Holy Camogli

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Camogli is one of the most enchanting places I’ve visited and a mere four-minute train ride on the high-speed rail. Chase and I stepped off the platform and began wandering the streets. My gaze fixated on the vibrant buildings backlit by the sun. Clean laundry, hung to dry, rustled with the wind. The bell tower sounded every fifteen minutes, and I wondered if it rang to offset the fact that we were in a place—that felt like time stood still. Chase ogled at the fresh cherries from a local market, and I nudged him to get some. I’m not sure if we correctly translated the words, “a few,”—we were both very excited to be muttering words in Italian—because we somehow ended up with an overabundance of cherries. We ate as many as we could as we slowly navigated toward the water, eventually finding a bench near the marina; our lips stained red.

 

 

Later on, we stumbled upon a focacceria and ate our pizza focaccia on the street. It was incredible! I apologize that I can’t describe it—I almost tear up thinking about it. I tear up editing photos of Camogli. Every sight. Every bite. Every flakey piece of dough that melts in your mouth as you chew.

 

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Every sound. The waves crashing; the bells ringing. Kids playing soccer; Italian women chatting incessantly. On the beach, sunbathers laid out as kids played in the rocky sand. We found a no-frills bar that was right on the water. With a few beers and potato chips, we people-watched as the sun set.

 

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I read a few articles about Camogli and bookmarked them before our trip. Camogli was referred to as one of the best-kept secrets of Italy…as sleepy…not overrun by tourists.  Our BnB host recommended Camogli to us as well, and I was so incredibly happy that we visited. To me—Camogli was perfect.

 

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To view my full photo album, click here

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