| Taking A Vacation From Vacation |
Backpacking can be considered a vacation of sorts, but it is certainly no pleasure cruise. Many nights we are up late or out early, all in the name of exploring. We walk miles and miles everyday. We eat food that is sometimes very strange, often bought in grocery stores and kept for days in our backpacks. My backpack is probably close to 40 pounds, and I packed light. We sleep in different hostels at least three nights of the week, get woken up by the snoring of many a fellow traveler in the middle of the night, and wander dusty hallways in the morning, bleary eyed and in search of an available shower. Stability and consistency are words not often used among us. But we are rewarded daily for our perseverance with dozens of new and interesting experiences we would not otherwise be having if we'd just stayed home for the summer.
As a break from all the fun, we decided to build a little vacation into our vacation, and that's where we've been for the last several days. Since Wednesday, we have been by the sunny shores of the Mediterranean in Nice, France, bouncing between our private hotel room, the grocery store, and the beach. Rather than searching for culture or art or scenery, we sat around on our butts and took a break for once. It was nice. We ate baguettes and pâté and drank Orangina and rarely exchanged more than a merci or bon soir with anyone.
But by last night, it became apparent that the social atmosphere of our beloved hostels and the ten miles of walking per day were calling our names. So this morning we hopped a train bound for Italy, to begin our six day tour of Cinque Terre, Rome, and Venice, before heading out through Slovenia to Hungary next week.
I would like to make a recommendation to anybody who considers themself a fan of Mediterranean seascapes. Do yourself a favor and take a train along the Riviera. The trains we took from Spain to Nice were going through such gorgeous scenery that I almost wanted to skip the rest of Europe, hop off at the next stop and spend the next decade or two learning French and sunning myself on pale sandy beaches. Maybe an old man would teach me how to paint with oils and his old wife would bake fresh croissants. This morning, our train is so close to the water that looking out the window, if not for the usual railway sounds and the occasional passing lightpole, one could almost feel as if riding on a boat. As an added bonus, we took a cheap regional train which has windows that open and very unreliable interior lighting, which leads to all kinds of fun when riding through pitch black tunnels for minutes at a time.
So more about today's destination. We're chugging towards Genova at the moment, which I think for some reason is also called Genoa and therefore might be famous for it's Salami. I'll get back to you on that. Our final destination today is the town of Riomaggiore, one of the five townsthat make up Cinque Terre, which is a protected enclave of five picturesque towns built more or less into some cliffs in the Italian Riviera. We have heard absolutely rave reviews from literally 100% of the dozen or so backpackers with whom we've conversed about this place. Needless to say, we are pumped for our two days there. Also, they claim to be famous for their locally produced pesto. And since the wine regions of Piemonte and Tuscany aren't so far away, I'm thinking that dinner tonight could be rather delicious.
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