The whole time I was in San Marino, I felt like I was just about the only person in the country. The 61 sq. km-sized nation is located in eastern Italy and is not reachable by train. Relying on bus schedules scanned and posted on the internet, I missed the last connection there on the night I needed to go, so I ended up having to take a taxi across the border and into my town. I stayed at the hostel there for two nights—the only person in an 8-bed room—and had as the only sign of another human being the occasional occupation of the bathroom I shared with my next-door neighbor. San Marino's capital (San Marino) seemed equally deserted. Other than one group of Japanese tourists, some construction workers, and a few couples strolling between the three towers and along the city wall, there was hardly anyone around. And though I had imagined sunny and welcoming rather than dreary and moderately deserted, it worked. The oldest republic in the world, set up on a hill, guarded by stone walls and towers. Fog just fits.
I got to Riomaggiore in mid-afternoon and found an envelope hanging outside the hostel office with my name on it. Inside was a key and detailed directions to the building I’d be staying in. It turned out to be an 8-person, 1-kitchen, 2-bathroom apartment behind a sliding green door at a out-of-the-way intersection nearly too tight to maneuver my backpack through. It was fantastic. After dropping off my stuff and having the owner enthusiastically tell me about the room’s new paint job and repeatedly ask for my stamp of approval, I went out to explore the city and witness one of the most amazing sunsets I’ve ever seen. When I got back to the room, I discovered two friendly Canadians and a New Zealander. We talked, the Kiwi gave me a run-down on the walking paths (what trails were closed, and how she walked them anyway without any trouble), and I was just happy—still mildly intoxicated from the sunset, already excited about walking the next day. The girl from N.Z. was in the same mood. “It’s just a good day,” she said at one point, and, though I’d spent most of it on busses, in stations, and on trains, I couldn’t have agreed more.
Coming into Vernazza from the Cinque Terre city of Corneglia is positively gorgeous—houses crammed together and painted in bold pastels, bordered by grape-covered hills on one side and teal-y blue sea on the other, white waves spraying up over the dark black rocks at the base of the cliffs. I wasn’t supposed to make that walk, but was so glad I did. For the next section, though, I decided not to break the rules again. I could just hike into the mountains instead of taking the closed coastal path. Ultimately—because I eventually found my way and did not slip or get hurt or die—it was a great alternative and awesome experience. While it was happening, I wasn’t always so pleased. It started raining and then snowing as I followed a trail that didn’t seem to match my map and climbed higher and higher into the mountains. I got soaked. I was worried it’d get dark. The trails were slippery and steep and hardly existent. When I stopped thinking about these things and realized that I was the only thing high up on a brush-covered mountain (no more trees by this point) overlooking the sea, it felt amazing. Then I’d start to feel my cold socks instead and would move on again, walking even faster.
Sometimes things don’t really go your way. Getting drenched the day before two nights of night trains is an example. Or so it might have been, had it not been for the awesome inn-keeper and some friendly Frenchmen (and women) staying in my hostel. In addition to the Canadians and New Zealander, all of whom were moving out that day, there were three travelers from France, who had agreed the night before to let me keep my stuff in the room until I caught my night train. This was great, but I didn’t figure I’d actually get to “use” the room on the second day I wasn’t paying for. On the contrary, they welcomed me back and let me hang out there for several hours. My wet shoes, socks, and pants were able to dry. I avoided sitting at the station for hours in the howling wind. I got to take a shower. It was fantastic.
Every time I told someone in Germany about going to Italy, they made it seem like the trip was an escape to a tropical paradise. I guess I kind of started to believe them, so I was disappointed when I experienced snow once again in Rome. My shoes and one pair of pants were saturated within an hour of setting out to explore the city, and I went back to the train station to get a map and change clothes before going out again. The next pair of pants was soon wet to the knees and I shivered my way through some of the main sights of Rome: Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, St. Peter’s Basilica. By the time I started walking back from the Vatican, my teeth were chattering uncontrollably and I was pretty much ready to find a plane heading home. Thankfully, the snow stopped for good around this point, and I got to see the Roman Forum and Colosseum lit by afternoon sun. That night, I slept in an actual night train bunk, and though it was really just a piece of minimally-padded, upholstered metal, it felt as if I were in the bed of a caesar.
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