The Simplicity of Trust

Before I start this little tale, let me say that I don't want to hear any lectures from those of you who are wont to give them. You know who you are...

It's about 11:15 PM and I am heading back to the campground after eating dinner near the center of Rapallo. Absorbed in thought, and still smiling from my stubbed toe incident (see below for backstory), I am brought back to the here and now as a man around 30 calls out to me from a gas station. I look over, and see that he is standing next to the pump with a few of his friends waiting in the car. He asks, "do you have change for a 50?" Without hesitation, I walk toward him, pull out my wallet, and hold it out in front of me. I am impeded from pulling out the money by 2 melting scoops of gelato (peach and strawberry), so I thrust them out for him to hold. Mechanically, he grabs the gelato, I pull out two 20s and one 10 from my open wallet (from which at least 120€ jut visibly), and hand them to him. He gives me back the gelato, hands me a 50€ bill, thanks me, and walks back to his car.

Something about that transfer made my entire soul ring with laughter, joyous and hopeful, enough so that I am still thinking about it four days later. I think that more than the favor conferred, or the automatic positive response given to his request, it was the wonderfully childlike manner in which I wordlessly handed him the cone of gelato and which he wordlessly accepted it that made me so happy. And so it was that such a mundane exchange once again reminded me how fortunate I am to be alive.

Genova to Bogliasco, Bogliasco to Rapallo

8/22 - Genova to Bogliasco - 9.98
8/23 - Bogliasco to Rapallo - 14.93


Bogliasco was just a few miles down the road from the edge of Genova, but since I had started around the center of the city, I didn't make it too far out of town. I headed straight for the campground, which was on a hill with views of the sea.


While setting up my tent, I met Sanne and Ania, from the Netherlands and Poland, who had also just arrived at the campground. They invited me to join them down in the town centre, which was holding a charity festival that evening. We headed down to the central piazza, where we had some pizza and a few bottles of wine, and listened to some local bands. Bogliasco is a small town, so the festival was not spectacular, but it was all the more precious for how local it was. We had a good time hanging out in the piazza a la Italiana, and were among the last to leave and head back up that steep hill to the campground.


After being treated to some breakfast by the girls the next day, I had a late start, and made my way to Rapallo. On the way, I made sure to stop at Recco, which is famous for its focaccia con formaggio. Let's see, how to put this in American terms... this treat is somewhat like the crust of a stuffed crust pizza, though it is served in thin square slices, and the cheese is fresh. The bread is not like normal focaccia, and to be honest, I don't know why they call it that. Anyways, looks like I'm not winning any awards as a food critic.


I took a quick nap on a park bench - yes, I'm that guy - then started a seemlingly endless uphill walk, up winding staircases and alleyways, past Camogli and Ruta. On the way, I treated myself to blackberries and figs, which were ripe and in abundance. These two fruits would become a roadside staple for me over the next few days.


Once on the ridge of the hill that would lead me to Rapallo, I was faced wtih a fork in the road. Should I go left, inland and down the hill, or straight along the same highway that I had taken for much of the road between Savona and here? I chose to go straight, thinking it would be closer to the water, and continued to Rapallo.

On the way, I entered an old church (somewhat of a rarity for me, despite the overwhelming number of churches here), where I saw a 16th century triptych by an unindentified Flemish master painter. I chatted with the priest, who went from suspicious to ambivalent, and gave me a half-hearted blessing as he ushered me out.


Soon afterward, I started the long downhill back to the sea, and by the time I arrived in Rapallo, I discovered that I would have cut about two miles had I turned left before. Oh well, 40 minutes lost, no big deal.

Once I set up my tent, I walked about a mile and a half into town, where I caught a bit of the Miss Italy regional semifinals. After watching for a little while, I started the walk back, stubbing my toe after staring too hard at a cute Italian girl as she talked with her friends. As I walked away amidst their resounding laughter, I couldn't help but smile at myself. Perfect end to a perfect day.

Genova with Andrea, Silvia, and baby Anna

8/19 - Return to beloved Italy and Genova

I almost missed my flight to Milano, making it to the check-in desk 90 seconds before it closed. Since I have not lost the precious skill of falling asleep before the plane takes off and only waking up after the doors are opened, I missed seeing the French countryside and the Alps from above. Oh well.

As opposed to my first time landing in Italy one month ago, this time I knew my way around, and felt like a local. I bought my bus ticket, boarded soon after, and made it to the train station in an hour. There I found out that I had 10 minutes to catch the train to Genova, so I had to run once more to catch the train.

After arriving in Genova, I learned that I had 5 minutes to catch the local train to Genova Nervi, and so I had to run and catch that one as well. Catching my breath on the train, I remembered why I liked walking so much...

Silvia, my hostess for the next two days, was there at the station with her friend and her darling daughter, nine-month old Anna. I figured we would get into a car to head to their home, but instead we walked just a few enjoyable minutes along the sea.

When we arrived at Nervi, the part of Genova where I would stay for this leg of my journey, I was pleasantly surprised at how picturesque and inviting it was. It really is one of the more pleasant spots that I have encountered along this stretch of coast, and when Silvia pointed out the room on the top floor of the monastery/dormitory where I would be staying, I was thrilled. For those who want to blow up the picture, my room is on the top right next to the bell tower. Below are the nighttime and daytime views from that window.

After putting down the backpack and taking a quick shower, I headed over to Andrea and Silvia's house, where Silvia prepared a local meal, and the the three of us, me, Silvia, and her friend (Andrea, a children's emergency room doctor, was on call that night) chatted until around midnight.

Since I had been away from the computer for so long, most of the next day was spent uploading photos on the computer. However, I did have the opportunity to meet and speak quite a bit with Andrea, who was miraculously still awake and lucid even after having worked all night.

Silvia arrived some time in the afternoon, and after a stroll around Nervi with Anna, the four of us (me, Silvia, Andrea, and Anna) had a delicious local dinner of ravioli stuffed with local herbs and vegetables and covered with a garlic/nut/cream sauce that was absolutely delicious and fit the locale perfectly.

It was absolutely delightful speaking with Andrea and Silvia, who besides being extremely intelligent, well-traveled, and cultured, also had a lighthearted sense of humor. We spoke a lot about cultural differences we had observed between the US and Italy, focusing especially on health care and education. Silvia, a pediatrician and anaesthesiologist, had studied medicine at UCSD, living there for 5 years, and Andrea had recently had the opportunity to shadow the renowned Dr. Peterson at Childrens Hospital in San Diego. As a result, both of them were able to make astute observations about the subtle (as well as the not so subtle) differences between the American and Italian health care systems.

After they suggested some magical spots they had visited in Sicily, I left them in peace and went back to my room to catch up on some sleep.

Thursday was a day for a few more chores, as well as exploring Genova. After a couple hours updating the blog and hanging my laundry to dry (hooray! a laundry machine!), I took the bus to Genova's center, where I walked around the city for a few hours.

I was taken aback by Genova's beauty, and must say that it seemed cleaner than the last time I visited in 2003. Besides being a vibrant port town and tourist destination, the city has an extremely rich architectural history, with fascinating houses, government buildings, and churches.

After a few telephone calls home and another two hours held prisoner in an internet cafe (gotta get the virus out of my system while I have the chance), Andrea, Silvia, and Anna picked me up and took me to a hidden local restaurant in the hills above Genova (which, by the way, are infinitely more negotiable by car than by foot). We had some local delicacies, including an octopus carpaccio that was out of this world and a delicious white wine from Le Marche, a region in the center-east part of Italy. After dinner, they took me to a hopping local gelateria where I had the local flavor, a semisoft ice cream with subtle hints of coffee and nuts.

I could not have asked for a better reintroduction to Italy after my trip to Paris, and could not have imagined better people to help me experience it. They made me feel like part of the family from the very beginning, and I was sad to leave them.

I had particularly grown attached to Anna, their beautiful baby girl; if it is possible that men also have biological clocks, then mine was ticking audibly. Don't worry guys, I am not planning on making babies any time soon, but it was wonderful to play Uncle Pat for a few precious moments.

Packing up my things and burning into my memory one last time that marvelous view, I took the bus to where I had left off, and continued down the road.

My last stop in Genova was at the GASLINI Hospital, where Silvia and Andrea both work. Feeling too invasive and bashful to ask for a peek at the hospital, they must have sensed my curiosity, and graciously invited me to join them for a tour of the facilities. I ravenously sprang upon this unique opportunity, and enjoyed every minute of the experience, from chatting with the nurses to sporting some fancy green scrubs.

My last memories of Genova were passing through Nervi, and then it was back on the ol' dusty trail.

The Vacation in a Vacation - Paris

8/12 - Milano - 0 miles walked

8/13-8/19 - Paris

I really would have liked to be able to write on the blog before my Paris trip. I could have softened the blow of my long vacation-in-a-vacation, explained my decision to travel in advance, and at least have caught up with my blog. However, we must remember that it was August, and as a result, I went 0 for 2 on open internet cafes.

Now, if I had really tried, I could have probably found one that was open. Instead, I ended up meeting a group of Brasilans at the hostel in Milano, and went out drinkin' with them until around 1. Gotta look ahead toward new experiences before stopping to recount old ones, right?

As it turns out, nothing really notable happened. My Portuguese sounded a lot like Italian, we compared stories, they told me various times I was a true Brasilian (I had no idea what this meant, but it felt good to hear it), and when they all piled into taxis at 1 AM to go clubbing, I told them I would have to pass.

I woke up at 6:30 the next morning and headed to Milano-Malpensa, where I would grab a flight to Paris.

Now, I have a great many stories that I could tell about my time in Paris. However, this is a blog about my walking travels in Italy, so I will not give the play by play, but simply the background and general impressions.

My sister Melissa and her fiance Pouya were in Europe for her best friend's brother's wedding. They made it to four different countries over 18 days, and ended with 5 days in Paris. Since they were traveling all over the place, had limited time, and had a beautiful apartment in Paris (as opposed to a one-man tent in Italy), I decided to spare them the trouble of demanding that they come to me, and bought a flight to come to them.

We had a wonderful time there, doing the full tourist "thing," including visiting four different museums, attending a piano concert, and eating large quantities of food. We also got to meet up with Dar, a friend of Mel and Pouya's working on a script for the month in Paris, and Matteo, my host brother from my trip abroad to Padova in 2003.

As one might expect, I experienced a bit of culture shock. Most of all, I was extremely frustrated with my inability to form even the most basic sentences in French, since I am well aware of the fact that knowing the language of a country is the best way to really experience its culture. Many of the things I had taken for granted were also non-existent or over-priced: no free water in public squares, espresso three or four times more expensive, and gelato twice as expensive. Sacre Bleu!

Regardless of the culture shock, I find myself amongst the 97% of visitors to Paris who plan to return. It is easy to see why this metropolis has excited, delighted, and inspired people for hundreds of years. I'll just come armed with a better knowledge of French next time.

The best part of the trip, much more than checking another country and city off my list, seeing works of art that I have loved for almost a decade, or filling my stomach with gastronomical delights, was spending quality time with my sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law. Seeing their love for one another in such a romantic setting was truly delightful. Even better was sharing stories, talking until 3 AM about the important things in life, sampling the local food and wine, and acting like little kids again. I think my sister and I both realized the value and precious nature of the moments we could spend together, since they are harder and harder to come by these days. *nostalgic sigh*... I love you mel.

See, now I 've gone and talked too long about my trip to Paris, even when I had promised not to.

A short stop in Genova on the way to Paris

8/11 - Vesimo to Genova - 17.27 grueling miles

Genova is one of Italy's most important port cities, having produced swarthy sailors and bold, enterprising captains on a quest for riches and glory (among them Cristopher Columbus) for hundreds of years.  The city, one of UNESCO's world heritage sites, straddles the middle of rainbow-shaped Liguria, dominating the entire region with its exotic and somewhat begrimed splendor.

Looking at the map from my tent in Vesima, I reasoned that Genova was fairly close, and needing any excuse whatsoever to gallop back to the water, I spent the morning lounging around on the rocky beach near to the campground.

At about 12:30 (the latest possible check-out time without having to pay for another day), I set off for Genova, and calculated that I would make my hostel around 4:30.

I could have surmised, if someone had asked me, that port cities tend to stretch out along the

 coast.  Even Savona, a smaller port town, stretched for miles along the coast, as I had found out only a few days before during my longest hike yet.  However, it was not until I was actually walking that congested, polluted boulevard that I realized that I had been in the city of Genova for quite some time, but still had a large amount of distance to cover befo

re reaching my hostel.

My next realization, another that should have been obvious to me, is that Liguria is a region with hills that come right up to the border of the water.  On my two-dimensional GPS, the distance inland that I would have to cover seemed pretty doable.  One would think that I would have made the logical connection in my mind, and realized what I was in for: I had stayed in this exact same hostel in 2003, had walked down very similar hills to the ones bodering Genova less than a week prior, and had previously spent three weeks in the Cinqueterre (picture hills meeting the sea).  Even so, the fact had entirely escaped me that the last part of my walk would be entirely uphill.

By 4 o'clock, it had become abundantly clear that I still had a good distance to go (so much for a 4:30 arrival), so I figured it would be wise to call the hostel and see if I could reserve a bed for that night. 

When I called, the lady asked me where I was.  I told her I was in Genova, and she replied that I should come immediately, since there were few beds left.  Actually, more specifically, I had told her that I was in Cornigliano Ligure (a part of Genova); she misheard me and thought I was near Portofino, and called me a liar for saying I was in Genova.  We had a bit of an Italian conversation (aka yelling match), and I finally managed to explain to her that I was indeed in Genova.  She said that I could take a bus to get to the hostel, I responded that I needed to walk there, she was confused, I was frustrated, but finally we worked it out that I had until 7:30 to arrive at the hostel.

Since it had also come out that by her estimate I was still between 12-15 kilometers (7-9 miles) away, I realized that there would be no time for breaks if I was to make it there in time.

Stubborn as I am, I decided that I would second guess my GPS and start looking for some shortcuts, which would give me time for some breaks.  I took a left when I should have gone straight, and after climbing over 200 steps and walking up various hills for 20 minutes, I ended up on an onramp for the freeway heading out of the city.

The streets that looked like the shortcut, or in other words the hypotenuse in the triangle, were actually up and down hills all the way to the hostel.  Realizing that I had now lost time, I recalculated the path on the GPS, vowed not to second-guess it anymore, and walked down the steep hill that I had climbed unnecessarily.

I won't go into too much more detail here, as I think you can picture me walking aimlessly up and down steep hills in areas where tourists have never stepped foot without me having to waste your time describing it.  Let me just say that if you are ever bored in Genova, I recommend you lose yourself on some hills.  Besides getting a killer workout for your quads, you will see some wonderful views of the city, and start to understand what that strange city is all about.

I arrived at the hostel at 7:00 PM, heaving heavily and drenched in sweat.  Since I had walked 3 hours straight without a break, I now had the luxury of 10 minutes to catch my breath and dry off, and headed into the hostel, where the now friendly (but obviously fiery, as I had experienced) Mella put me in a room with 4 Finnish kids fresh out of high school.  I took the bus down (no more walking for me, thank you very much) to town, ate some Chinese food that tasted a lot like Italian food, and headed back up soon after.  After all, I had a train to catch.

Savona to Celle Ligure to Vesima - A walk along the water

8/9 - Savona - Celle Ligure - 4.4 measly miles

8/10 - Celle Ligure - Vesima - 13.19 miles

Savona to Celle Ligure - The Stroll 

Once I had settled in to the good life, it was hard for me to pack up and keep moving.  As it was, I had a really late start out of Savona, and by the time I had eaten some lunch, it was already past 3:30.

Not that I was planning on going anywhere far.  I wanted to see as much of this coast as possible, and so resolved to cool the jets for a few days.

Still, I felt like a bum when the signs for the campground I had found in Celle Ligure popped up only an hour out of the city.  Fighting the urge to continue, I made my way toward my campsite, threw my tent together, and headed back toward the refreshing sea.

This campground was a bit different from the last one, which had been in a sort of bungalow neighborhood/refugee camp.  All the campsites were on terraces along the hillside, most with views of the water.  This being Saturday evening, most of the best spots were already taken, but I managed to find a shady, secluded little spot with a peek at the water.

Lounging and wading until sunset, I made my way back to the tent, where after digging through my vast wardrobe of three shirts and two pants, I finally found something to wear for dinner.

Though it was a tad touristy, the town of Celle Ligure was very charming, full of brightly colored buildings and winding alleyways.  I made a commitment to myself to take more evening pictures, once I realized that I had left my camera behind.

Since I always try to eat the local cuisine, I had troffie al pesto (troffie are a squished, cyllindrical version of gnocchi, made from potato and flour) and a fried mixture of seafood, and enjoyed both thoroughly.

The next morning, I fought the urge to return once again to the sea before continuing my trek, and instead availed myself of the world-class amenities provided by this particular campsite.  Most campsites are the same, but this one was worthy of its second star, if only for the masterful installation of the latest and greatest in creature comforts: stainless steel handles  in front of "the hole."  I would like to shake the man's hand who developed these handles (though they probably came straight from Leonardo Da Vinci's sketchbook).

Anyhow, enough of that crap...

Celle Ligure to Vesima, a search for food, and observations on the beach culture

Since it was Sunday, I had to find the first open market and buy what I needed for the day.  A select few markets stay open on 

Sunday, but only from 8-12:30, so it was imperative that I not be picky, but instead enter the first one I saw.

Bonanza!  A supermarket was open.  I splurged, as I tend to do in Italian supermarkets: two peaches, three plums, bread, 100 grams of prosciutto (roughly a quarter pound), water, and a bar of chocolate.

Feeling fortunate, I continued my walk, and then it hit me: I'm in a vacation town, and everything is open.  This part of Liguria is where Torinesi and Milanesi go for an economical holiday, as it is the closest stretch of beach to those major metropolitan areas.    It was a very unique experience to see a vast majority of Italians on holiday, since most Italian vacation spots are dominated by tourists of other nationalities.

The beach culture here is different from the culture in San Diego, my particular paragon.  The beach is essentially broken into pieces by various bars, which rent out chairs, umbrellas, and lockers to bathers.  They offer food and drink service, fussball tables galore, and every once in a while, a soccer-volleyball court.  Personally, I wouldn't pay for a beach chair if you paid me, but here it's the norm, and who am I to say anything?

As it is, I am already quite the oddity here, with my trekking poles, bag, and shoes.  In fact, I'm starting to feel a bit like a freak show exhibit.  Italians love to stare, and Italians on holiday even more so.

Feeling a bit lazy after the baby steps I had taken the previous day, 

I went a bit further than expected, getting all the way to Vesima.  I arrived at 4:30, and predictably, hit the beach until 7.

I had a pizza and a beer next to a long-distance biker, who was planning to go to Provence in France, and then take the train back to Emilia Romagna, his home.  We had a good time comparing experiences, laughing together about being "that guy."

Exhausted from all that walking and swimming, I hit the sack hard, and prepared for my walk into Genova the following day.

Valle d'Aosta and Piemonte - Food, Flora and Fauna

Okay,

This is a bit of an anachronism, but I finally had the chance to upload all my food, flora and fauna pictures of Valle D'Aosta and Piemonte onto the blog.

I tried to be as descriptive as possible with the food photos.  These two regions boast some of the most wonderful cheeses, beef (all that pasture and corn!), and berries.  The cuisine is a bit heavier, as is the case in most temperate and mountain climates.  In fact, the food you see here is of the lighter variety, as we are in the heat of summer.  Fall and winter showcase a lot more polenta, as well as game, wild birds, and lots of wild boar (there's an obsession with hunting here).  I was a bit early for most fruits and vegetables, though I was able to pick quite a bit of fruit straight from the tree, bush, or vine.

The flora and fauna speak for themselves: anyways, I am completely ignorant of the names of nearly all the flowers, so they will have to go unnamed.

I think you will see that I caught the wildflower season at the perfect time, especially in the Alps. If only I could pass along the smells of some of these flowers, this would be the complete experience.

This is one of my favorite aspects of this trip, and even though I have not spoken about nature and the cuisine as much as I could have, it is everywhere around me, and constantly on my mind.

Stopping to smell the flowers and the focaccia,

Pat

Food

Flora and Fauna

Photo Albums - Torino to Genova, plus the Paris excursion

Oh how wonderfully pleasant it is to work from someone's home computer, rather than at an internet cafe.  Since I am staying with a wonderful family here in Genova Nervi for a few days, they graciously allowed me to invade their computer in order to upload all my hundreds of photos.  More about the stay later..

I have placed links for all the albums from Torino to Paris, and will follow shortly (today, tomorrow, or Friday) with the posts themselves.

Here goes:

Torino To Poirino to Monta d'Alba

Monta to Alba to San Bovo to Torre Bormida

Torre Bormida to Camerana to San Giuseppe del Cairo

Down the hill to Savona, followed by Celle Ligure

Celle Ligure to Vesima to Genova

Paris

Please let me know if any of this doesn't work!

My disappearance and a promise to return soon

Friends,

The entire country shuts down completely for the month of August, as everyone migrates en masse to the sea, or other cooler places.

In my quest to be a true Italian, I have also taken my own vacation, heading to Paris to visit my sister and her fiance. As soon as I have a spare moment, I promise to communicate all my stories, upload pictures, etc.

In the meantime, please imagine this blog having one of those metal doors closed over the entrance, with a small piece of paper saying "dear friends, we will be closed from August 13 to August 19. Thank you for your patience!

Best Wishes from Paris!

The Mediterranean and Savona

8/7-8/8 - San Giuseppe del Cairo to Savona - 18.53 miles walked, followed by a well-deserved day of rest

I am a creature of the water. Having been raised all my life near the Pacific Ocean, I continue to prefer the coast to any other landscape. Hell, I'm even an Aquarius. Now, finally, after four weeks of crossing the entire northern chunk of the country, I was going to reach the sea.

I had just a bit more of a hill to climb before I could start the descent toward the water, and it passed quickly. When I reached Altare, I was told to cross through a tunnel, where I would find the road that would lead me down to the water.

The way they made it sound, I had expected to find vast panoramas of water the entire way down. Finding only the barest suggestion of water at the other side of the tunnel, I still prepared myself at every turn to be confronted by the Mediterranean in all its majesty.

Instead, each turn down the mountain seemed to be obscured by a hill or by dense forests. By 2 PM, I couldn't handle the suspense any longer, and stopped in the middle of nowhere for a quick nap and some lunch.

Even after lunch, when I restarted my walk, I had only 4 kilometers to Savona, where I knew I would see the water. So, I must say that I was disappointed as I hit downtown Savona without seeing so much as a drop of water. I even started to doubt the existence of water in this city at all, and it was at this low point that I finally hit the port. Like all ports, this was a dirty and ugly affair, but I knew that just a few more steps would finally land me on a beach, and sure enough, a half mile of walking finally yielded my first views of the Mediterranean in all its blue glory.

Off came the shoes, open flew the shirt, and I was soon walking along the edge of the water, cutting a very strange figure with my trekking poles and backpack.

Of course, the soft sand and the extra weight of my backpack made it very difficult to walk, so I was soon back up on the boardwalk, but just those few minutes along the water had made a huge difference for my mental and spiritual health.

When I finally made it to my campsite, a simple little set of shacks, I pitched my tent 50 feet from the water and changed into my bathing suit immediately.

I swam out to a giant floating intertube, climbed the ladder, and lay out there for over half an hour, bobbing peacefully on that mythical "wine dark" sea.

The walk of over 18 miles, by far the longest of my trip, had not been in vain. I had finally arrived at Savona, and had commenced the "sea" chapter of my journey.

I would stay an extra day at this pleasant little campground, with its shack bungalows and soccer-volleyball court. My neighbors, Salvatore and Adriana, were long-time vacationers at this spot from Torino, and they took good care of me. They fed me water, beer, chips, coffee, and even gave me a beer for the road, after we posed for this picture.

Amazing what a day or two at the beach will do for you. My blisters are almost healed (or at least have turned into gnarly-looking calluses), my skin feels healthier, I don't smell bad anymore, and I have a permanent smile tattooed to my face. Next stop? I have no idea. After I publish this post, I guess I'll do some internet research and figure it out. Life is good.

My favorite Italian sign so far

This sign is usually found on the gate outside construction projects. It says "vehicles a step away from man," and, as such, I feel that it sums up my long walks along the side of the road.

Some of these Italian signs are wonderfully descriptive with their pictures: can't you just imagine the poor stick figure cursing in Italian as he scampers away from the oncoming truck?

Camerana to San Giuseppe del Cairo - Goodbye Piedmont, Hello Liguria

8/6 - Camerana to San Giuseppe del Cairo (next to Carcare) - 15.32 miles

The morning after my free campout on the piece of public land, I gratefully paid for the use of the public pool's showers and bathroom. Not much good that it would do me in the body odor department: after a week of hiking in humid +90 weather, my clothes were standing up on their own, and pulsating with a smell that could no longer be classified as human.

I made good time from Camerana to Cengio, the next "big" city on the trail. On the way, I got to say farewell to Piedmont, and triumphantly entered Liguria, smacking the road sign as I passed.

During the late afternoon, I felt a change in the weather. It's amazing how walking allows you to notice such things as dropping atmospheric pressure, and rain before it even appears on the horizon. When I was a few miles away from Carcare, my destination for the evening, I sensed what was coming, and incredibly thankful for the respite from the blistering heat, I sat down to my lunch in the pouring rain. The rain lasted just a few minutes longer than my lunch did, and the earth had greedily sucked up most of the water by the time I arrived at Carcare.


Carcare, a fairly large city, turned out to be completely devoid of any accommodations. Hmmm, who to ask for alternatives? There is nothing more helpful, and at the same time, entertaining, than a big group of old Italian men sitting around a town square. After availing myself of Italy's greatest source of information, I found out that the only hotel nearby was 2 miles back from where I had come. Realizing that this sounded very familiar (see Poirino post below), I was nevertheless assured that this hotel was both open and had vacancies. Apparently, I was heading for an industrial worker's hotel, a 3-star joint directly across the street from the train station at San Giuseppe del Cairo. I could even eat there pretty well, they said, and so off I went, topping off another +15-mile day in the process.

This hotel, a tiny affair in an out of the way village next to an ugly industrial park, turned out to cost more than any other hotel so far. Funny how that works out. I was left with no other choices, so I settled in, took a shower, and headed down to dinner.

The scene in the restaurant could have come from a sociology experiment. I was the first person to come down, but was soon after followed by about 20 other people, all men. Just as the old man had said, these were industrial workers, come straight from what, judging by their demeanor, must have been a hard day at the factory.

As I ate my dinner, I silently observed these men, and could not have found a more depressing scene in a Dickens novel. No laughter, and indeed, very little conversation pierced the oppressive silence that hung over these broken men. It was as if the grey, smoggy surroundings and intermittent rain had drained any color out of their souls, and I felt stifled by my joyless surroundings, relieved to finish dinner and head back to my room.

Still, nothing can pop this balloon (which, I'll allow, is full of hot air), and I awoke eager and ready for the walk. The reason? Well, keep scrolling up.

Torre Bormida to Camerana - The Church and the Castle

8/5 - Torre Bormida to Camerana - 15.21 miles

Instead of heading up to Bergolo, Susanne had shown me an alternate route that would lead me to the same place, all without having to skip any part of the trail. I set my sights for Levice, a small village of 246 people (no more, no less) set atop a nearby hill, and was soon at the top. Having purchased my day's lunch, I was reapplying some bandages on my feet, when I had the honor of meeting fair Levice's mayor, a man named Ernesto. He was eager to help, and gave me some more maps, so I was ready to once again face the mercurial GTL.

As opposed to the GTL, Levice had a well marked trail system, and after more agonizing uphill walking in the merciless sunshine, I made it to a shady forest trail that would lead me all the way to Prunetto, the next town on my itinerary.

Walking toward the center of town, I noticed a sign for an 11th century church and a 12th century castle, located right next to each other. Planning to check them out first and then eat my lunch, I tried to gain entry into both, and found that they were locked. What a pity, I thought, but at least I got to see them from the outside, and take some pictures.

Having walked the perimeter of the monuments, I came upon a family who seemed to be chatting about them as well. I soon realized that this was a private organized tour, and it was then that one of the tourists recognized me from Alba. His recognition was the only excuse I needed to attach myself to this tour, and soon it was me, the couple and their grandchildren, and the knowledgeable guide making their way to the Romanesque church.

Out of respect for the church, and feeling slightly precarious in my position on this private tour, I did not take any pictures of the church, which was full of works of art ranging from proto-Roman to Byzantine to early Renaissance. Every corner of the church was illuminated with stories and explanations by the guide. One example: the four evangelists are depicted, three of them writing furiously on their parchment. Only one doesn't write, and is looking rather confusedly at his pen. This is Luke, the evangelist said to have come later, who copied much from the others. There are dozens of other little details that he showed us, but since this is not an Art History blog, I will restrain myself.

Next we made it to the castle, and this was where my camera came out. I saw the most amazing artifacts, including the following:
17th century book making equipment
barrel for pressing grapes
16th century frescoes
19th century high chair that easily turned into a baby carriage

1940s newspaper with a lie about Italy's "success" in the Greek campaign

Again, I could go on, but will spare those of you who are not as obssessed with history as I am. By a stroke of luck and some excellent timing, two mildly interesting buildings had come to life, and had carried me back throughout 1000 years of Italian history.

After exchanging information with the family who had so kindly included me on their private tour, and after listening to the man recount some of the stories from his walk/hitchike from Italy to Nepal and back (need I even mention that they made me feel like I was walking across a neighborhood in comparison?), I continued my journey, having exchanged my lunch for some filling brain food.

By the time I got to Gottaseca a few hours later, I finally ate my lunch, and realizing that the last leg of the GTL would have been a day's walk on its own, I started to inquire about lodging.
Gottaseca, like so many of the towns I visit, was very small, and did not seem to have any lodging for me. Speaking with some of the elders sitting outside their houses, I managed to discover that down the hill there was a piece of land behind a public pool where people could pitch their tents for the night.

An hour of walking downhill finally landed me in Camerana, where I indeed found the piece of land, and making sure to ask for permission at the bar next door, pitched my tent.
As if to give closure to my last day up in the forests of the Langhe, I managed to catch two deer heading down for a quick sip of water about 100 yards from where I had pitched my tent.
I had a simple dinner of sandwiches and a couple beers at the bar, and after chatting it up with the baristas, I also got to head into the back of the kitchen to learn how to make gelato. This was a very illuminating process, and made the gelato taste that much better once I knew it had just been made that very evening. As if I needed something to make me further appreciate gelato.

My romp through the Langhe completed, I slept pretty well, aside from being awakened a few times by the wanderings of wild boars... but you know how that goes.

San Bovo to Torre Bormida, and the GTL

8/4 - San Bovo to Torre Bormida - 15.06 miles

The Grande Traversate delle Langhe, or GTL, is the sniggering, roguish younger brother to the Grande Traversate delle Alpi, or GTA. The idea is similar, and the signposts even sport the same red and white flag, though the scope is much smaller.

The thing that separates these two paths in quality is the ease of following the signposts, and their strategic placement before and after forks in the road. Sitting now in the shade, with a full belly and a slight breeze tickling my arms, it is very hard for me to conjure once more the extreme frustration and venemous bile that this path brewed deep in my soul. More than once I found myself screaming out loud to my imaginary companion (don't leave home without one) about the awful and irrational placement of these stupid signs.

I'll give you an example, in the form of a game, kind of like Where's Waldo. Try looking for the flag in this picture..... Give up? I'll help you: it's on the far right side, hidden by the shade. Now, tell me which way this flag tells you to go: left, straight, or right. Well, logic says that since the sign is on the right, and since there are no confirming flags visible IMMEDIATELY AFTER the fork on the road, my guess is to go right. Wrong! Ten minutes of walking a steep downhill later, there is no confirming signpost. Still, even this isn't completely out of character, but the cardinal direction seems off, so I better head back the ten minutes of steep uphill, and try a different way. The right answer, friends, is the middle path. How do I know? Because 50 yards in, you can clearly see this signpost, expertly placed in the shade four feet from the path, under the trees. I put it in the middle of the photo, just to make it easy for you.

In the beginning I had been full of hope, and embarked on the trail at San Bovo. Within fifteen minutes I had lost the trail. Going straight instead of turning left, I had walked more than a half mile uphill on someone's land. No matter, I figured: I would just turn left now and cross onto the next hill. This was impossible; a deep valley of forest separated the two hills. Still, I walked amidst the hazelnut trees, trying to find a path across, and even succeeding at laughing this first one off, as I walked all the way back to where I had started in order to make the correct turn.

In fact, I even blamed myself for this one, realizing that I could have walked 100 yards in the other direction and seen the confirming red and white flag. But why, may I ask, would they place the flag 100 yards down the path? Why not place it AT THE FORK IN THE ROAD?

Then things went pretty well for a while. Large groves of hazelnut trees gave way to beautifully manicured vineyards, which in turn gave way to fragrant and shady forests. Also, I should add that I did not see a single soul on these trails, but had them all to myself. Sure, I was getting lost all the time, but at least it was in the midst of a beautiful landscape!

Toward late afternoon, I found myself lost again, despite having followed the red and white flags. As it turns out, the path split, both paths containing red and white flags, and the GTL was now about 3 or 4 miles away from where I had left it. Having heard of a campground in Bergolo (along the GTL, now out of the way), I decided to get there as quickly as possible, since there was a good distance still left for me to travel. So, I abandoned the forest paths, exchanging them for the trusty roads, and made my way toward Bergolo.

By 6 PM, I was tired from all the mishaps that I had endured that day, and so I started to take shortcuts whenever I found them. At one point, I even skipped about half a mile by cutting right through a vineyard, climbing down terrace after terrace until I had made my way back to the road. Imagine me in the middle of a huge vineyard, much like the ones you see in these pictures, picking my way down three or four hundred feet through vines and brambles all the way to the bottom.

By the time I finally reached the road to Bergolo, I saw that I had 3 miles of uphill walking left before I would get there, and there was no guarantee that I would even find the campground, or that it would be open.

Fortunately for me, I found a lady walking her dog at the bottom of the hill, and asked her if she knew anything about the campground. She told me in a foreign accent (which would turn out to be Swiss) that she was pretty sure that the campground was closed, since the owner had been trying to sell it for some time. I was ready to abandon all hope, and camp on the vacant land if necessary, when she offered to drive me up the hill to see.

I have been very faithful to my path, and have skipped nothing for an entire month. If anything, I have even done more, walking parts of the trail more than once. At 6:30 in the evening, 15 miles into a day that had been up and down hills for hours, with a 3 mile uphill hike left to go, I must say that I finally gave in. "I would love a ride," I said, defeated.

My moment of weakness would not, however, create a blank spot of shame on the trail. As it turns out, the campground was indeed open, but there were no restaurants in the town except one that required reservations. Meanwhile, the Swiss lady, whose name I found out was Susanne, mentioned casually that she rented a room. Since the food situation was sketchy, and I felt no small gratitude to Susanne for sparing me these last three miles, I decided to go to her house instead, where at least there was a pizzeria nearby. Best of all, it was along the part of the trail I had already traveled, so I would not be skipping anything.

It was fated to be this way. Susanne and I quickly became friends, and shortly after getting to her house, I was with her in the garden picking fruits and vegetables for the evening's dinner. I had mentioned to her that I missed cooking, and would love to help, and she took me up on my offer. Soon I was cutting up tomatoes, cucumber, zucchini, basil, and other wonderful home-grown produce, and together we cooked a delicious pasta, together with a salad. This dinner, which was almost entirely from the garden, was just what the doctor ordered, and we ate it outside with some delicious wine and a spectacular view of the surrounding hillside. Susanne and I then spoke until the late hours of the evening, sharing travel stories and life philosophies over some heavenly Grappa.

In the morning, I was sad to leave her and her beautiful dog Carino ("cute" in Italian), but was thankful for the good night's sleep in a comfortable bed.

Alba to San Bovo

8/2-8/3 Alba to San Bovo (a village of Benevello, for those of you tracking) - 14.22 miles

Alba is the cultural capital of the Langhe, and is centrally located in the heart of the region. Besides being well known for its wine, Alba is also apparently famous for its selection of truffles, particularly those of the white and black varieties, as well as chocolate. It is also close to Bra, capital of the slow food movement.

I had heard of a campsite about a mile and a half out of town, and after dropping the backpack, setting up camp, and taking a quick shower, I made my way back to town for a delicious dinner of pasta with baby shrimp and zucchini flowers, as well as an abundant mixed salad. After wandering around town for a bit, it was getting late and I had a long walk ahead of me, so I fueled up on a gelato, and once I had finished it, on another. So much for starving to death and wasting away from all that walking...

Exhausted, I collapsed onto my mattress pad, but a peaceful slumber was to escape me; the campsite was located next to a discoteca, and as it was Saturday night, the music blasted until 3:30 in the morning. I might as well have been camped out inside the discoteca for how clearly the bass pounded in my tent.

The next morning, I was invited to breakfast by my campground neighbors, a Dutch couple named Gerd and Sabrina. They were generous and pleasant, and it soon came out that they had taken a six month trip to China and Russia back in 2000, living in the moment and seeing both countries from the insider's perspective. I was absolutely amazed at the stories they had of their travels, of the various mishaps and adventures, and part of me quietly started thinking about my own trip to those countries. However, I must not get ahead of myself. I believe I have some walking to do first, and with that in mind, I prepared myself to head toward Cortemilia.

Someone had recently requested that I write my proposed path in the blog, so that people have an idea of my itinerary throughout the course of the week. The events that followed my night in Alba form a perfect illustration for why this is not feasible.

I headed into the middle of town in order to get some maps at the tourist information center. My plan was to take the following path: Cortemilia-Bubbio-Acqui Terme-Ovada-Parco Naturale Capanne di Marcarolo-Genova. After describing this itinerary to the representative, he told me that this was a great path... if I liked smog and industrial plants. Since I'm not crazy about either, I asked if he could suggest an alternative route, and was told to walk due South. The path as he described it cut right through the Langhe, and even included walking paths much like the ones I had taken up in Valle d'Aosta. His promises of vast vineyards, hazelnut groves, and virgin forests quickly won me over, and I resolved to figure out where I would stay once I got there. This freedom to choose my own path, and the ability to drop a week's careful planning at the drop of a hat in exchange for uncertainty, is something that I find very satisfying, so I took a few painfully inadequate maps and headed off into the unknown.

The only certainty was that my first stop would be in a village called San Bovo, and it appeared to be a short walk from Alba. This suited me fine, since the breakfast, long walk to the center, and time spent at the tourist information center had caused a late start.

After making my way out of an eerily silent Alba (it was Sunday, so everything was closed and deserted) The first hour and a half of the walk was easy, a slight decline but mostly flat, with town giving way to farmland. Then the hills hit me, and didn't stop hitting me for the next three days.

After 3 hours of uphill walking in 95 degree weather and +98% humidity, I finally made it to the point that my GPS knew to be San Bovo. And then, a funny thing happened: the road kept going, but the GPS didn't acknowledge the existence of a road. The signs kept pointing to a hostel, so I had to trust these over my GPS, and it was only 3 miles later that I finally made it to the village of San Bovo, a teeny tiny dot amidst vast expanses of vineyards.

The payoff was that I had the whole hostel to myself, and had earned my dinner (including 4 delicious homemade cheeses) with over 14 miles of walking. A "short walk," as I had projected, had turned into one of the longer walks of the trip.

Here are some of the pictures from the walk, including the beautiful church at San Bovo. I can only imagine how must work it must have been to carry all those stones by mule up that hill from Alba.

All the Gossip has to Stop!

8/2 - Montà d'Alba to Alba - 13.22

It's time we set the record straight. I have heard whispers, the chatter of gossip, and stifled giggles amongst you. Many of you have even started to lay down bets, openly doubting my sanity, or at the very least, my good judgment. Yes, I know it's true; there's no sense in denying it now. I have been quite offended by all of these machinations and vain falsehoods. How could you possibly doubt me? What I have done to merit such little faith? You, my family and friends, talking about me behind my back. Absolutely shameful.

To clear up any misconceptions, and to dispel all uncertainty, it is high time that I make myself abundantly clear. From this point on, I want all this nonsense to stop, and it is for this reason that I lay it all out on the table.

Yes, I have been drinking wine. And lots of it.

There, I've said it. While those of you who have remained faithful collect on your wagers, please allow me to elaborate.

Wine is an essential part of the Italian experience, like bread, soccer, and coffee. When marking down my expenses at the end of each day, I have long since left off putting wine in the "liquor" column (yeah, it has its own column: whatcha gonna do 'bout it?). No, wine has firmly lodged itself where it rightly belongs, in the food column.

Indeed, there are few dinners that are not accompanied by the trusty carafe of rosso. There are two paths one can take here in Italy. The first is the hoity-toity 4-star approach, which involves ordering actual bottles of wine at a restaurant. Besides marking you for a tourist from the get-go, you have by no means guaranteed a better drinking experience. The second, and quite clearly my chosen path, is the "house wine" (or, in Italian, vino sfuso) approach. Depending on the region and the size of the town, you are almost sure to receive local wine, grown in the backyards of friends of the restauranteur (or, in the more felicitous cases, by the restauranteur him/herself).

Aosta had various varieties of grapes, and produced a few wines inspired by the strong French influence in the region. More modest places would sometimes offer sparkling reds, usually lighter, a bit sweeter in flavor, and not very complex.

Piedmont, on the other hand, boasts some of the best wines in the world. Here, the vastly predominant grape is Nebbiolo, which makes Barolo, Barbera, Barabaresco, and Nebbiolo. With my limited knowledge and no time to research more thoroughly, I am sure that I have missed some, but this will have to do for now. The region also produces Dolcetto, which I believe is a different grape, and Arneis, which produces white wines.

There are three size choices when it comes to ordering the house wine: 250 ml (a quarto, or quartino), 500 ml (mezzo), or 1 Liter (don't know what they'd call this, and I would reveal myself as a drunkard if I did). 250 ml, or one third of a traditional wine bottle, is good for a lighter meal, and is the more affordable option, often costing less than a pint a beer. Me, I'm a bit like Goldilocks: the one in the middle is Just Right. 500 ml, or two thirds of a bottle, lasts you throughout the long Italian meal, and even allows for a small glass at the end to wash it all down.

The best part about ordering the house wine is that it always is a sort of crap shoot. Sometimes you get gut rot, something that tastes like acidic grape juice, and smells more like rubbing alcohol than wine. But then other times you get a magical potion, complex, perfectly fitted for the local cuisine, and with just the right amount of tannins. Most of the time, the wine is pleasant, not too fancy but very complementary with the surroundings and the locale. All in all, it's a risk worth taking, in my humble opinion.

Why bring wine up at this point in your travels, might you ask? After all, you have not even reached Tuscany. The reason, dear friends, is that I had the privelege of walking through much of Piedmont's wine country, starting shortly after Montà.

As I walked away from the Agriturismo, my host Carlo had shown me the scenic route around the city, and it was there that I saw my first vines of the region. Though the grapes were still green, a bit over a month away from the harvest, they were full and thick on the vines, lustily drinking in the previous evening's rain.

These vineyards grew larger and larger, and came to dominate the landscape. At around 1:30, just about lunchtime, I came across a cantina, or winery. I eagerly made my way to the entrance, where I found that the cantina was closed for another half hour. Undaunted, I made my way inside the walls, chatted a bit with one of the employees, who was washing his car, and ate my lunch. By the time I was done, the winery had reopened, and it was time to taste some wine.

This particular cantina is located in Roero, which is the Sonoma to the Langhe's Napa. Thus, while the soil composition, altitude, and temperature were a bit different, we were quite close to one of the most famous wine making regions, and the wines were still absolutely delicious, without all the hype and snobbery.

After asking lots of questions about the wines, the production process, and so on, I got down to some serious tasting. I got to try a Nebbiolo, a Dolcetto, an Arneis, and a Barbera.

Here are my (admittedly simple) tasting notes, taken at the time:

Nebbiolo - 2005 - Sharp on the nose, slightly brown in color, chocolate and earth flavors, slightly tannic

Dolcetto - Very tannic, lighter in texture, not sweet as the name would suggest

Arneis - white - Full-bodied, very slightly sweet, better to drink young

Barbera - Not too heavy, ruby red in color. Classic table wine

By the time I got out of there, my legs had grown a bit flimsy, and what would normally have been a standard piece of the walk grew quite long and difficult as a result. I had learned the lesson many days ago that one should not drink in the afternoon and then try to follow it with a long walk in the hot sun. However, if there was a time to make exceptions, this was surely it, and I did not begrudge myself the hour spent in Epicurian pursuits.