Italy Travel Tale - The Long Journey

After one euphoric week spent on the relatively untouched Island of Sardinia, it was time for us to head off to the next port of call; La Cinque Terre. Everything was planned. We had tickets for the only ferry leaving that day and accommodation at our destination was sorted. The sun was shining and with excitement we boarded the ferry. It appeared that all other passengers had arrived hours ago, as there was not an empty deck chair, bench or indoors seat available. Not to let this dampen our spirits we sat on the floor, using our backpacks as support.

Within minutes the ferry set sail, and within minutes the weather turned. The previously non-existent wind had risen to gale force proportions. We were tossed from side to side. An automated voice over the loud speaker advised us that, due to the wind, all people were requested to sit inside for their own safety.

What was meant to be a four-hour journey took six. It was then it occurred to us that we should ring Roberto regarding our accommodation in Riomaggiore. We should advise him that we would not make the 6pm check in. We made the call, and it was arranged we would be there at 8pm. We were sternly told not a moment later. No worries, we thought. We were on the main land of Italy by now and only had to get one train...easy.

After disembarking the ferry and managing to find a bus to take us to the train station, we looked at the time. It was nearing 7pm. Another call was made to Roberto to advise that, due to circumstances beyond our control, we would be there around 10pm. He sounded angry. He was stern on the phone and grunted that we were not to arrive a moment after 10pm.

Slightly baffled as abruptness, we purchased a train ticket and soon boarded our train. The train was going to Genoa, and we were to disembark at La Cinque Terre...or so we thought.

The train ride was a picturesque journey along the Italian coastline. We passed La Spezia, which sounded familiar from the guidebooks, but we could not remember why. Soon we saw the first of La Cinque Terre - the five lands- and the train kept going. Then the next town. And the train kept going. It was then we realised we why La Spezia sounded familiar. We should have changed trains at there for a local connection to La Cinque Terre. It was then we realised it was 10 minutes past 10pm.

Should we call Roberto, shouldn't we? We decided that we would not call him. We would get there a little late. What could he do - refuse us accommodation? There is a warning here - never tempt fate.

Just before the stroke of midnight we arrived at Riomaggiore. There was no time to admire the beauty of this exquisite Italian town. We hurried up the steep, cobbled street, with 20kgs strapped to our backs while dodging flocks of people. The town was alive this time of the night. With sweat pouring from our brows - it was the height of summer - we reached our accommodation and rang the bell. No answer. We saw an after hours number and called. Ring, ring. No answer. Ring, ring again. No answer. Ring, ring a third time and a surly man picked up - Roberto. It was to late, he screamed down the phone. He is eating with his family now. He cannot come. He will not come. Bang. He hung up the phone.

An old man and his dog by this stage have come to see what was going on. Should we laugh or cry? We explain what Roberto had done. The old man is not surprised. Apparently Roberto does this all the time.

It was now after 12am. We were two girls, alone, with nowhere to stay. Worry had not set in, just yet. We must have looked angry, upset, scared or some other type of extreme emotion. It was then our knight in shining armor came. A handsome man at the bar saw us, walked over and said he would help us find somewhere to stay. He knew Roberto. he had helped people in our situation before. He worked at La Dolce Vita, another 'room finding company' but they were full.

He opened the door to his office. Within two minutes we were being escorted down a cobbled path by a lovely, middle-aged couple. They had not only a room to spare, but a spare apartment. And for a cheaper price then what Roberto was to charge.

Tempted to track down Roberto and give him a piece of our minds was an enticing thought. But the thought of a glass of chilled white wine, in the bar with our handsome savior proved too good to pass. "Due biccherie di vino bianco, grazie." Cheers to a happy ending.