In the Travel Season

mmmnFrom Venice we headed east for the Ligurian coast. This was in the travel season.
There had been a good number of people at the terminal and, beause we had been unable
to purchase a sleeper for the night, we took the first fare going west. It was a late night
ride through the country by train. For eight miserable hours we stumbled in and out of
sleep. Our coach was crowded with four little Italians. Shade and I were painfully
cramped. In the station we had been warned of Gypsy thieves who prowl the trains while
passengers sleep, sneaking into cars to steal whatever they can find. Suspicious of
everyone, we sat with our packs clutched tightly to our chests. Once I woke to find the
man opposite me peering at us with one open eye. Shade noticed it too, so we shouldered
our packs and set out to the dining car, where in the dim flicker of incandescent lights
men sat smoking cigarettes and drinking cafe. The only thing served was a ham and
mayonnaise sandwich, hot or cold, by a portly chef behind a small window at the back of
the car. For the next few hours we sat with our heads resting stiffly against the stuffed
linen of our packs, our eyes half-cocked in drowsy circumspection. Not long after the
sunrise emerged through our window the train came to a halt, and in muddled Italian the
conductor announced that we had finally arrived in La Spezia.
mmmnFrom there we caught a twenty-minute train ride to Cinque Terre, five small
fishing villages terraced into the cliffs at the northern crook of the Ligurian sea. There are
not many roads leading there, only one train services each of the five towns, and passage
between them is managed by a series of ancient, winding, cliff-hugging goat paths that
become dangerous at the narrower passes. Arriving in Monterosso, the principal of the
five villages, Shade and I walked to the tourist office just below the station and inquired
with the clerk for accommodations. While waiting in line we struck a conversation with a
backpacker from Ohio who was traveling through Europe on his own. To save money the
three of us took a single room with two beds.
mmmnAlong the main street small stores sold fresh vegetables and meats and wine, as
well as towels, beach mats, sunglasses, and sunscreens. Just below the street was a
beautiful pebbled beach and to the south stretched the sea. As we walked to the pension
up a steep road with our packs, we exchanged stories with John about our travels thus far.
He spoke mostly of Interlaken, Switzerland, which was the next place we planned to see.
He said it was the most beautiful place he had ever been. As Shade and I listened we
came to the pension, where a middle-aged woman in a garden dress led us up a staircase
through her house. She gave us the key to one of two rooms. Inside were two twin beds, a
private bathroom with a shower, and a window looking down on the garden below.
Beside the garden was a swimming pool that was off-limits to guests, and in the back-
yard was a chicken coop that housed an obnoxious rooster. Throwing off our packs, we
quickly undressed and crawled into bed for a few hours of much needed sleep.
mmmnAt around noon the rooster woke us up with its crowing. John got out of bed first.
He had a thin six-foot-three frame, a moppish blonde haircut, clean face, and some
marijuana he had bought in Switzerland. After showering he smoked his pipe standing on
the bed in his towel, blowing the smoke out the window. Shade showered next while I lay
in bed listening to music on his disc player. After my shower we all put on shorts and
went with our towels down to the beach.
mmmnThat day we relaxed by the water, swam, talked and watched girls. We ate an
early dinner and by sunset were back in the pension showering again, putting on our jeans
and shoes to walk to the bars and cafes. In the newer section of town, just beyond a long
tunnel that cut through a cliff at the end of the old main street, was a tavern where many
of the summer travelers had gathered. We stayed there most of the night, talking to
different people and drinking bottles of beer. One fellow from Canada had tried to hike to
the next town just before midnight and had fallen twenty feet down the side of a cliff. He
was bruised and bleeding and quite proud of his adventure. By the time the place shut
down at 2 am, we were awfully tired and drunk. Making our way back through the
tunnel, we trudged up the steep street to the old woman's house, and inside our room
Shade and I each took a puff of John's pipe before falling into bed to sleep.
mmmn
mmmnThe rooster woke us the next morning at nine. By nine-thirty John was at the
window with his pipe. After a small breakfast of focaccia and fresh cheese and tomatoes
and ham, we set out on our hike to Vernazza, the first of the four villages succeeding
Monterrosso to the East. It was a grueling climb. Beginning at sea level and rising steeply
through a landscape of magnificent stone walls and terraced vineyards, we were able to
view the coastline from high within the cliffs. At some places the trail grew so narrow
that two people would have been unable to pass. Along the way we stopped many times
to take pictures of the coastline, and after a ninety-minute jaunt we came to Vernazza,
where we explored the labyrinths of steep cobble stoned streets and stone-carved
stairways, then sat for awhile to rest and watch the blue, red and yellow boats bobbing in
the harbor.
mmmn"What do people do living in a place like this?" John wondered as we sat and
rested. "It's beautiful but look, its just cliffs and the sea. No roads, no office buildings, no
shopping malls. Really what the hell do they do?"
mmmn"They fish," said Shade. "And they grow vegetables and make wine. They do
what they need to live."
mmmnAcross the square was an old man selling shoes from a pushcart. As we rested I
watched him and wondered at the simplicity of the life he must live. In the Cinque Terre
there were no cars or corporate centers or celebrity gossip magazines, and it appeared that
life had little to do with the prestige of wealth, and much to do with the simple pleasure
of living. Admiringly I watched the old man, imagining that he had a cottage up the cliff
much like that of the old woman with which we were staying, with a garden of fresh
vegetables and perhaps a small pool and a workshop where he mended his shoes. Sitting
there for a short while, looking around the square at the happy vendors and the outdoor
café's and little shops, and at the fishing boats in the harbor with their nets hung to dry, it
all seemed very remarkable to me. The things that mattered to the people here were the
things that seemed to make sense.
mmmnFrom Vernazza to Corniglia was an arduous two-hour climb. After resting in a
tiny piazza filled with restaurants and shops, we decided against the final two hikes, and
hopped the train back to Monterosso. After lunch, walking through the tunnel to the
newer part of town, we noticed a small cove that cut into the cliffs, where two Italian
boys had climbed to a precipice and were jumping from the rocks into the sea. From
where we stood it looked awfully dangerous. The hardest part was climbing down.
Inching our way along the steep slope of the bluff, carefully placing one foot in front of
the other, we made our way to the jagged shelf where the two boys sat resting. They
looked up at us and smiled.
mmmn"There's no way I'm doing that," Shade said.
mmmnThe cove was wide enough for three people to swim, but only deep at the middle,
so that whomever jumped had to throw themselves accurately. Any misjudgment would
have meant landing on the sharp shallow rocks. While the two boys jumped the three of
us stood and debated whether we would do it or not. I was the first to go, then John, and
finally Shade had no choice but to follow last. After the first few jumps we got the hang
of it, and the Italian boys began showing off tricks. One did a somersault over the ledge
and splashed safely with his feet. The second boy went next, inching his heels over the
cliff and falling perfectly backward. Soon more people came, a young American couple,
and then there were six of us sitting on the ledge talking and waiting for the next person
to jump. Finally I got tired and just sat on the shallow rocks in the water, which felt nice
after hiking all morning in the sun.
mmmnAgain that night we went to the tavern beyond the tunnel. There we met two
American girls who had just come west from Budapest. One of them was a very pretty
brunette named Shauna, who looked like a gypsy with her deep-set brown eyes and dark
skin. With our drinks Shauna and I sat on a stone step outside the tavern and talked. She
had a sweet face and I was love with her, more in love than I had been with my beautiful
tour guide at the Vatican in Rome.
mmmn"We're leaving in the morning for Paris," she told me.
mmmnMy heart broke immediately and I frowned at my luck. Traveling was a lousy way
to fall in love. Everyone was always coming or going. I stayed out with Shauna all of that
night, talking about our lives back home, telling of the things we had seen, what we had
learned, and the plans we had made for when the traveling was done. She had received an
internship with a financial firm in the States. I still had to finish another year of school.
mmmn"What do you want to do?" she asked me.
mmmnTaking her hand we walked to the harbor and sat on the seawall, staring out where
the moon shone full on the surface. "Nothing, really."
mmmn"Haven't you got any plans?"
mmmnThoughtlessly I shook my head.
mmmn"Well, what are you studying exactly?"
mmmnI told her that I wanted to be a writer, and that I wanted to travel, and to see
wonderful places and be adventurous, and to have money and meet interesting people and
fall in love while I put it all down into books. She smiled out at the harbor at said it all
sounded very nice. But that was a difficult thing to do.
mmmn"Nearly impossible," I agreed sadly.
mmmn"Why don't work with your father in the mortgage business?"
mmmnSuddenly I imagined myself sitting cramped behind small desk in an office
building wearing brown socks and a shirt and a tie. In that instant my life became
monotonous.
mmmn"I would rather not pay for my money with time," I told her. "Somehow it doesn't
seem like such a fair exchange."
mmmnShortly after dawn Shauna met her friend and I walked them to the train station.
She gave me her email address, as well as a telephone number I might reach when I
returned home from our trip. After the train rolled away I walked sad and alone along the
empty main street, up the steep road to the pension, and nudging Shade over to one side
of the mattress I crawled sleepily into bed.

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