Sep 29 2008
Italian Riviera
Before I left for my trip, I would tell random strangers that I was going to Europe. The only way for me to get through a shift at my crappy retail job was to talk about Europe, “Your total comes to $45.97, and hey did I mention I’m going to Europe?”People would politely say, “Good for you.” Or they would recommend I see a particular something. Over and over people said go to Chique Terra. Even Rick Steves names it his favorite place in Europe and I quickly saw why. Chique Terra translates to five villages, side by side connected by a coastal trail along the Italian Riviera. The Italians used this land to hide from pirates, now it’s a hidden treasure. Each village is clumped together with pastel villas clinging to the mountainside. I checked in with the Tourist Information center for a hostel.
The manager of the hostel walked me up to the room, he showed me around and I got really excited when I saw the bode in the bathroom. “Sweet! I’ve always wanted to use a bode,” I said to the manager as I sat on the porcelain.
It wouldn’t be a trip to Europe without the splash of cold water on your butthole after a big shit.” The manager laughed, “that’s not a bode, it’s a urinal.”
My first impression of Italians is that there really is no such thing as “indoor voices.” They all talk at the same time, the only way to be heard is to talk louder, but there’s no way anyone could possibly understand what the other is saying. Most towns shut down between two and four in the afternoon for Italian nap time, which makes sense, I’m exhausted just listening to them speak and their tempers are out of control. I was using the restroom at a McDonald’s when this guy started freaking out. His friends had to hold him back from killing the kid behind the counter for forgetting cheese on his McBurger.
The next day I hiked the five villages. I’ve always been a little clumsy but with the heavy backpack, my center of gravity was more off than usual. As I reached the third village, I noticed a Gelato stand and picked up the pace down a sandy sidewalk then BAM! I went down, flat on my face. I couldn’t get back up because my backpack was so heavy. I rolled myself onto my back but like a turtle I was even more stuck rolling from side to side. A family came over and picked me up. Both knees bled as I ate my chocolate gelato with satisfaction then went for a swim to clean myself up. After drying off I continued onto the fourth village. Along the way I thought I was identifying an Aloe Vera plant, to rub on my bloody knees. I broke off a part of the plant and like a porcupine I was attacked by needles. This was no Aloe Vera, this was an evil Italian cactus. I spent hours, picking needles from all parts of my body including my tongue. For days every time I ate something I could feel needles getting lodged deeper in my flesh, my new dieting secret: eat a cactus.
from my book: Scars of Paris available at Borders Barnes & Nobles Amazon
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