A Moment in Riomaggiore

I'm not sure yet how comfortable I am with doing nothing. My mind wanders too much as my thoughts turn inwards and I have to constantly bring myself back to the present.

Here in Riomaggiore, I'm perched on an old stone wall overlooking the marina. The boats are stacked up waiting for summer adventure seekers but the sea is still far too choppy to take them out.

The sun is shining and I'm sitting in a light cardigan. It is the warmest and most content I've been in ages. Every now and then the wind picks up and the waves crash against the great rocks of the small cove.

Most of the time the rocks are an effective barrier although the wind carries light droplets of sea water up to me in my high vantage point. At other times, nature laughs in the face of such a feeble man-made obstruction and the sea comes rushing up the jetty, much to the amusement and surprise of the crowds relaxing there.

I look up and notice pale brown and tan tiles on the face of one of the houses. I don't imagine that tiles would be very much use with the winds and rains that beat against these sea-facing homes. Riomaggiore is known for its colourful houses in shades of verde, marrone, rosa and arancione but I wonder if tiles weren't once more prevalent here?

I slowly raise my camera to my eyes and gaze through the viewfinder. Words can't do justice to my experience here and I wonder if photos might. I slowly pan the camera around, landing briefly on the boats in the marina, the couple on the balcony, the narrow stairs leading off into the darkness beside me. It is no use, I cannot capture the allure of this place, the sounds of chattering families or the roar of the sea.

I cannot capture the essence of the tall narrow homes, the way they climb the hills in terraces and the way the bright paint peels away to expose the concrete beneath. They are perfect in their imperfection and yet my camera doesn't see that.

Soon I must move. The shade has fallen over my perch and I'm getting cold. I move into the sun and sit next to a local cat, negotiating his teeth and claws before he allows me to scratch him behind his ears.

The crowd has thinned and suddenly I am alone. I realise that I am comfortable doing nothing after all as I pack away my camera and notebook and stare out to the sea for the longest time.