I followed the little signs saying "Ostello" and headed in the direction indicated by the arrows. Winding around the sunny little streets, the uphill climb would have been pleasant, except for the chunk of Carrara marble it felt like my big pack had become.

The Ostello 5 Terre is run by a couple of young local guys, and I must say, they know what they're doing. The place was so spotless, you'd think they were expecting a cadre of health inspectors at any minute. Their service may have felt a bit brusque, but was at least efficient, and I soon had a bed, and locker to free me from my burdens.

This joint was definitely run by-the-book, with a list of rules, that, while reasonable, still maintained a slightly ominous edge: "It is not possible to leave the hostel before 7am."

After checking in, I took my solo self back slowly down the steep, curving street, devoid of vehicles. The quiet was exquisite, with hardly anyone to be seen, until I reached the bottom of the hill, where tourists popped in and out of the few shops that comprised the downtown. I bought a thick, spongy slice of fresh baked focaccia, and later a cup of gelato, which served me nicely for lunch.

Along the perimeter of the tiny harbor, I stretched out on a boulder in the sun, and really relaxed for the first time in recent memory. I watched the little rowboats bobbing in the water, the seagulls hovering on the breeze. I tried to read, but kept drifting off into a pleasant reverie instead.

As the sun got lower, and the breeze picked up, I returned up the hill to the hostel, to freshen up and try to find some dinner companions.

Next: Company for Dinner