Bound for Rome, I surprised myself by getting off my train at a lonely stop in the middle of rural Italy. My pleasant memories of placidity in Eastern Europe just a week earlier had been haunting me. And exploring the mostly tumultuous side of Italian life in Bar, Sorrento, and Naples for the last six days of my journey had magnified the greatness of the peaceful and majestic lands of the Dalmatians. If I was to stay on this train, I would be in Rome in an hour - far too soon to get my chinked and battle-damaged big city armor back on. Sure, I ran into some helpful and pleasant people and experienced a few moments of serendipity, but the constant need to keep my guard raised, watch for pickpockets and con men, and handle the consistently annoying tourists had worn me out. It was time for a break.

So, on 21 October 2001, day 41 of my 77-day backpacking adventure across Europe, I did the totally unexpected and got off of the train. As the train slowly moved off, I had a moment of doubt. "What the hell did I just do?!" I literally got off without looking at the name of the stop. "Where am I?!"

The clickity-clack of the train faded and I stood staring at the black and white sign reading "FONDI". After a short self-guided tour of the seemingly abandoned station, I could only find two other humans: two middle-aged conductors who ran the station. Since they did not speak English and I do not speak Italian, they were about as much help to me as a Pompeii stray dog. However, I did learn two things on my tour of the run down, muddy 2-room station: the next train in either direction wouldn't be for another 4 hours and Fondi seemed to be within walking distance of nothing but Italian farmlands and wilderness.

A long miserable hour passed as I sat in front of the station pondering what to do next. Then it hit me. The adventure I was longing for was right here and right now! My attitude has distorted the situation, making it look like it couldn't get any worse. But excitement and anticipation rushed through my bones when I pondered the possibilities. A 25-year old American backpacker sitting at an empty train station without a tourist, scam artist, pickpocket or crowd in sight! This was a whole region of Italy open for my exploration.

While I was heaving my 60-pound (30 kilo) bag onto my shoulders ready to start walking, the first moving vehicle I've seen in an hour pulled up - a large, air-conditioned, coach. After a brief session of sign language to the non-English speaking bus driver, I jumped on the bus bound for Lago Lungo, the closest location that has a campsite (according to the old map that hung on the station's wall).

Seven miles later, the bus stopped and the driver pointed down the long, straight country road and said "Lago Lungo." So I started walking. I almost expected to find a sign on the road that said "Now Entering Nowhere, Italy" but I couldn't be any happier in such a beautiful land. The purple mountains and the aqua-blue sky combined with the bright yellow stocks of corn were just one of the many picturesque scenes I walked through in the next few days. It was these beautiful landscapes that made me realize why so many Italians decided to be artists - the beauty of Italy inspired them.

As I approached Lago Lungo, a fresh water lagoon just a half-mile inland from the Tyerhenian Sea, it became apparent that I was on the wrong side of the long lagoon. But instead of continuing the hike around to a campsite that was probably closed, I went scouting for a better place to sleep: the beach.

It didn't take long until I found a blank lot between two summer villas. As I walked around on the weed-infested land, I spotted a family enjoying the hot and sunny afternoon on the neighboring villa deck. It didn't seem right for me, a 6'4", 270 pound (135 kilo) raggedy man, to just set up my tent so close to their house. Walking up their small wooden stairs towards their deck, I smiled and said "Buongiorno!" The non-English speaking parents smiled back as their young pre-teen boy hid bashfully behind a sun chair. What ended up to be a 5-minute 'conversation' trying to explain that I wanted to set up a tent in their neighboring empty lot soon because an invitation to sleep on their property, which was better protected from the wind off of the sea.

I must have used "merci" 30 times in the next half hour, as the 60-year old man with a tanned bald dome and a bright smile showed me around their property, helping me pick a spot to set up my tent. But after finding a nice place in their front yard near their driveway and the man and his more-curious-than-shy son walked away, I thought that would be the last of our encounter.

I was perfectly fine with just spending my two-day stay either in my tent or on the beach. But I soon learned the true definition of "Italian Hospitality." After a pleasant dip into the sea as the sun set, I returned to find the man now with his second son (in his early-teens) holding a big plate of pasta covered in fresh tomato sauce and mushrooms! This would be my first home-cooked meal since Sarajevo 12 days ago.

He also was able to tell me his name was Bino. Bino left with his son, only to reemerge from the small stucco villa a few moments later, now accompanied with his third and oldest son (in his late-teens) holding a liter of water and a liter of soda.

I felt embarrassed to be offered such items, which were extravagances to me on this trip. I had nothing to offer in return but bad Italian: "Grazie! Mucho Grazie!" I felt the best thing I could do was spend the rest of the evening in my tent, which was easy to do since I was so exhausted due to the days events. Soon after I got into my tent around 7:30p, I heard the front gate open and their car leaving. The lights on the front porch also went out. "Wow,' I thought, as I laid there in the dark. "They are so kind to turn off the lights on the back porch as I sleep!" As I stared at the top of my tent waiting for sleepiness to set in, I thought about how lucky I was for meeting such wonderful people. "I'll have to get them something tomorrow," I thought.

The next morning, I woke up to find that Bino and his family were out of sight, the villa locked up, the storm shutters closed, and the water and power turned off. They had left! I ran some things through my mind and quickly came to a conclusion that, since this was Monday, Bino only used this house on the weekends. In my mind I re-played the Italian they used when we first met. I figured the translation could have been "Why don't you stay here on *our* property! We will be leaving tomorrow and you can stay in our yard as long as you want!" Or, it could have been "Why don't you stay here on *our* property! We will be leaving tomorrow and you can stay in our yard only until the morning!" After pondering the loose could-be translations, I convinced myself that they said the former statement.

For the next four days, I spent my days walking up and down the coast. I've never seen such clean and spectacular beaches in all of my life. After the third day, I stopped picking up beautiful shells - shells that seemed to capture perfectly the colors of the Italian sunset - for they were everywhere to be seen and I was running out of space to keep them. Sperlonga, located 2 miles down the coast, became my new neighborhood. After meandering down the beach to this "Jewel of the Mediterranean" every day, I would slip on my t-shirt and sandals and stroll through the thin white-walled town at the top of a hill named San Magno.

My daily hygienic rituals I was raised on soon went out the door. In four days, I changed my clothes only once - to replace my swim trunks with pants. Showering consisted of jumping into the sparkling blue-green sea. It would be a week before I had access to a fresh-water tap. Combing my hair meant running my fingers through my hair as I swam. Sunscreen three times a day became as common to do as brushing my teeth. And I was inadvertently on the best diet I've ever heard of, for I lost about 15 pounds in the 4 days in Sperlonga. (In all, I lost a total of 40 pounds on my European adventure.)

I was walking in Paradise, without a care in the world. I could have stayed there the rest of my life. Since most of the shops were locked up and the tourist season was well over, I felt like a man happily deserted on an island. Just a loaf of bread, a bottle of water, and a banana everyday and shelter every night was all I needed to live out a peaceful existence.

But I was a backpacker. It wasn't long before the call of the unknown beckoned me to continue on, in search of the next Paradise. So early in the morning on Thursday, I packed up and left. Before I departed for the Fondi train station, I left a note on the back porch of Bino's villa. Spelled out in shells I had collected from his beach, I wrote "GRAZIE BINO."