Hunger upon us, we found our way to a friendly pizzeria. While we ate, Kim explained her travel plans to me.

"I asked each of my parents, 'What is your favorite place in the world?" and they both told me 'Switzerland.' So, I'm going to Switzerland, but I don't have any idea where..."

Suddenly, a young man with a shaved head approached from behind. "Excuse me," he said with an American accent, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I know where you need to go in Switzerland."

He proceeded to dictate the instructions, and I dutifully transcribed them onto a napkin. It sounded complicated, but he assured us it wasn't as difficult as it seemed.

Then he invited us to join his group of friends outside, where they were playing guitar, singing songs and and telling stories in a casual attitude of general merriment, muted only occasionally by the neighbors requests (in Italian) to keep the volume down.

Later, Kim and I reluctantly hopped the last little train back to Manarola and the hostel, arriving just before curfew, the doors locking behind us.

Next morning, we were again yanked awake by the church bells next door, and Kim asked, "So, are you coming with me?"

I didn't have any plans for Switzerland. I didn't have any rail pass for Switzerland. But the lure of this new adventure was too much to resist. "Yep." I said, so we packed our bags.

From Manarola to La Spezia, La Spezia to Milan... In Milan we had a three hour wait, before our next connection. We sat next to an elderly Italian gentleman, and it wasn't long before we were pulling out our photos from home and our dictionaries, and managing a rudimentary cultural exchange.

We passed the time pleasantly enough, until a young, lanky man with black greasy hair invited himself to our little party, sitting too close, getting way too familiar. Although his English was better than the old man's, there was nothing we wanted to exchange with him. Finally we said, "Our train is leaving!" and we departed the lounge to wait at the platform.

In Milan I had to purchase a ticket from the Italian border to Interlocken. Kim's pass was first class, and she was adamant that I had to upgrade, rather than have her slum it in second class.

I grumbled inwardly about the added expense, but went ahead with it, and later had to admit that it was nice, sitting in the big, posh seats, sipping complementary French champagne and nibbling free Swiss chocolates.

Next: Midnight, Mountain Hostel