The next day, we caught the train to Volostra and headed up the mountainside to intercept the high trail. This turned into an interesting adventure and a bit of unexpected sociology among the vineyards. The trailhead is by an old chapel that's part of the national park, but first we stopped at a very small local store to get more botttled water and a few more snacks. The street outside was jammed with a hiking expedition by a group from a nearby northern country, some of whom we'd seen in Vernazza clicking across the cobbles with their metal-tipped walking sticks.
I'm sure we looked like Americans from our clothing if not our manners, but we hope we're never remembered because our manners were bad. We'd already experienced the same tourists walking everywhere with their poles clicking and an odd belief that the right-of-way is always theirs, but we hadn't had the view we were now about to see.
This small store quite clearly was the daily source for the folks in this tiny village, and they had their routines—"they" being a group of very old women. They were there for their daily bread and they were there first. The group of middle-aged hikers numbered about a dozen. They had a leader/guide. And that guy cut right in front of the old ladies and began rattling off orders, which were almost all immediately changed and then changed again by the hikers crowding the doorway and blocking the women. So this transaction not only took ages to codify and deliver, but it was done so rudely to both the women and the shopkeeper that I was tempted to intervene. And should have.
The women seemed to expect that we'd behave the same way and we had to shrug and tell them with gestures how embarrassed we were and to go ahead of us. They took only minutes to get what they came for and head back home. Meanwhile the hikers were filling the small street bodily and loudly as Linny and cased the old church and hit the trail. Because we were not racing, they overtook us and forced us off the trail without a howdy and pardon me while they poled past in a cacophonic cloud of clicks. I've seen a few groups behave rudely on a mountain trail, but not like this. We overtook them while they were having their lunch, and at least this time they weren't blocking the trail, but we heard them long before we saw them and long after we were past. I'm still trying to understand why they behaved that way. And I a national stereotype would be too simple. But I don't think I've noticed this rudeness with privileged northerners traveling alone—but we'd seen it elsewhere with groups. And it's this that has kept Linny and me from going with tours except were that's the only way you're allowed to go somewhere.
Maybe that's the answer (or the problem): groups. They're like cocoons that insulate travelers from experiencing the life and culture they seem determined to take by force but apparently cannot see when it surrounds them. When Linny and I were staying briefly in Marrakesh, we saw it with the bus loads of European and American tourists who streamed into the big plaza and the surrounding restaurants and cafes and then the warren of alleys that make up the souk and medina. Some more quietly than others; less offensively in plenty of ways.
Perhaps it's racism in many cases. Or nationalism. Or classism. Or some other similarly hierarchical construct, but it's too frequent. The places we visit are the homes of others.
But we were cruising along the trail enjoying ourselves immensely. The passages through tunnels of grapes were fantastic. The remanants of old buildings popped up regularly. To our left, the blue brightness of sea and sky created its own magic. We were enchanted by the views, but we were sure pissed about the condition of the trail. While it began well, it quickly became a really rough route of rubble and washouts. We persisted because we were over half way, but it was both uncomfortable underfoot and slow going. Our feet were bruised and we were worn out when we got back to Vernazza.
But, hey, we saw some wild beauty and we got a few good photos to help reclaim our memories.
