04.06.2010 Riva to San Pietro di Rivereto 25km

Evelyn takes the bus back to collect her car and we launch ourselves up and over Rocce de Sante Anna with its ruined chapel at summit. After this we have a long walk along the beach, feeling slightly out of place against the bathers in bikinis, but take time out to have an ice cream and attract the inevitable crowds of people who want to know where we have come from, where we are going, the name of our horse and dog and why are walking. Next, an unavoidable slog back up hill and on a busy road – boring and unpleasant, but broken by one good surprise – Evelyn, on her way home. She stops and waits for us while we see if the Sanctuaro Maddonna del Grazie will offer us sanctuary – it will not – so much for Christian good will. Then another parting from Evelyn and we are back on our way, negotiating a route along small roads above the coast - pleasant, but like everywhere else here, on the side of the hill, with not a single flat corner for a horse. We are getting desperate by the time we see two women come out of a church and grab the only opportunity we have been offered so far. I ask if it would be possible to speak to the priest to see if he would let us use camp on a space behind the church. They think not, but one offers her own garden instead – a meeting that leads us up to summit of the hill where two elderly sisters and their even more elderly brother live in a house with a view only seen in multi-million dollar films. Literally a dream come true. Nellie's space on tne top terrace is little more than 10 metres square of flat ground (already more than most people have), reduced by the square metre taken by our tent, and some others by olive trees and the flowers, but she has the grace to tiptoe through the gate and down the narrow path, as do we. It is one of the least comfortable and most difficult nights we have experienced, but also one of the most memorable. The garden is a series of carefully tended terraces, each cultivated to a specific purpose (food or aesthetics) with the colours appearing to blend accidentally, though I am sure by careful design. Our hosts serve us lentil soup and cherries from the garden, the brother (whose name seems to change everytime we ask him) takes photos and observes us quietly from his stone seat above us, seeming to take infinite pleasure in everything Nellie does. When we leave in the morning, they give us two lemons and thank us for staying.