Manarola, Cinque Terre, Italy
Oh my god. This morning was one of the worst hungover experiences I’ve gone through. It could battle the time I went for Saturday morning college classes hungover…. a decade ago. (God that sounds long when I say it like that.)
Yishyene and I went out partying till 5am, slept for 3 hours, then showered, packed and rushed to catch our 9:30am train to La Spezia. The night before, we went out at 9:30pm and tried to find this indie bar that is a 15-minute walk from our hostel but it happened to be shut for a private function. While deciding where we could go next, we sat at a nearby bar to have some beers and surf on her phone for clubs we would like. We found one that didn’t require too much walking (or so we thought) and taking the Metro (which was shut due to a strike). The waiter at the bar was really helpful, and said this club was a 5-minute walk away. We should know by now… that when Italians say a length of time/distance, you take that and multiply it by 4.
Wow I just read my past few days’ writing and realised what a transport disaster my trip to Italy has been so far – flight got delayed by 6 hours from Bordeaux, then I lost my stupid train ticket to Naples, then I missed my ferry from Strombroli… I’m hoping all these mishaps are just getting over with in the first week so the rest of my holiday will be PERFECT.
By the time we arrived in Rome, dumped our bags and applied lots of sunscreen to walk around Rome in 35°C heat; it was 2pm. We walked all the way from Roma Termini station to the Coliseum, through Tiber Island, then up north all the way to the Basilica of St Peter. Reason we walked so much was there was a Metro strike that day so most of the trains were shut -_-
Supposed to take a Ryanair flight to Rome at 1pm today but it got delayed… by six hours! I was standing in the waiting room to board the flight when an annoucement was made in French. I didn’t have to ask much to know what it meant, judging by all the groaning, merdes and putains I heard from everyone around me. Everyone was ushered to the eating halls… which was already outside the airport and I wondered whether I should just call Clem to take me home for awhile since the wait was then said to be three to four hours. I made friends with a really nice Italian guy called Vincenzo, who offered to sms me when the plane is going to leave so I could go back to Clem’s. Supremely helpful of him, as Clem called the airport at least five times to get updates which noone could tell him cos they didn’t know themselves.