Dave the Nomad

Under the stars. I haven’t been camping much lately since I’ve been in large cities, and avoided other areas after reports of violence against campers. Tonight my plan was to hike into an area on the Ligurian Coast of Italy called Cinque Terre and stay at a hostel in Manarola (one of the five villages.) This UNESCO area is composed of 5 small villages perched on rock cliffs like barnacles clinging to a precarious livelihood. These steep mountainsides have been farmed for over a thousand years, and now present themselves as a blend of vanishing nature, terraced olive and lemon trees, and grape vines.

The off season is in full swing now, which means my plan flopped. I showed up at the hostel only to find a chain, surveillance cameras, and a locked door. They were closed until February. I’ve been carrying a 4 lb 4 oz back-up plan with me for a while now, and after walking through a silent town with no one in the streets, I decided to explore the countryside outside the city. As I walked out of town and waited for my eyes to adjust, I realized I should say terrain and not countryside, since I was greeted by steep steps at times closer to ladders snaking their way up asymmetrical terraces filled with vines. This was the case in every direction. The village was a small speck near the sea with climbing terraces surrounding it on all sides.

I stopped for a minute and looked up. I was trying to remember the last time I could see the stars so clearly. The milky way was a ribbon of transparent white in the sky, my eyes didn’t strain to see it past the brighter individual stars. I remember the last time I could see the stars so clearly, and it was in Morocco on the roof terrace, and I remember what I was thinking at that moment. I was laughing how the closest thing to home is the farthest thing away. Sans the Southern Hemisphere (sorry Aussies), no matter where I am, be it lost or known, I know where I am, and I have that proverbial picture and all its stories right above my head.

I turned my gaze towards the village below me, and suddenly every thing looked quantized, real, and tangible again. I could see half the city streets, the three men near the church saying their goodbyes for the night, and watched the whole valley below me grow darker as each window turned blank and blended into the walls supporting it. I counted every light I could see. 63. I looked up, laughed, laughed some more when trying to think of the most efficient way of counting stars. 59. My view below diminishing, my view above gaining with every light extinguished.

The terrace I stopped on was bordered by thick brambles, and was protected nicely on two sides by walls. Since I had heard no sound but the distant pounding of the waves against the cliffs, and the occasional rustling of grape leaves around me I decided to check out the surrounding area to make sure I wasn’t missing out on a better site. 56. Happily, I returned to my pack and nestled myself in near the wall under the grape vines, leaving my 4 lb 4 oz back-up plan tucked away. 54. It wasn’t too cold, I put a sweater on and for the first time in a while slept on rocky ground with the smell of earth and autumn leaves melding together. I glanced one more time to look down at the city before gazing up through the grape leaves until I passed out. 53.

Tags: Camping, Cinque Terre

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 19th, 2008 at 8:53 am and is filed under Odd Travels, Off the Beaten Path. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.