Cinque Terre

Dear readers…if you’ve been checking up on me regularly, you may recall that a few weeks ago I was prevented by a pleasant surprise from testing my solo travel skills. This was the weekend when it finally happened! My friend, David, is working in Holland this year and we’ve been trying to meet up somewhere while we’re both on this side of the pond. Projected destinations ranged all over Western Europe, but reasonable flights helped narrow the choices considerably.
As it turned out, Friday afternoon found me on a train heading north to Cinque Terre, the famous little group of seaside cliff towns. No journey is entirely free of minor hitches; this time they were alarming but not serious. My first train was late, and while I did make it to the next, I don’t think I’ve ever dashed across the Firenze SMN station so quickly. The second moment of minor terror was when I realized that I couldn’t call David’s phone—the mysteries of international cellular calls are far beyond my comprehension. Fortunately we both arrived without too much damage, which was more of an achievement for him than for me. He brought along harrowing tales about the autostrade just outside Milan at rush hour…in a brand-new, but not particularly powerful Smartcar.
We went to dinner and I discovered that I have not been properly appreciating my after dinner espresso...David turns drinking coffee into an art. We talked about “shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings” until the waitress started to glare at us and yank off tablecloths and close doors, and then returned to the hostel to find our roommate already asleep.
In the morning, we stopped for a very Italian breakfast of cappuccinos and pastries, and I again realize the unexpected advantages of eating out in Italy with someone who has actually taken classes on making and drinking coffee, and hiking around a bunch of ports with a yacht designer. We stopped by the marina and looked at the pretty, colorful little fishing boats, and then headed down to the water. We found a little rocky cove and hunted for beach glass, waded around, skipped rocks, built miniature monolithic structures out of rocks, hunted for interesting rocks, and drew pictures on rocks with other rocks.
After trying (unsuccessfully) to take a midmorning nap (on the rocks) we headed for the trail proper. The first leg from Riomaggiore to Manarola, the Via dell’Amore, was actually a bit disappointing. More of a stroll than a hike, but with a pretty view. The next part of the walk was a bit more challenging; the trail was full of—yes, you guessed it—rocks. We stopped in Corniglia for lunch (tasty gnocchi and pesto!) and then accidentally climbed down three hundred sixty-something steps and discovered that there was nothing to do but climb all the way back up again. Once through Corniglia, the way to Vernazza was the most beautiful yet. We meandered through olive groves, past gorgeous seaside vistas, by old stone walls, and, shockingly enough, over more rocks.

In Vernazza we watched the sunset over the Mediterranean with a cone of gelato in hand.
After taking the train back, we finally met our roommate, who turned out to be a wonderfully friendly young lady from Australia. She’d been working in England and was doing some traveling before going home for Christmas. The three of us talked about everything from travel to world-wide differences in English slang.
The next morning I got my own introduction to the terrors of the Smartcar…I’m not sure if it’s more petrifying on mountain roads, or on the highway, or when trying to find a parking space on the bumpy cobblestones in Milan. We stopped in La Spezia and walked around the harbor, then headed north. We had a few hours in Milan, which was enough to make me realize how un-cosmopolitan and down-to-earth everywhere else I’ve been in Italy is. My my…I haven’t felt that much like a country bumpkin in a really long time. Even though the people, the architecture, and the atmosphere were beautiful and sophisticated, I think I prefer the rugged coast of Cinque Terre.