Sant'Apollinare was an old memory dispersed somewhere in my mind. I had been there as a child, when my mother was a teacher in the junior high school of a nearby village, on the coast. Sometimes my father would first pick me at school, in Genoa, and take me to the Riviera, to pick my mother after she went off duty. Then we used to go immediately back home, perhaps after buying a few portions of focaccia at the bakery, but at least once we went to a tiny hamlet halfway up a hill — just a church, a handful of houses and a tavern — where we had lunch. It must have been in the late '70s.

I just recall that the road first went along a tight valley to the inland, then a deviation to the right started climbing the hill; at a certain point the road ended and you had to leave the car. A number of crêuze (muletracks) started from that point, one staying for a while halfway on the slope facing the sea, offering the sight of a panorama ranging from the Mount of Portofino through the town of Genoa and beyond, up to the Riviera di Ponente in case of clear air.

A few days ago my friends Roberto and Carmen told me about a pleasant hike they had in the area and resumed my old memories, making me want to return to that place.

Actually, I was dubious in the beginning. The weather in the morning was decent, but it started deteriorating at midday. After lunch the sky was pretty covered towards the mountains, while I could see sparks of light on the sea. Sant'Apollinare is just minutes from home, so I tried anyway — at least I'd have recalled the way and took a preliminary look of the area.

I was rewarded. The sky was partially open, even though the sun was well covered by a thick layer of clouds when I got there. Also a thin haze was hovering in the lower layers of the atmosphere. Colours were rather dull, but there were some hints the scene could have been tinged with warm tones when the setting sun had come out of the clouds; in fact, the horizon appeared hazy, but clear.

And it happened. Looking West, Genoa was lying for its full thirty kilometres of extension, compressed by the perspective, with the sense of depth enhanced by the haze and a few sunny spots. Looking East, the village of Camogli with its small harbour was enjoying the last golden light of the day.

And in the end, the setting sun again behind a small layer of clouds was emanating its glorious crepuscular rays over the sea just in front of the small church of Sant'Apollinare.