La-la-la-la-lasagna. You want-a some-a lasagna, magnifico!
You know I am having trouble coming up with blog titles when I have to dig into early Weird Al to find anything remotely relevant.
I am in Italy.
It took me until right now (2:35 PM) to realize that today is September 11th. Four years now? Wow! Boy did I mispredict how things would go.
Where was I? That fun night out in Nice, right? Followed by a good night's sleep. Checking out of the Hotel Baccarat. Eating a croissant out of my backpack for breakfast. Buying contact solution.
And catching the first of a series of trains that would eventually take me to Cinqueterre, one of the few places in the world whose beauty rivals that of Iceland.
Since I had finished For For Whom The Bell Tolls, I very cleverly performed a book swap with an Aussie dude in my hostel room. I took The Rule Of Four, a somewhat popular book in the same vein as The Da Vinci Code but which was released afterwards. It was recommended to me by a guy I met on the Golden Circle Tour in Iceland, and I mostly brushed him off. However, when given the choice of nothing or a semi-crappy thriller about college kids solving a very mysterious medieval puzzle, I happily chose the latter. The book is not bad. But there is very little that is good about it. I think the writing is better than that of the Da Vinci Code, which I found to be mostly bad, but moderately entertaining. The Rule of Four is a bit less ambitious in its scope and uses characters that are far less stereotypical. As the authors are just out of college, they seem to have a roughly realistic grasp on what the atmosphere might have been. The book does introduce some fairly ordinary concepts as if they were obscure (one of the main reasons I hated some of the Da Vinci Code). But it moves quickly. I will probably finish soon.
We had a train stop in a town on the Italian border called Vintemigna, which I thought was pleasant and quiet. I stopped at a cafe for some delicious spagetti (and those who know me well know that I am not a huge pasta fan), a beer and an espresso. Because the cafe was crowded, I was joined by a Dutch couple from Maastrict who were, like Joan Perlman that I met in Iceland, both artists. Lovely! I asked them what "stijl" their art was, and felt extremely clever until I realized that I had been mispronouncing the word since high school. They were very kind though. After only an hour of conversation, they invited me to stay with them in Maastrict! Now wouldn't that be something?
I arrived in Riomaggiore, the furthest east of the 5 towns that compose Cinqueterre around 7 in the evening. I have heard much about this place, of the stone paths that connect the five towns, of the beach, of the relaxation. That once I get here, I won't want to leave. I do love it, but I think 4 days will be enough.
I found a hostel a bit off the "plaza" (the town is tiny, tiny, tiny) and grabbed the most delicious pesto lasagna I have ever tasted. Thus the title for the blog post, eh? Get it? Lasagna?
I then crossed the street to Bar Centrale, the only bar in town, where I heard all the hostellers and young folk in town meet. I bought a bottle of wine after being yelled at by the woman behind the counter because I didn't hear her after she told me the price three times. She is the meanest person I have met on this trip. Yells and screams at almost everybody.
Drinking the bottle of wine I met a very nice couple from North Hollywood (the husband carries around a bottle of Tapatio sauce with him) and reconnected with Madison and Annie, two girls I met getting off the train. We all stayed at the bar for a while longer, and at some point I know I ended up swimming in the harbor. That is, I swam in the ocean under the stars, in small Italian town. Like a dream, eh?
I woke up yesterday morning still cold and wet.
I am in Italy.
It took me until right now (2:35 PM) to realize that today is September 11th. Four years now? Wow! Boy did I mispredict how things would go.
Where was I? That fun night out in Nice, right? Followed by a good night's sleep. Checking out of the Hotel Baccarat. Eating a croissant out of my backpack for breakfast. Buying contact solution.
And catching the first of a series of trains that would eventually take me to Cinqueterre, one of the few places in the world whose beauty rivals that of Iceland.
Since I had finished For For Whom The Bell Tolls, I very cleverly performed a book swap with an Aussie dude in my hostel room. I took The Rule Of Four, a somewhat popular book in the same vein as The Da Vinci Code but which was released afterwards. It was recommended to me by a guy I met on the Golden Circle Tour in Iceland, and I mostly brushed him off. However, when given the choice of nothing or a semi-crappy thriller about college kids solving a very mysterious medieval puzzle, I happily chose the latter. The book is not bad. But there is very little that is good about it. I think the writing is better than that of the Da Vinci Code, which I found to be mostly bad, but moderately entertaining. The Rule of Four is a bit less ambitious in its scope and uses characters that are far less stereotypical. As the authors are just out of college, they seem to have a roughly realistic grasp on what the atmosphere might have been. The book does introduce some fairly ordinary concepts as if they were obscure (one of the main reasons I hated some of the Da Vinci Code). But it moves quickly. I will probably finish soon.
We had a train stop in a town on the Italian border called Vintemigna, which I thought was pleasant and quiet. I stopped at a cafe for some delicious spagetti (and those who know me well know that I am not a huge pasta fan), a beer and an espresso. Because the cafe was crowded, I was joined by a Dutch couple from Maastrict who were, like Joan Perlman that I met in Iceland, both artists. Lovely! I asked them what "stijl" their art was, and felt extremely clever until I realized that I had been mispronouncing the word since high school. They were very kind though. After only an hour of conversation, they invited me to stay with them in Maastrict! Now wouldn't that be something?
I arrived in Riomaggiore, the furthest east of the 5 towns that compose Cinqueterre around 7 in the evening. I have heard much about this place, of the stone paths that connect the five towns, of the beach, of the relaxation. That once I get here, I won't want to leave. I do love it, but I think 4 days will be enough.
I found a hostel a bit off the "plaza" (the town is tiny, tiny, tiny) and grabbed the most delicious pesto lasagna I have ever tasted. Thus the title for the blog post, eh? Get it? Lasagna?
I then crossed the street to Bar Centrale, the only bar in town, where I heard all the hostellers and young folk in town meet. I bought a bottle of wine after being yelled at by the woman behind the counter because I didn't hear her after she told me the price three times. She is the meanest person I have met on this trip. Yells and screams at almost everybody.
Drinking the bottle of wine I met a very nice couple from North Hollywood (the husband carries around a bottle of Tapatio sauce with him) and reconnected with Madison and Annie, two girls I met getting off the train. We all stayed at the bar for a while longer, and at some point I know I ended up swimming in the harbor. That is, I swam in the ocean under the stars, in small Italian town. Like a dream, eh?
I woke up yesterday morning still cold and wet.
posted by Jed at 5:33 AM
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