Sanremo, Italy's St. Tropez

As is often the way with a programme like the one I was on, you make friends instantly and forge such fierce friendships over a short space of time that you actually feel closer to those people than older, more distant friends. I was partaking in all this Italian fun with a friend from my university, and along the way we picked up another girl in Nice who was going the same way. It's funny how subconscious coping mechanisms kick in and you're soon giving the banter your best and having tearful goodbyes at the end of a week.

Anyway, before this gets too philosophical, I'll get back to the story. The three of us decided to hit Sanremo that evening to get some necessary nourishment. It was the first of many, many pizzas during my stay. It was there I was introduced to the phenomenon of the 'coperta'. You peruse a menu, decide you can afford one of the cheaper pizzas, and agree to share a bottle of still water (none of this fizzy stuff - seriously why would you do that!?). You can do it all for under 10 Euros which, on a meagre student budget, is very reasonable.

We ate, drank, and were merry; I asked for the bill in my basic Italian and recieved a nice 3,50 service charge (or 'coperta') on each meal. So much for a cheap and cheerful dinner. After a quick jaunt back by the American bar (where our fellow would-be tutors were loitering) we headed back for an early night with a week of training yawning ahead of us.

Sanremo is almost better in the dark. There is something tatty about it at close inspection. Forty years ago it would have been the place to be - when you finished in St. Tropez, you moved onto Sanremo. The shame of it is that the people that came forty years ago are still coming today, and no-one has bothered to patch up the wear and tear. It did have its little surprises though. At the bottom of the road up to our hotel was this fantastic Russian Orthodox church: it looked like it had been lifted straight out of St. Petersburg. In the day it was impressive, at night it was incredible...

So when I get up to my room it transpires that my roommate had arrived in my absence... and then departed again. It's very difficult to judge a person from a pile of stuff on a bed. I did my best psycho-portrait and then went off to sleep (somehow I think the two were linked).

Two hours later, my roommate returns. She was dreadfully apologetic and rather sweaty (courtesy of Sanremo's sticky nights). After she composed herself and the formalities were over we ended up chatting for an hour, dispelling any hopes of an early night.

And here we are again, making friends with complete strangers. She wasn't the first, and she certainly wasn't the last.