Today I washed my socks in the sea.. Walking to Rome is different than walking to Santiago. On the way to Santiago, people knew what you were doing and wished you warm buon caminos, but not so many pilgrims crowd the roads to Rome. And so people have been looking my way with a bit of apprehension, perhaps suspecting my gypsy heritage. (Of course, I was walking through Monaco at the time.. they look at anyone making less than $500,000 a year that way..)
I kissed my husband a few days ago, borded a night train and happily left Paris behind. I will eventually write about Paris, but let it momentarily suffice to say that I am thrilled to to be in Italy with it's plethora of public toilets.) I stepped off a train and began my walk yesterday in Nice after unexpectedly catching a Sunday morning mass. After crossing into Italy, I stayed in lovely Ventimiglia with Elizabeth, her italian husband, her teenage daughter and her two affectionate dogs. Elizabeth is an american kung fu teacher who had listed her spare bedroom on Airbnb.com and upon my arrival, she invited me to join her family for what turned out to be a delicious vegen dinner of gespacho, smoked eggplant, potatoes, truffles and fresh herbs. There was a moment when I considered giving up on Rome and just spending the month with Elizabeth and her family..
Italy smells like sage and jasmine lines the road. (Paris smells a bit like piss..) Pastel pink, orange and yellow houses are stacked in the hills touching the sea while colors run riot in the agressive vines growing around every home. People seem to be chatty so far, wanting to know what purpose a stranger has to walk through their neighborhoods. One old man stopped me earlier, simply to tell me that I have strong calves and upon learning of my trek to Rome, he assured me that I will make it with no troubles. I am overcoming my mild fear of heights as most of the roads I am walking are on steep cliffs above the Mediterranean. Though I had prepared for an unmarked trail, I am thrilled to bits to see that the Via Della Costa, my route to Rome, is thoroughly marked with familiar cheery yellow arrows. I am eating freakish amounts of fresh fruits bought at local markets. Today I ate a peach so juicy that I nearly went through a pack of wet wipes to clean myself off. And I am remembering all of the gloriously forgotten aches of the camino... the stiff knees, tight ankles, chaffed shoulders, tired feet.. and oh, the blisters, how could I forget the blisters??
Tonight my tent is on a beach outside of San Remo. Caravans are nearby, full of families with children drunk on summertime and as the sun sets, the sound of waves will lull all off to sleep.
