Our Cinque Terre experience hadn’t gotten off to the best start. It was difficult to notice the charming cafes when innkeeper after innkeeper seemed to have no interest in renting a room. Negotiation on prices was nonexistent, it was as if each hotel owner in the village had made a pact not to go below a certain price. After literal hours of searching, we stumbled upon a quaint guesthouse that offered a modest room at an affordable rate. With that task taken care of, I could finally open my eyes to the sights and sounds of the village: an old man with an easel painting in the street, the smell of fresh-baked focaccia bread, and families lingering outside of a bar with an aperitivo in hand. I took an immediate liking to Monterosso.

The following morning, after the aforementioned pastry and cappuccino, we set out for the next village of Vernazza. Each bend of the cliff face revealed an even more striking view of the glimmering ocean or inland to the fragrant lemon groves. In February, the trails were practically abandoned and the temperature was perfect for hiking. I stepped over streams, photographed flowers I’d never seen before, and felt a pang of awkwardness as the trail led right past a kitchen window of a small mountain cottage.

A couple hours later, Vernazza came into view. The village sits on a peninsula, wrapping around a bay. I imagined what it must be like in the summer, full of families and suntanned bathers, but in February, the beach was silent except for boats bobbing in the waves. The trail continued descending down towards the town, eventually joining the town, and finished right in the main street of Vernazza. I remember pausing to take it all in, realizing my hunger, and simultaneously catching the scent of something delicious (more focaccia?) and hearing guitar music. This all led me straight to the door of the Blue Marlin.

Massimo was leaning on the bar. Looking up from his magazine, he greeted us in that warm, hand-gesture filled way that only an Italian can pull off, and whisked us to a table. He had two menus under his arm, but said there was no reason to hand them out. What did we like? Everything here was fresh. Perhaps we would like his recommendation? We needed fuel for the hike. We should stop and rest before we continued. Did we like bruschetta?

Yes, (maybe my hunger was speaking?) I like bruschetta, and some of that rosemary-scented focaccia stuffed with ham and cheese, and maybe dessert afterwards? He put in our order and went to the CD player. Thumbing his albums the way I would thumb my bookshelf, he finally settled on some Portuguese faro music. He was in the mood for angst. He had an album to suit every mood. And many albums for making love.

With that he pressed play and pulled up a chair at our table. I am a master of body language, and yours is saying, ‘no men’, is that what you mean to display? I didn’t know I was being so transparent. Yes, I replied, I’ve started seeing someone recently. He’s wonderful. Massimo paused before his reply, as if measuring his next words carefully. You know you are in Italy, correct?

With a laugh he brought over our lunch and let us eat and enjoy our own conversation. As he delivered our dessert, his mood must have changed, and Spanish guitar played over the speakers. What mood was this? I asked Massimo, once again, leaning on the bar. I’m thinking about regrets. The woman wiping the bar next to him (who I later learned to be his wife) had a smile on her face.

After our lunch (and a stop at one of the strangest toilets in Italy – FYI – a hole in the floor) we set back out onto the hiking trail that connects Vernazza to the next village of Corniglia. Massimo made us vow (if we broke our vow it would break his heart!) that we would return that night via the train for cocktails, and first have dinner across the street at the trattoria that offered ravioli in a sauce of candied pecans. We said yes, it would be our pleasure to return, and set out on the next 2.5 mile hike.

We did return for a cocktail, and Massimo greeted us as his oldest friends. The music was livelier, Italian, the type that made you want to dance. I remember leaving that night for the last train back to Monterosso thinking that I wondered what the Blue Marlin would be like in the summer, how it would be to swim in the bay, to spent an entire holiday in this coastal Italian village. As I write, I wonder if Massimo is leaning on the bar, welcoming more visitors, providing memories as vivid as Vernazza itself.

Two years ago I decided to make this travel dream come true by spending the months of February and March in Italy. Over a cold Christmas and New Years in New York I envisioned sunny days, strolling through cobblestone streets with a cone of gelato, and sipping an apertif at an outdoor cafe watching the sun set.

Cinque Terre, Liguria, Italy, by sunset.

The reality was much less romantic. After being very lucky for much of February (misty Venice was atmospheric, Cinque Terre was warm during the day with chilly evening breezes) the cold weather blues really set in.

We were spending two weeks in a mountain village just south of Salerno (with no heating) and a storm came through that lasted for 3 days and shook every windowpane in the house violently. I tried to keep the romance of ‘mountain village in Italy’ going by sipping hot cups of cappuccino and reading novel after novel while dinner simmered on the stove. But after day 3 – I broke.

I was tired of winter. I was tired of grey clouds. I was tired of being unable to feel my fingertips.

port in sorrento, march 2007

Luckily – after the storm passed, the sun shone brightly right on our mountainside balcony. We went for walks by the sea, and just basked in sunlight. The tiles of the balcony became warm from the sunshine – and I started to believe that winter might actually be coming to a close. That day, taking in the first rays of spring, we decided to head south and spend more time exploring Croatia – it had been a long winter and we were going to chase the sun.

This is how I felt again this week in Dublin. I had a bad case of the cold weather blues.

Yesterday I had just a 10-minute walk in the city and with snow blowing horizontally straight into my face and I realized winter will not go lightly this year. It will continue to taint our weekends, freeze our fingertips, and make Monday mornings just a little more miserable. When I finally got indoors – I didn’t take comfort in ANOTHER cup of tea – but in planning a springtime trip to follow the sun.

a sunny day in dubrovnik, croatia

My thoughts returned to Italy – only further south. I just finished a book on Sicily (Lampedusa’s ‘The Leopard’) and it has left me with a desire to explore this island on the fringe of Italy. I might just combine it with a trip to Malta as well. 

I might just go look up flights right now, as the rain falls drearily in the window beside me.

Where are you going for a warm weather getaway? Post below and give your fellow travelers some inspiration on where to follow the sun this spring and summer.

Putting my feet up in Florence

Just ask.

Travelers seem to have mixed feelings about asking for discounts. How does it make them look? Will it result in poor service? Will the all-powerful concierge at the other end laugh at your request?

The truth is, I’ve never regretted asking, even when I received a negative response. The best result is you have more of your hard earned money in your pocket to do with it things that you enjoy. Here are three examples of times where asking, worked.

1. Florence, Italy. February: During my Grand Tour, I took two months to travel in Italy. I wanted this portion of the trip to be slower, to have ample time to both explore the sights and linger for entire afternoons at cafes and restaurants. When it was time to head for Florence, I realized that our trip had coincided with a very slow time for tourism in Italy. I began to set my sights a little higher: on bed and breakfasts with spacious rooms and glimmering white bathrooms, in prime locations, with luxurious amenities. I also knew that my desire to stay in Florence for a week, and not just a night or two, might earn me a discount. In the end, I received a double discount, for off season and for length of stay, from a great spot in the center of town. Tourist House on Villa della Scala was comfortable, spacious, and included breakfast with each night of our stay. I began to look forward to the perfectly made morning cappuccino before I even went to bed at night.

2. Venice, Italy. Late February: After hearing about the expansive markets in Venice, I had high hopes for securing an apartment rental to live the dream of cooking up a storm in my own Italian apartment. A quick check on Craigslist and I had found the perfect apartment: a recently renovated studio with a small kitchen, dining table for two, and a soaking tub. With my initial enquiry, I let the owner know a bit about myself: an American poet, traveling for a year, serious interest in cooking. A combination of these personal details and the off season earned me a discounted rate.

Cooking with fresh pasta in Venice

3. Dubrovnik, Croatia. Late April: At this point, towards the end of the trip, I had realized that any sort of personal statement in an enquiry email couldn’t hurt. Hotel / hostel / bed and breakfast owners deal with plenty of demands from rude customers, and asking politely has earned me an unexpected upgrade on more than one occasion. When I was traveling to Croatia, I mentioned to the guesthouse owner that I’d be interested in a room with cooking facilities. He initially told me this was unavailable. Upon arrival, I had been upgraded to a room with a kitchenette, because someone else had cancelled a reservation. Just asking earned me an upgrade, and I didn’t even have to pay the difference for the 2 types of rooms.

And just for the sake of argument, one time where asking did NOT work was in Cinque Terre, Italy. I don’t think there was one hotel in Monterosso that was going to budge on their rates, even in the off season, even if they were empty. Some of the hotels seemed to look at guests as a bother, and simply wouldn’t negotiate the rate, even by as little as 10 euro a night. Perhaps it was some sort of pact between the local people, that they wouldn’t go below a certain rate. I liked this respect for each other and common decency. And I still didn’t regret asking, as it made for a hilarious afternoon, to be running around Monterosso, seeing every available accommodation, just to come up with the deal I KNEW was out there, but wasn’t.

When it comes down to it, hotels and restaurants are run by people, and these people are in the business of bringing pleasure to other people. You’ll be surprised what showing interest can earn you: from a special tasting compliments of the chef to an especially quiet, comfy room at a hotel. 

My father always told me, it doesn’t hurt to ask.