hate relationship of sorts.
A place of variety. Not just one or two places, really.
Something more like five lands -- or as the Italians would say "Cinque Terre."
Enjoy the ride,
Damm
