On Saturday I took a twelve hour bus tour to the Cinque Terra—the five towns along the coast northwest of Florence, now declared a World Heritage site by UNESCO . A two hour bus ride, lots of walking, several trains and a magnificent boat ride to travel from town to town. The views were spectacular on what was considered the last day of the season. Last tour from Florence, last day the boat taxi would run from town to town, and perhaps the last day of sun before the rainy months.
Joining a tour offers more sociability than the solitary tours I create for myself. It can be pleasant to share travel stories with others, but for me, only in small doses. I understand this is a way for people to process their travels, but I don’t want or need to do much of that any more. My journal and this blog provide my means of sorting out what is important to me.
As my photos attest, the spectacular scenery in the same category of the universally agreed upon beauty of fall foliage. I tried to spend most of my time, especially on the boat, breathing it in, feeling the moment, and not thinking—that continual challenge of mine to stay in the moment. I have a long way to go, but at least I sometimes remember NOT to think. This was one of those days.
The other special experience was walking around the cemetery up the hill from the Monastery and Church of the Capuchin Friars. This was what I call a ‘living cemetery’, which means it is cared for and visited. A women was tending to each grave with fresh flowers. A man who had grown up in the area had come from Genoa to visit the grave of his grandfather. “I know so many people here now,” he told me.
Joining a tour offers more sociability than the solitary tours I create for myself. It can be pleasant to share travel stories with others, but for me, only in small doses. I understand this is a way for people to process their travels, but I don’t want or need to do much of that any more. My journal and this blog provide my means of sorting out what is important to me.
As my photos attest, the spectacular scenery in the same category of the universally agreed upon beauty of fall foliage. I tried to spend most of my time, especially on the boat, breathing it in, feeling the moment, and not thinking—that continual challenge of mine to stay in the moment. I have a long way to go, but at least I sometimes remember NOT to think. This was one of those days.
The other special experience was walking around the cemetery up the hill from the Monastery and Church of the Capuchin Friars. This was what I call a ‘living cemetery’, which means it is cared for and visited. A women was tending to each grave with fresh flowers. A man who had grown up in the area had come from Genoa to visit the grave of his grandfather. “I know so many people here now,” he told me.