Backpacking Europe - second post

The stone pathway is big enough for two vehicles to squeeze carefully by one another, but very few care to do so. It is mainly for pedestrians, and snakes its way up from the harbour that has been scratched into the rocky cliffs, then up through the town, until finally leaving for the green hills and well-tended gardens of the mountainside. Old, tanned Italian women with leathery skin and sun-squinted eyes cross this street to greet one another, and burly shopowners lift out boxes of impossibly bright fruit onto it - cherries, lemons (grown in the garden up the street), and shiny tomatoes still on their vines. An oil painting waiting to be captured on canvas.

The street is flanked on either side by brightly coloured buildings that blend so well with the sea and hills and sky that they might have grown there naturally, or else their builders had the Medittaranean so deep in their souls that when they went to build, it came out in the form of these beautiful, smooth, colourful buildings. Here there is no rush or feeling of desire for industrialness or production. Mary smiles peacefully over the town from many mini monuments on the walls of the houses, and her soft eyes and hands held palm-upward seem to encourage the inhabitants to take life slowly. Not that they need any more encouragement to do so, as the blanketing warmth of the sun and the wind, heavily scented with sea and flowers, make it the idea of rushing an alien notion.

The church sits on the hillside among the greenery, backed by a lush mountain and perfect blue sky as if to say "I'm here when you need me, but take your time." Its bells chime on the hour. Here in the sleepy village of Riomaggiore, on the Medittaranean Coast in Italy, people know how to live. They have it all right, I think. Good food, warm sun, family, and simple, unpretentious faith. A beautiful setting. What else do you need?