by Ilona Rapin
My rumpled but well-worn grey backpack sits in the corner of the room like an Easter Island sentry standing at attention, ready to be called into action. I wipe the dust off the cracked leather straps.
A spider runs for cover as I rip apart his sticky and oppressive home. A struggling fly breaks free.
This time, packing for a hiking trip in Italy’s Cinque Terre will not be difficult as I’ve been there before. My thoughts instantly transport me to a dry and dusty ancient footpath zigzagging its way high above the chiselled Ligurian coastline.
All around me, terraced vineyards cling to craggy rocks. The sparkling turquoise harbour below is dotted with small bobbing fishboats encrusted in seaweed nets. Salty sea air mixed with the sunbaked scent of wild thyme, oregano and rosemary, wafts through the air and lures me further down steep ancient stone steps.
A labyrinth of narrow passageways and cobbled streets beckon me further still. Then bzzzzzz! A swarm of Vespa coolness whizzes past me and disappears down an alley decorated with laundry like garland on a Christmas tree.
The bustling harbour comes into full view. Energy! Rainbow-coloured seaside homes, crowded sidewalk cafes, people gathering, chattering, laughing. Street vendors peddling fresh caught sardines, vine-ripened rich red tomatoes, and giant Artichokes. I pick up a knobbly oversized lemon and gulp in its sweet fresh scent. A familiar comforting smell of an Italian ragu that’s been simmering on the stove for hours, tempts me from inside a charming Trattoria.
I spot a lively café by the harbour and find an empty table with a friendly yellow and white striped sun umbrella in front of the glittering sea. With my eyes closed, I inhale deeply and soak up the sun. This is the life! I take a refreshing sip of my Aperol Spritz and it instantly soothes my parched throat. Soon, I think…
I gather my battered hiking boots and notice there are still a few miles left on them. The alarm clock rings and stops me in my tracks. I wake up.
I gaze over to my backpack. The spiderweb is intact. A fly is struggling to break free.
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