Blowing Rasperries at the Sea

I have often wondered about the saints... Did they smile and laugh or were the times too terrifying?  Did the disciples ever crack bad jokes causing Peter to roll his eyes and Jesus to mutter under his breath"Oh for Christ's sake..." Did the saints ever just want to be liked? 

I shared a tomato and a package of crackers with a donkey outside of Civezza.  As I was walking by, the donkey had come up to the fence to announce his presence and I was so happy to have another creature to talk to that I sat down to share the last if my food .  

Peter made fun of me though.."Come on Jen, you'll have conversations with asses before you start listening to me?? It's time we get to work!"

"Peter, you have one sick sense of humor if you think this walk has been anything BUT work!"

"Jen, at what point did we say that this has anything to do with you??? We already sent you to see Saint James to learn about yourself. Now, you have been sent to me. Now you will learn about others."

It poured,  hail bouncing off windows and artwork at an outdoor market in Genoa. The beautiful architecture that Matteo had told me about, reflected off the wet, shiny, grey pavement, doubling it's impressive effect. I had spent my day wandering through massive churches and art galleries and at one point was even joined for awhile by a soft spoken  older man, eager to show me the way to Columbus's house.  I enjoyed a day wearing dress and my backpack was in my hotel room, waiting patiently for me to start listening to Peter.  Eventually, I had returned to the hotel and was sitting alone in the empty dining room checking emails when an attractive man walked in, sat heavily down and cried. I moved to sit next to him, putting my hand on his back as he showed me a picture he was holding of an old man.  We never learned each others names or talked. We just sat there, sharing the same bit of space for a tiny bit of time. 

"I have one room. There is just one problem though... There are a few steps..." I had just arrived in the Cinque Terre and upon my second inquiry, I  had discovered a room for a reasonable 35 euros a night. I explained that I had spent the last week walking with an average daily ascent of 900 meters  and as  long as the room had a bed, a few stairs weren't going to stop me.  193 steps later, I collapsed happily onto a bed in a lovely room at the top of riomaggiare. 

In Riomaggiare, one of the five villages making up le Cinque Terre, at least a hundred square houses in various pastel shades sit stacked precariously on steep cliffs touching the ocean.   The houses have been built so closely together that there are no major roads for cars to get in.  Rather, people get around by a beautiful series of footpaths and steps carved into the side of the cliffs.

 I had taken a day away from walking to rent a kayak and with no instructions or life jacket, I paddled out into a lovely clear Mediterranean Sea to view the five lands. Nervous at first, I tightly gripped my paddle as each tourist ferry sent me rocking in its wake. However, two hours later found me lazily eating fruit, my feet dangling in the sea, my camera inches from the water, and le Cinque Terre spread dramatically before me.

As twilight engulfed Riomaggiare, I quietly wandered from terrace to terrace, observing the sea trying on the varying shades of a waning sun. I found a sea facing terrace with family balconies on both sides and I watched as two local families shouted and laughed while passing  wine across. Children erupted into giggles as they made competing progressively louder farting noises and the moms halfheartedly swatted at them while chuckling. Noticing  me watching, one father embarrassingly nudged his wife and as all eyes turned my direction, I did what any self respecting teacher would do... I raised my arm to my lips and "let er rip!" I walked back up to my room, silly laughter ringing in my ears. Peter is certainly rolling his eyes.