A Travellerspoint blog

Some Sorta Method To It

The Super-Calm and Relaxing Madness of September 28th to the 30th

From here to there and there and there

"Alright, I'm heading back to the Bangladeshi internet spot."

The Bologna morning kicks off fierce at the start of the week; there are people all over the sidewalks, crowding my walk to the web-man from Eastern Pakistan.

But I gotta get there. I told Ang I'd write her this morning. Ren and I are hitching a ride with Hajji to a magical and beloved land called Cinque Terre today, and I for sure for sure told Ang Chapin that if we could work it, a rendez-vous scoop-up would be in the cards.

Angelina Chapin
- proper noun
1. super surperb gal pal from trusty Nepean High School, aka. a common alma matar for the three of us
2. an adventurous lass taking a 6-month sojourn in Italy so as to better her command of the language
3. one third of that banging mega-prog hyper-fit hip-hop group, The Rhythm Method (lap up their bossanovas here: http://www.myspace.com/therhythmmethodispregnant

This is Ang, and she can be found spitting out somes about her time in Italy at http://www.angelinachapin.com

Nice nice...there's a message from her. She's in Bologna, and is yearning for Hajj. Supreme! So this is what I write to her:

"in the city. gonna try calling you in a minute, aka 10ish, and seeing what's up. if we dont get hold of you, cus im a doofus and might not be able to operate these italian payphones, we are going to head on out to la spezia this morning...ill call you now."

And behold! A reply almost immediately:

"Hey boooooomb up.
Gimme a shout.
I'm well rested and ready to roooooock.
I can meet you at the train station in Bologna.
Call me at 34****0822

So I write back something to the effect of: "gonna call you now, but if it doesn't work, meet at the train stn. in 30 mins. around 10:20."

Alright...I gotta get to a phone. Split from the faux-Bengali, and start rubber-necking, scanning for a payphone. Behold again! There's one!

Okay okay okay how do you work these things? I haven't used one of these in since forever ago. I wish there was a cool BatPhone-esque direct line from me to Ang lying around here somewhere...but alas. First essai: It's ringing...buzz...buzz...uh-oh...weird busy/dead signal. Try again. Second essai: Darn damn phone takes my EuroCents. Now I'm all grrrrrrrrd up!

Shoot! Now what? Okay, get a grip Cous. Don't panic. Let's just go to the train station, and hopefully she's seen my last message and all will get sorted...and then get sordid. Fingers crossed.

So now we're here, Bologna Central. One swoop of the parking lot...two swoops...and a third even, but no sign of the emcee. No panic still. If she shows, then glory...if not, then at least we tried, and it guess it wasn't supposed to happen anyway. Ren and I get to discussing, and figure on a course of non-action: "Let's get a pizza."

So now, our beautiful bellies are full, and it's way past 10:20, my cockamamy imposter of a meeting time. Another course is decided upon, this one full of action. We load up, lock up, and poise up for a final swoop of the lot. In we go...slowly now Cous, slooooowly. We're at the main doors, eyes darting...nothing, nothing, nothing..."Hey! That's her!!!!!", I hear myself screaming like a proper femme. Ang is 20 feet direct in front of us, bouncing and be-bopping, her bags flailing like clumsy, burdened kites, and a buzz envelopes Hajji, anticipation and titillation together at last. This is the best! "We did it! LET'S GO TO CINQUE TERRE!!"

God the road looks good. We're outside the city now, and the road looks good! And hump me if it ain't because Ang is here, and we've got The Rhythm Method spluttering and crackling through the speakers. Reader, do this now: http://www.myspace.com/therhythmmethodispregnant

Two more hours and we'll be where we're heading. Three days of nice coming up.

The Rhythm Method EP Release...dig on it.


So that was about a month and a half ago, and our time with Ang is now totally kaput. But let me tell you, 'twas beautiful. We drove in and out of La Spezia, that gateway town to Cinque Terre, the Five Lands, and onto a favourite little cove village of Lord Byron's called Portovenere. I found a poncho here behind a dumpster where I had gone to wizz. We strolled, and meandered, and lollied all around the place, finding a hotspot for a sunset, and finally settled in for a Hajji-produced dinner pasta spectacular right along the water!

Lord Byron once swam from this cove to a far-away island...he was such a stud.

You believe this?! Portovenere.

Next morn, we attempted the hike between the 5 villages that are built along the steep cliffs above the sea, and for which Cinque Terre is named, but we are ancient and obese, so took the train instead. The views were rub-a-dub wonderful though, but our camera went wackadoo and we lost all our photos...so none for le blog. The hot hot heat pushed us around all day, and so we were pleased to shove off and find ourselves another safe-zone for Hajji, this time in the town of Lerici, just across the bay from Portovenere. We had basically the exact same dinner as the previous night, laughed about Ang's recent adventures in WWOOFing, (www.wwoof.org), and went to bed happy and healthy. The next morning is when the goodies happened.

Breaky for us. Notice the shorts...they'll be addressed soon.

Remember when all my things got stolen? So one month further down the line, I was still bumming about in Alex Derry's short shorts, (which it turns out were not nearly short enough for my likes), and various scummy Ts and Albanian flannels. This lifestyle all came crashing down and blossoming up on me one fine morning in Lerici.

As Ren and I were fiddle-faddling through the streets, we spied some old plastic bags sitting lonely and still in what seemed to be an abandoned apartment lobby. In we tiptoe and rummage we start. The bags are chock-a-block full of old textiles! Smelly bizarre bazaar heaven! Ren and I make quick work of those charity-destined sacs, and walk slyly out and back into the sunshine, sunglasses on and hats pulled down low. Bandits' booty, transients' treasure!!

I wish I could show you what we got, but, again, the camera thing.

Ren snagged two identical pairs of flashy pants, yellow and blue, and a swell dead woman's purse. Me, I made off with a snazzy sweater, a skinny cracked belt, and two pairs of swim trunks that show off EVERYTHING. They are so gooooood. I'll show them to you one day...ask Ang how tantalizing they are.

With Angelina due back at her cousin's place outside of Bologna, and with us set to speed across the Cote d'Azur, we took that sweet thang back to La Spezia, and dropped her on a corner. Our three days of Ang-filled bliss was at its end. Never ones to dwell however, we turned our tails and started the two-day international drive that was to take us to Barcelona, and my fam.

That'll be next time.
Until then, friends. I adore every one of you...it's true.

Posted by rencous 06:27

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This is what it sounds like when doves cry.
So glad worlds collided once more. Hi Ang! Hi RenCous! Loves ya.

by Uncle Sandro Ubu

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