The wheel ticked around and around. Behind me, about one hundred drunk campers chanting "four!"; the nudie run. It didn't matter though, almost all the outcomes meant getting naked, and the ones that didn't meant I was "Das Booting" or even worse. The wheel kept spinning, the numbers flew through my head, and even I was hoping for a four. Four...five...six, what the fuck was six? Switch cloths? And just like that the Stokie next to me was taking off his clothes while another grabbed a beer bong that had been on the ground since it was used last. After funneling what must have been my six beer of the morning I undressed, stood ass naked on podium and began to drunkenly put on his clothes.
There are a load of cliches surrounding Cinque Terre. The water is blue. Like an unbelievably stunning turquoise that I could easily write about. The towns are adorably quaint and colorful, and I could write about that. The cliffs that rise magnificently out of the ocean are almost too powerful to appreciate (until you jump off one), and I could easily ramble on about that too. Or I could talk about the blue trail. The hiking trail that over the course of about seven miles takes you from town to town with a stunning view of the ocean (for the price of €7.50). Most people who visit Cinque Terre hike the blue trail or take the train. But I took the "path less travelled", or some shit like that, which actually made all the difference (there's that cliche). Originally I had planned on hiking the blue trail, but the idea of beer in each town sounded way better than the entry fee so, with the help of a few bar tenders, my group of merry hikers and I started on the free red trail.
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MEL HAMPTON"on the loose" Archives |