Out of shape and without a map, into the hills we go.

I’d like to reccommend Campo Grande to anyone who ever drinks any wine. Now, I haven’t tried it myself but I had the good fortune to meet Tony, a proprietor in the company.Tony is a very kind, generous old man wiht an adorable bulbous nose and a soft spot for foreigners stranded at bus stops in Volastra.

But how do I know this? And where the heck is Volastra? And what did I eat octopus for dinner? This and more will be revealed after a short report of Wednesday’s misadventures.

Heading out to the campsite I found the right bus and got off at the right stop – woah. I even accidently happened upon the campsite when I stopped to ask directions. Got a ride to my tent, which was a relief after carrying my bag for way too long. I had a short Italian convo with Elvin, to whom -fast forward four hours- I was clinging to as we zoomed through Florence on his moto. Sorry Dad, but it just seemed rude to ignore oppertunity’s knock twice in a row. Plus, it worked out for Hillary Duff, it should work out for me.

But life once again reminded me that I don’t live in a movie, or if I do it’s a comedy of errors. After driving around for a while, we stopped in an empty parking lot so I could try driving. Omg omg omg, right. It was very How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, except i was really quite a natural. At least untilit came time to stop and I tipped me over and poured me out, all over the concrete. I suffered only minor scrapes and a bruised ego, but the moto wouldn’t start. Um, oops. He said it was just out of gas, but after walking it to the station and filling it up it still wouldn’t start. Probably the battery, he forgot to charge it. So we went for a drink – just one- and had the typical conversation that people who vaugely understand each other’s language are able to have. And I told him all about my big strong Texas boyfriend, just to be clear.

When we got back to the bike, it miraculously started, but only then we realized the helmets were locked in the seat and needed the key from the ignition to open. Obviously, the bike didn’t start again. We were stranded outside Florence trying to muscle the seat open and use our mental powers to recharge the battery. He called a friend, but that call used up the last of his cell phone credits and he couldn’t make another call. I think he was incredibly confused at how unfazed I was by the whole situation, but please. Undrivable auto and useless phone? Stop stealin’ my groove, son. Anyway, his friend called us a taxi and we arrived safely home. Though I was thouroughly dissapointed not to be arriving by moto, all is well that ends well, right?

Then yesterday my tentmate Akina and I went to hike the Cinque Terre, five impossibly picturesque towns by the sea. It’s about 7 miles to hike between all the towns, and about 6 miles uphill. But I laced up my manly hiking boots and we did it. Actually, we over did it. Bigt time. These deceptive little signals were supposed to be leading us between towns and that worked fine until the fourth town. It was only about 7, and since we had taken a break in the third town for a soda and to play ballgirls for an impromptu children’s soccer game, we decided to power through. The hike to town five was only supposed to be about 20 minutes, and we were looking forward to a nice meal watching the sunset in Riomaggiore.

We saw the sun had set as we peered through a berry farm and fought brambly bushes. The trail we followed, though clearly marked, had apparently not seen any other visitors in the last year or so. It deadended at the top of a hill, from where we could see the town we were now doubting was Riomaggiore. After walking up the road and arriving in a rather deserted town, we learned we were in Volastra. It was 830 and the bus driving to the station passed us on the road coming in, the next bus wouldn’t be for an hour. Oye. The next bus would be at 930, so we had a lovely meal at a truely authentic itlalian resturant with the menu handwritten and the chef bringing out about half the plates. Our meal was delicious, despite the fact we had no idea what we ordered. And I ate squid and muscles! How atypically adventureous of me! We were crossing our fingers that the bus was still running when we met Tony and his beautiful red car. We made it to the station, and after trying to board and out of service train, were on our way to Pisa. From there it was only a 90 minute wait, a 2 hour bus ride and a 12€ cab ride and we were home, hooray!

Akina couldn’t stop laughing hysterically at how ridiculous it all was, but that is my life.

Monterossa, Town 1

Vernazza, Town 2

Corniglia, Town 3

Manarola, Town 4. Where it all fell apart.

This hike was no joke. Gasping for air after 9 flights of stairs.

It was a treasure hunt, with the prize being sweaty, salty, sandy and utterly lost.

View an hour into our 20 minute hike to Riomaggiore

Could that be Riomaggiore? It's supposed to be a beach town.. but maybe..

Another postcard.

Forgive my spelling errors ect. the timer is flashing at me and causing extreme panic. Leave me a comment, I miss people!

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