Hot Hills..and Tigers

I lick my lips and taste salt, sweat and bug spray stinging my eyes. A heated breeze hits my body much the same as when I open an oven  and peek obsessively in on baked goods. My water bottle is hot to the touch and the skin on my face is chafing from the hundreds of times I have mopped it dry of dust and sweat. My walking stick is again hitting the ground in four four time, matching every fourth step I take. As the rocky cliffs of the coastal route have given way to the gentle hills of tuscany, I have found my rhythm. 

While walking, a pilgrim will obsess over tiny luxuries for hours... for example, I have recently lost half a day fixated on the idea of the condensation on the outside of a glass of ice tea..the blissful way it collects and runs icily down the side of the glass before pooling  in a ring at the bottom.. My favorite Italian phrase is  "avete ghiaccio?" .. Do you have ice??? I ask this often with a desperate expression on my face. I also have formed an unfortunate 4 euro a day Fanta habit. 

While wandering, Pilgrims will pose unanswerable questions to themselves..  "Would I rather feel cool wearing shorts, but get torn by thorns and eaten by bugs or instead wear pants and feel sweat rolling down my legs?" Or "Would I rather walk downhill in the sun or uphill in the shade?" However, such questions prove pointless because the pilgrim is in fact walking steeply uphill in the full sun AND wearing pants while still being eaten alive.

Italians call them "tiger" Mosquitos and they refuse to claim them as their own, rather saying that they arrived as pesky stowaways aboard boats and semis from far off lands. In one single minute, I had managed to acquire about 20 bites which eventually swelled to ping pong ball sized welts that itched like mad but ached when scratched. However, I ceased my complaining when I met Nicolene, a young, pretty, blonde Belgian girl whose legs and arms were covered in tennis ball sized bullseye bug bite bruises. 

The mosquitos and the Tuscan sun create the perfect purgatory though. One afternoon as Nicoline, her adorable boyfriend Gilles and I trudged under a scorching sun, we happily followed signs leading to water and shade. We gleefully shed our backpacks, plopping down under a tree, only to be quickly driven off by swarms of vicious little ravenous buzzing bastards.  And so a pilgrim asks herself.. "Would I rather walk in the sun and risk heatstroke or walk in the shade and risk malaria?"

*****

I had climbed to the top of yet another mountain only to be told that no hostel or hotel existed in that particular town. I was out of strength and knew I wouldn't make it to the town of Alassio 6 kilometers away.  And so, I looked down from my hillside perch, spotted a collection of houses below and left Peter's arrows to try my luck. As every pilgrim does, I headed to the church and slumped exhausted in a pew to await divine intervention.  I was shortly joined by a young priest to whom I poured out my frustrations and after hearing me out he asked where I had been trying to get to. "Alassio," I said dejectedly. He looked at me a moment before replying and pointing "but Alassio is right there!" A few days later when a different priest with eyes matching the Mediterranean, handed my pilgrim credential back to me, I realized that I could never be a Catholic in Italy since the priests are far too young and attractive. 

*****

As I approached a fountain behind a broken abandoned church, a gangly adolescent boy with a dark tangled mop of hair jumped back to allow me to fill my water bottle. His shirt was wet and it was clear that he had been warding off the midday sun by playing in the fountain's water. Moments later, I began to walk silently on my way but Peter shouted at me, his anger halting me in my tracks. I turned back to the boy, raised my hand to wave and tossed off a simple "Ciao!" In response, the boys face instantly lit into a broad smile, revealing a mouth full of neglected teeth... 

But oh, what a lovely smile it was.

 "Jen," Peter admonished, "how many other times have you simply walked past?"

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.