You can't spend 25 days in Europe and not have a few things go wrong...

The worst would have to be our first afternoon in Italy. Both of  us enduring nasty sunburns from a rather ill advised hike down the Schilthorn in the  Swiss Alps the day before, we arrived in Milan and began our descent into the hot muggy hell of Italian train travel. After alighting from the train, we checked the departure schedule for a train going near the Cinque Terre.  There would be one in a few minutes to La Spezia, but we needed to get money from  an ATM and grab some lunch. So, our best bet looked to be Genova, which appeared to be on the map just down from the opposite end of the village we'd be staying in. It would be several more hours until another train would leave for La Spezia, so I made the choice to take the Genova train in an hour.

With our transportation under control, the next step was money. We wandered around the stiflingly hot station, searching for an ATM. None were to be found. Brian decided to wait in line at the Information desk to ask, which did precisely no good.

We stumbled upon an exchange desk, and decided to use our emergency American dollars to obtain some lire. We still needed some lunch before we could get on the train. After what seemed an unnecessarily long wait, we were told by the clerk that there were "computer problems" and they couldn't exchange any money just now. That did not bode well, we thought. Then we spotted an ATM set back in an alcove.  Judging from the irate woman attempting to use it and the ominous Italian warnings flashing on the screen, the computer problems  prevented the ATM from working as well.

Quite thirsty by now, I thought we should try the little restaurant, and just use our visa. That plan didn't last long when I saw the price of an individual pizza. My aggravation level was rising steadily at this point. My bag was heavy, and I couldn't wear it due to my sunburn, so I had tied my bandanna to the handle and begun dragging it behind me. This elicited some rather rude comments from my husband, which I ignored.

We trudged around, waiting for the computers to start functioning and were eventually rewarded. The exchange desk re-opened, and we got our lire. Hurriedly, we made our way through the crowds to the grocery type store and grabbed a couple slices of pizza, and some cokes. It was time for the train by this point, so we lugged our bags, our food and our selves to the platform. Now, the million dollar question was, which car goes to Genova? The rail employee outside the train was of no assistance, so we clambered onto the car we thought was right. Things did not look good. It was teeming with people trying to cram their luggage in overhead. I finally spotted a seat and plunked down, only to be informed that I was in someone's reserved seat. It was the only seat left in the car. And imagine, I had thought we would  be just fine without reservations.

I joined Brian in the bathroom compartment between cars. He walked up and down the next few cars, to no avail - no seats were to be found. We resigned ourselves to standing. The train pulled away from the station and I sat on the floor and sniffled. The sun beat in the closed windows. With no AC in this compartment it had the effect of  a broiler. Add this to the misery of my sunburn and I thought things couldn't get any worse. I was wrong.

Finally able to eat my lunch, I took a bite of my pizza, relishing the thought of my first Italian pizza. Oh no. It had peppers on it. I can't eat anything with peppers. I stuffed it back in its bag, and opened my bottle of coke. Ahh - a nice big swig of ... warm coke! Yuck! Nothing is worse when you're hot and thirsty than warm coke. It's like drinking syrup.

After about an hour or so, I decided I just couldn't bear it. I investigated the next car. It was air conditioned - somewhat (probably 80 degrees compared to over 90) and had a luggage area at the back  where we could sit on the floor with more room. I  collected my husband and  bags, and we deposited ourselves on the floor, glaring daggers at the old woman who had her pudgy bare feet propped up on the empty seat next to her, and the man who crossed his arms over the next seat when I looked at it longingly. Not brave enough to confront these locals, I just bumped *accidentally* into the woman's feet sticking out in the aisle every time I made my way through the car to soak my bandanna in cool water.

The trolley guy was nearby, so I asked Brian for some water. I was parched. He returned  with a grim face. Evidently, he handed the guy his money and asked for water, to be curtly informed that he was on Break. Not about to help a damsel in distress, this one! And when he came off break, he was, of course, out of water. Warm coke anyone?

I sat quietly on my backpack and tried not to cry. I was quite brave if I say so myself, until the girl across from me lit up. Smoke annoys me in the best of circumstances. Not being in a very happy frame of mind, this put me over the edge. Unable to breathe in the heat and smoke of the stuffy train car, I buried my face in my dampened bandanna (that thing sure was handy!) and sniveled and snotted.  I was hot, sweaty, thirsty, hungry, and utterly and thoroughly miserable.  Poor Brian. All he could do was look at me helplessly like a dog who knows its master is sad, but can't do anything about it.

The interminable train ride finally came to an end, only to be followed by a mad dash at the Genova station to find the train to Riomaggiore. As it turns out we were 90 kilometers away. With the help of a local girl who spotted my misery and had sympathy, we found ourselves on a slow train in 2nd class (again with no AC)  headed for La Spezia. This train, of course had no trolley, so there was to be no relief from my thirst here either. I greedily eyed a half empty water bottle  someone left in their seat at the next stop, but couldn't believe my eyes when a young man got on the train a while later, picked up the bottle, turned it up and drank it!

Two hours later, many hours later than I had planned for, we arrived in our little village in the Cinque Terre. Carrying both our backpacks in the blazing Italian sun, Brian then had to follow our  freakishly energetic inn manager as he led us up a long steep hill in leaps and bounds. I looked back fearfully  every few seconds, afraid that my 28 year old husband was going to collapse with a heart attack.

We made it to our room with no coronary problems, and after cold showers (we didn't mind the lack of hot water just yet) and lots of water to drink, we were raring to go. We checked out the view from our window before leaving for a big dinner, and noticed the quaint little church. How nice. There was no sign of course to warn us that promptly at 7am the next morning (and the next and the next) the bells would chime 90 times. But that's another story...