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Chapter 2

He woke slowly, the morning sun warming his body as it streamed through the window of his small rented apartment. Garret’s eyes fluttered open, blinking in the brightness. Scanning the room, he was amazed at his luck in finding this place.

The lady at the desk of the rental office had said in almost unintelligible broken English that she had a nice place for him to stay. Winding down the narrow streets she had kept walking, out of the newer residential area of town, into the older section near the water. They continued to the last building on the waterfront and then turned winding up a flight of stairs to the uppermost apartment. Pushing the door open on a tiny studio, she handed him the keys saying “You like? Very nice, hmm?” She had left him to settle in, alone once again.

Garret looked around the room, taking in the kitchenette with its one burner stove and miniature refrigerator, moving next to the small circular table with its two chairs and on to the armchair near the doorway with the small overhead reading lamp. It was nothing spectacular.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Garret sat up. He grabbed a cluster of grapes from the bowl on the counter and moved to the French doors leading onto the balcony. Swinging the doors wide he again marveled at his luck in finding this apartment. The radiant blue of the sky merged with the cool green of the Mediterranean in shades he had never before seen back home. Bringing his eyes back to his immediate surroundings, Garret looked again at the little bay, protected by a sea wall, with the small fishing boats bobbing at their moorings or pulled up onto the rocky pier. Looking to the buildings, he followed their relentless march up the hill in stair steps that followed the contours of the steeply climbing terrain. In typical European tower style construction, the buildings were crammed together, tall and narrow, along tiny alleyways hardly wide enough for a single car.



Strolling along the trail between Riomaggiore and Manarola, Garret stopped often to take in the sights. Ocean waves, in regular intervals, marched in, crashing on the rocks almost directly below him at the base of the cliffs. Gazing the other direction he looked upon the terraced vineyards running in neat rows carved from the stony hillside. The vines now sagging under the weight of giant, juicy clusters were nearing harvest, after which the grapes would be turned over to the local vintners to be transformed into the prized wine of the region.
Stopping now and then at the benches along the trail, he would watch the other tourists strolling along the path. Young couples walking hand in hand, older couples with cameras always at the ready, and groups of younger college age students all traveled in multiples. Only on rare occasion did he ever see another person alone, like himself. It was strange being there without anyone to talk to but at the same time refreshing because he didn’t feel the need.

Beginning his stay in Rome, Garret had done all the major tourist attractions: the Colliseum, the Vatican City, and Cistine Chapel. Moving on to Florence he had become bored with seeing only the things from tourism books. On the advice of a local man he had met while getting coffee one morning, Garret had decided to visit the Cinque Terre, a group of five small towns along the north western coast perched on the steep hillsides and point of land jutting out into the Mediterranean Sea. Accessible only by train, he had ridden into the easternmost of the towns, Riomaggiore, just before lunch and wandered the streets for a short time before finding a small restaurant with tables out front. After ordering a salad and drink he sat quietly watching the local activity until the waiter returned a short time later carrying his food. The waiter was fairly fluent in English and able to carry on a conversation, so Garret asked him where he might be able to find a place to stay. The man directed him to a rental office that booked short stays, also telling him of a few things that he may want to see while staying in town. Finishing his meal, Garret paid the waiter and set off to find the office.

The small streets of the town were barely wide enough for a single car to pass along them. Winding through the small groups casually wandering the streets of town, Garret followed the directions the waiter had given him. The rental office was barely large enough to hold the two desks, behind which sat two older ladies. One smoked a cigarette while the other tapped away on her ancient computer barely glancing up at the newcomer.

“Do you speak English?” Garret asked slowly.
The lady closest to him, the one on the computer, pointed to her sidekick who blew a lazy cloud of smoke and replied, “Only a little,” with a heavy accent.

Garret crossed to the chair in front of her desk setting his backpack against the wall and said, “I need a room for the week. Do you have any available?”

Stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray overflowing with butts, she pulled a dirty keyboard in front of her and clacked on the brown stained keys until finding something on the screen that met her approval. Smiling and nodding she looked back to Garret and said, “I have perfect room. You'll love it! Follow me.”