Monday


Monday was a travel day and was pretty much been-there-done-that.

Got stuck in traffic on the beach road trying to get to the Autostrade  Drove to Genoa. Took a scenic drive around Genoa -- including an auto tour of the airport -- while I was trying to find the Hertz office to return my sweet Panda.

One interesting thing is that the Andrea Doria has been towed to Genoa, after being raised from its crash position, and is currently in the Genoa port. I saw it from the cab on my ride to the stazione.

Train ride to Florence was no BFD... Trains were packed, everyone was making due with no space, legs squished by baggage stored under the flip tables. I did see some other cool art on the trains and the walls.

I met my host Alessandro in a piazza near Casa Dodo, where I'm staying. He also does a software job, and we spoke Engtaliano for a while -- he used to have American students for roommates.

Then, for my first order of business Alessandro directed me a block down the street to the lavanderia, so I could wash my disgusting clothes. While there I was talking to myself -- as I do when confused -- and the young woman sitting there spoke up to help. She is American from DC, Emma, who started a TEFL certification course today. She really helped me out with figuring out the whole laundry thing.

She was just activating her new SIM, so I was able to help her out with that -- remember the craziness with the PIN???

I will have to say -- there are waaayy too many Americans in Florence. I didn't see a single American since I left the Florence airport on Wednesday. Tonight, that's the only accent I've heard. I took myself to dinner, ducking down a narrow lane for less touristy restaurants, and found myself in an outdoor cafe entirely populated by American women.

On my leisurely walk back to Dodo I ran into Emma, and we made tentative plans to have dinner one night -- maybe with hunky Alessandro.

Now we're up to date. I'm going to bed, because I have to get ready for my cooking class tomorrow .

Serata! Ci vediamo!

Last Night in Perinaldo


On my way back, thinking about my unplanned fast of the day before, I kept my eyes open for a grocery store. I found one one the main beach road, wheeled in to the parking lot, found a fantastic spot and went inside. Where I found -- how handy! -- freshly packaged portions -- 1 Euro for 4 slices of cheese, 1 Euro for 3 slices of pastrami, 1 Euro for two still warm chewy rolls.

I also saw a very cool color combo for Smart.

Since we're not allowed to eat in the room, I ate at Milena's breakfast table and saved another sandwich for the train the next day.

We talked about our travels, our dislike for organized tours, and the places still to go.

I told her I'd be leaving early at 7, and though I protested she insisted she'd have breakfast ready for me at 6:30am.

Dolceaqua


My next stop was Dolceaqua, which was favored by Impressionist Claude Monet for the beauty of the riverbed and the medieval bridge. As I drove up into the hills again, the clouds were rolling in.

Parking at Dolceaqua, I declined the Blue Square lots of touristi, and instead found a spot on the main drag out of town, paralleled on the right between oleander bushes so large they trimmed them as trees, and jumped up onto the curb just like the natives.

I strolled around the little town, had Ciocclato caldo at Bar California where I could never get the wifi password right and the rain started spitting on me. And then headed home to pack.

Sinner and Cornetto



It was still grey and overcast when I left, and I could tell the violence of the rain by the mud, gravel, larger stones, and plant matter strewn down the roads in streams. Milena's narrow driveway had experienced a washout under some concrete and I thought of Pino and the expense of maintenance. As I headed to the coast the sky became lighter and lighter. I found myself heading back to Ventimiglia, wanting to see the little town on a normal day -- albeit Sunday.

I took the main coast road, passing restaurants and shops, all closed on Sunday morning -- and (Jesus, Mary and Joseph!) I passed a hip clothing store called Sinner -- oddly enough also closed on Sunday (I would think being open on Sunday morning would be policy for a store called Sinner).

I made a left parallel park, got out and walked until I found a cafe that had working wifi, where I enjoyed the sun while have a cornetto e the I originally ordered as cornetto, but had to repeat the word as "croissant" to be understood. Perhaps because we were so close to Nice.

I was there a couple of hours, still saving my gelato calories for Florence and when I became the only person in the cafe I left.

I Laugh in the Face of Danger


The spread was almost the same as yesterday, but the homemade pastry was a fabulous cherry tart. Milena told me that the old dog, Oscar, is so afraid of the lightening that he has been hiding under the bed half the night. Poor 90lb baby.

She said the wifi was out because they've fried four modems in the past with storms, so they preemptively unplug now for the duration. She asked what was I planning for the day, and advised due to the forecast I should stay coastal and go west. Apparently weather in Italy travels west to east just as it does in the US!

In our chat I learned that Italian parents don't caution their children to never shower during thunder storms. Also, talking on the phone during a storm is allowed. (We didn't get in to running with sticks or making faces -- I can only assume they're liberal in the face of  these dangers as well.) So with no small trepidation I made my way back upstairs, and took a shower!

And lived to tell about it!!! 

Storms in Mountains


When I got home I was dog tired. But by now the hunger was fading, so I decided that as I just couldn't face another haul up to Perinaldo I would have Mentos for dinner and call it a night. I thought I had prolly stored up enough pasta in my muffin tops to last me until morning. (Not a word from you, Lax!) And that's just what I did.

Rain was predicted for Sunday, so Milena was battening down the hatches, covering tables, locking green shutters. I sat outside for a while under an olive tree and chatted with Yogi. I sat on my bed and read, watching the wind whip up and the clouds roll in. After the dark came, a pair of cats screamed at each other a long time as loud as banshees and I wondered if they were domestic cats or something larger.

I woke with a BOOM! of thunder and Yogi barking. The sky across the valley was bright with staccato lightening in the night. I slept fitfully, but the storms kept rolling in with violent noise.

It was still raining when the alarm rang at 8:30, hitting my French doors almost sideways. When I glanced at the phone I saw the wifi was out. I stepped gingerly down one flight of drenched black stone steps to the driveway and one flight to Milena's for breakfast.

No Soup for You


When I wound my way back down the mountain, I was so effing tired.... no food, driving, trying to communicate. I looked at my map and compared the distance back to Perinaldo from here, against  the distance to Triora of the witches then around a mountain road to Perinaldo. I couldn't do it. It was a higher altitude than either Serborga or Bussana Vecchia, which meant more distance, more switchbacks, probably very narrow lanes. While I really wanted to see that village -- which I'd been told still had an eeriness about it -- to continue on would turn a lovely, memorable day into an exhaustive mess. (Thus my earlier caution about being flexible and knowing your limit.)

Allora, I made a right turn at the water and headed back toward Perinaldo. At some point, after being stuck in an Ocean-Blvd-worthy jam, I followed the wrong arrow and ended up in what seemed to be the 'industrial' party of San Remo -- I could be wrong, it's all squeezed in there together. Eventually I saw the Autostrade arrows, and seized the opportunity. Hopped on. Hopped off 1.5 Euro's later. And caught SP 59 toward home.

I was really hungry and grumpy now, but civilization was trailing away and chances to grab a 'takeaway' with it, so in Soldana  I saw an osteria across the main road from a convenient parking lot, quindi I zig-sagged right into the lot with my eye on a parallel spot on my left just ahead. As I slowed to prepare for my now expert lefthand parallel park, a tiny SUV swooped in off the road, jumped the 3 inch stone curb, and pulled straight into my spot. Had I had a few more calories and experienced a few less switchbacks this day, I would have let loose with a "Vaffanculo!" the likes of which that guy had never heard before. But I was flagging, fast.

Luckily for him there was another spot ahead on my right, so I pulled in and walked across the road. I entered the osteria, gracing them as the only female in sight. A group of old men sat around a table playing some game -- I didn't even look over to see what-- and the old guy bartender (with two teeth in the front) shuffled back to the bar to see what I needed.

I asked if there was a menu, if there was food. Subconciously I was able to translate "not now senora". Oh, 7? ... No, 8.  I gave him my sad face, said "grazie", glared again at the geezer who had stolen my spot a la "Fried Green Tomatoes"... and dragged myself back across the street to the Panda.