Florence – Viareggio – Sestri Levante – Genova: 258 km

My ride to Viareggio is nice, the kind of uneventful-but-everything-goes-well-and-is-extremely-relaxed kind of nice. A watery sun shines its rays softly on my skin. No wind today. The city is basically a boulevard next to a sandy beach that stretches for miles. I stay with Daniele who is a breath of fresh air after the strange and uncomfortable experience with Leonardo in Florence.  

The next day I cycle trough arguably one of the most beautiful parts of the world; Cinque Terre. As luck has it, the mountains today are filled with a thick mist that blocks the famous views. Luckily for me I’ve cycled here once before, so I don’t mind it too much. The fog fumes from the trees and it creates an atmosphere that wouldn’t be out of place in a horror movie. It’s beautifully eery. I take my time. I’ve come to a full acceptance of turning back to Europe, and in doing so I experience a complete happiness and ease of mind in these low hanging clouds.

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Last night it rained. Luckily, I found a place to camp in a car shelter. I set out for Genova and planned my route to arrive early. My favourite writer lives in Genova and writes about the city. His trilogy on La Superba have been my favourite reads in a long, long time. I can’t wait to visit the places he described with such care and eloquence, and sit at the piazza’s I know he sat at drinking and observing and taking notes and drinking some more. Negroni’s he drank, although I think he stopped now. But I do not get that pleasure.

The ride to Genova might be the worst one yet. It’s cold, rain streaming from the sky. By now I can deal with that, but it does mean that I leave a fear bit later than planned. With 50 kilometres today is a short one, yet they seem harder than the 100 kilometres I did yesterday, or the day before that. It’s hard to pinpoint why but my mood is dropping with each peddle stroke, my legs feel heavy and the continuously rising and dropping road is irritating me. Much later than anticipated I arrive at a hostel. After carrying my bags and bike up five floors I check in. Or at least I think I will. The final step is to check my Covid QR code. I know this is a bad sign. I’ve been on the road for over six months now and have yet to get my booster. I tried in Turkey and tried in Italy but both employ Kafkaesque procedures for foreigners. I’m sent away. I try another hostel. Sent away too. Another. Same story. On top of that my phone has died and won’t charge. I think it’s because of the rain earlier today. In one of the hostels I’m allowed to stay and use the WiFi. Frantically I sent everyone on Warm Showers another message. It’s 20 ‘o clock now and completely dark. I might need to find a meadow to camp at outside of the city. I try Airbnb. Without my phone I can’t pay because I’m not receiving the mandatory verification code. Without my phone I won’t even be able to navigate to the Airbnb. It’s 21 ‘o clock now. Just as I’m ready to accept my defeat and cycle into the darkness I get a message back on Airbnb. Somehow without payment we can chat. I ask her if I can pay in cash. “Sure”, she replies. YES! I plan the route on my computer and try to remember it as much as I can. Genoa is a maze, tiny steep alleys connect a web of streets where the houses are so close together the sun never reaches the streets. I have to take out my laptop twice to check where to go. I won’t see Genova today, I won’t realise my pilgrimage to Ilja Pfeijffer, I won’t sip negroni’s on Piazza delle Erbe. I do however have a warm bed after a long day. And I do have the best company one could ask for in my host Doloris, who orders pizza and serves wine.