On board to Pisa for that transfer, among the numerous empty seats around us, a large, sweaty man asked Maddie to move her backpack so he could sit next to her. What was until that point a pleasant ride, became borderline nauseating moments later when the stench, like a puppy straggling behind its owner, announced itself by plopping into the foursome of seats we now shared. I would never be the one to complain about someone sitting down with us, smelly or not, but it felt bizarre that he hadn't chosen any of the open seats around us. As it happened, his odor, humidity, and warmth that permeated our little section made the ride...interesting. I even caught another fellow passenger's wide, incredulous eyes, apparently in response to the same malodorous situation. Once in Pisa, we greeted fresh air as a long-lost friend, hustling to hop on the next train. It was only a couple extra euros to get a first class ticket on this leg, and the contrast in consecutive train experiences made the splurge (if you can even call it that) worth it ten times over. Before long, we were comfortably in La Spezia, boarding our final, heinously crowded train to Corniglia.
From the train station, it was some 300 steps up to the town itself, a small collection of iconically Ligurian buildings perched above the dramatic, rocky coves below. The workout of carrying all of our luggage up the stairs was a rewarding way to start this final leg of the trip, though we learned after the fact that a bus regularly shuttles people to the town. Oh well. With a rest at the top, we entered the charming confines of Corniglia, one of the smaller, less crowded of the five towns, and eventually found our apartment. To say the place lived up to expectation is an understatement. We put down our things, walked outside and savored one of the most breathtaking views of the trip.
Without much hesitation, we went back inside, changed, grabbed a sandwich and a couple of juices, and walked down to the marina to take a swim. It was almost exactly what I pictured, but even better. As the clouds overhead shielded the sun from delivering too much heat, I laid down on the warm rocky ledge beside the water in what felt like perfect temperature equilibrium. Something to know about me, something I've mentioned several times in previous hiking posts, is that I am incredibly finicky when it comes temperature. I can and have endured the elements, but in my day to day life, I am rarely, if ever, perfectly comfortable. Either a breeze makes me a little too cold, or the light sweater makes me too warm. I don't really complain about it much, but Maddie and my friends joke about my princess-like preferences. Today, though, and all the way through the night, I was in temperature nirvana. Whereas the junction between air and skin is always a discernible sensation, it's existence continually signaled by waves of heat, a chill in the air, or a light breeze, today it did not. Today's breeze wasn't what I would call refreshing, as it was barely noticeable, it just perfused me with comfort on a level I have never felt. I know this is a lofty way to expound on the weather being good, but it wasn't just good. It was uniquely perfect.
The water was warm, but not tropical-warm, just comfortable enough to be refreshing and not make your teeth chatter after a while. We swam for a bit, then parked ourselves on a ledge by the water and read for a couple of hours, getting lost in our books and our own heads. We then packed up, and headed back up to our place, showered, changed, and went exploring. We stopped by the market for a couple of snacks, and munched on those on the terrace of our apartment, reading and taking in the sea view.
The hours passed, and we were ready to find some dinner. We settled on an adorable, tony outdoor garden-like patio overlooking the ocean. We ordered two vegetable soups and a caprese salad, and they ended up being the tastiest of those dishes we have had the whole trip, especially the salad. The tomatoes had more flavor, the capers were enormous and subtle, and the mozzarella tasted...cheesier, if that makes sense...like there's the kind of mozz that doesn't taste like anything really, and then there's the mozz with the little bit of pleasant funk that lets you know it's cheese. The downside of the night came when, well, when the night actually came. As darkness descended, so did the flys, or gnats or whatever they were. They swarmed the light just above our table, and like kamikaze pilots they jettisoned into our water, fluttering helplessly in the olive oil, creating a veritable insect crust on the tomatoes and cheese. And, as is my luck with the insect kingdom, they swarmed my face, filling every orifice and tickling every hair, leaving Maddie virtually untouched, mind you. Part way through the salad, I had plucked off my last bug, and we just walked out, went to the register, paid and hastily made our way back to the room. I was still shaking them out of my hair when I got back. It managed to turn what would have been one of the best meals of the trip into easily one of the most revolting of my life. I've eaten ants, crickets, and even one of those weird, why-does-this-exist scorpion-filled lollipops, but the flying insect mob is something I am becoming more and more averse to as I continue to have worse and worse encountered with them.
Safe in our little oasis, I'm just exhausted and ready for what I can only pray is a bug-free bed. Tomorrow we'll be moving one town south to Manarola for the last three nights. Plenty of relaxation to ensue. Goodnight!
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