Start out on small roads that lead up and down and finally descend into hell – the inverse of the quiet resorts we have been through before. Here, every driver is intent on getting somewhere before everyone else, on a road designed for one tenth of the traffic using it. And we, two humans, a dog and a horse, have to find our own space. By late afternoon, Nellie and I are too tired and stressed to take another step, so Paul starts to look for accommodation in Camogli (a town on the ironically named Il Golfo Paradiso). Think about it – a place where there is no space and only tarmac – impossible. We are at our wits end and with no other alternative but to go onto the next town, Recco, which initially seems to be equally hopeless, until Paul spots an old football field. He should be rechristianed Il Maestro. Guessing that it is probably linked to the nearby church he locates the priest and is given the key. So now Nellie is fine, but there is still nothing for us. We try every hotel we can (at 150 euros a night) but they are all full, so we call a taxi and go back to an albergo in Camogli where the owner had tried to help us before. All good, until we try to get something to eat. Every restaurant on the beach front is full, outrageously expensive and outrageously served. If this is paradise, I'll just keep on sinning and aim for hell – it can't be any worse. Finally, having found a better served, but equally expensive restaurant in the interior of the resort, we drink a very small amount of wine and decide that we cannot recommend the road approach to Genoa for pilgrims/walkers and that we will have to go inland. Nellie would have breathed a sigh of relief if she had known.
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