No Soup for You

When I wound my way back down the mountain, I was so effing tired.... no food, driving, trying to communicate. I looked at my map and compared the distance back to Perinaldo from here, against  the distance to Triora of the witches then around a mountain road to Perinaldo. I couldn't do it. It was a higher altitude than either Serborga or Bussana Vecchia, which meant more distance, more switchbacks, probably very narrow lanes. While I really wanted to see that village -- which I'd been told still had an eeriness about it -- to continue on would turn a lovely, memorable day into an exhaustive mess. (Thus my earlier caution about being flexible and knowing your limit.)

Allora, I made a right turn at the water and headed back toward Perinaldo. At some point, after being stuck in an Ocean-Blvd-worthy jam, I followed the wrong arrow and ended up in what seemed to be the 'industrial' party of San Remo -- I could be wrong, it's all squeezed in there together. Eventually I saw the Autostrade arrows, and seized the opportunity. Hopped on. Hopped off 1.5 Euro's later. And caught SP 59 toward home.

I was really hungry and grumpy now, but civilization was trailing away and chances to grab a 'takeaway' with it, so in Soldana  I saw an osteria across the main road from a convenient parking lot, quindi I zig-sagged right into the lot with my eye on a parallel spot on my left just ahead. As I slowed to prepare for my now expert lefthand parallel park, a tiny SUV swooped in off the road, jumped the 3 inch stone curb, and pulled straight into my spot. Had I had a few more calories and experienced a few less switchbacks this day, I would have let loose with a "Vaffanculo!" the likes of which that guy had never heard before. But I was flagging, fast.

Luckily for him there was another spot ahead on my right, so I pulled in and walked across the road. I entered the osteria, gracing them as the only female in sight. A group of old men sat around a table playing some game -- I didn't even look over to see what-- and the old guy bartender (with two teeth in the front) shuffled back to the bar to see what I needed.

I asked if there was a menu, if there was food. Subconciously I was able to translate "not now senora". Oh, 7? ... No, 8.  I gave him my sad face, said "grazie", glared again at the geezer who had stolen my spot a la "Fried Green Tomatoes"... and dragged myself back across the street to the Panda.