Five towns on the Ligurian Seacoast

Cinque Terre is a cluster of five towns near the sea in Liguria, right?  I mean, does anyone know anything more than that?  I didn’t.  I still don’t.  I just knew that they were pretty and I want to go there. 

After Kyle and Elsa Ermer (brother and sister NOT husband and wife) spent a few days with me, I trained up to meet a few girls in Florence for the night and then we were off to Cinque Terre.  It is Spring Break.  Lots of students in our program are on jet-set adventures of a day trip to every European capital.  Sarah, Lisa, and I wanted something a little more low-key.  Also, we all wanted to hike along the seashore.  Lisa and I both hail from SYV and Sarah goes to UCSB so ‘mountains along the beach’ is a concept that makes us feel right at home. 

If you plan on going to Cinque Terre any time soon, let me know and I’ll give you a full itinerary.  Otherwise, these next few words should be sufficient introduction.  We stayed in Riomaggiore, town number one.  It's a fishing village on a steep hill with wooden boats whose hulls are blue, where cats graze your ankles if you dine on the patio and where dogs flop down in the sun and don’t seem to notice you.  Pausa (siesta) is a practiced with vigilance.  Old women who look like my neighbor Edna (a Brooklyn Italian) talk to each other from across the street through their open windows.  Just like in Bonefro, the women here wear black for the rest of their lives if their husband or child has died.  The matrons of Rome don’t do that, though they always wear fur.  I was again reminded of the differences, not just between the cities in Italy about which I will write at some future date, but the huge mistake it would be to say that you knew anything about a country by visiting just its capitol.  Sacramento is not California to me...

There are coastal trails that lead from town one, Riomaggiore, all the way to town five, Monterosso.  There are also mountain trails, bike trails, and horseback riding trails.  When one is lazy, there are trains.  All forms of movement are acceptable as all forms offer fantastic views.  But I prefer a coastal trail above all other travel and the trail from town one to town two, Manarola, was amazing.  It is called Via dell’Amore but one needn’t be put off by such a revolting name...with views like that, I couldn’t have cared less what it was called.  

Manarola seemed to be the smallest of the towns.  And I thought nothing could have been smaller than Riomaggiore.  It is upsetting, gastronomically speaking, to visit a town that is too small to have a bakery.  The trail between town two and town three, Corniglia, was ‘interesting.’  It featured more cliffs, more broken railings, more abandoned and random cabanas, storm drains, and one simple wood/rope suspension bridge.  Corniglia is the only town that isn’t directly on the sea, though it is directly above the sea.  Since it began to POUR during our hike from town three to town four, Vernazza, and because the rocks were incredibly slippery, and possibly because one of us had no umbrella, we decided to take the train to Vernazza.  Vernazza is more reasonably-sized.  That is to say that its breakwater is of poured concrete, rather than just many huge chunks of rock.  It has bustling little restaurants (still observing of pausa), and a tiny toddler practicing his soccer skills in front of the church, just like any self-respecting Italian male between the ages of one and fifteen.  The trail between town four and town five, Monterosso, was closed for repairs.   The coastal trail, I mean.  I don’t care about other trails...

It would have been quite easy to miss, and by that I mean that I completely missed it, the colossal statue in Monterosso.  The town is split in two and the train station dumps you out on the large beachwalk.  At the far end is il gigante who currently holds up not a lot.  Beside a purpose, he is also missing arms.  On the opposite end of the beach, around the corner, easy to skip if you don’t know it’s there, is the historic center of the town.  We climbed up the cliff just as the sun really started to reveal itself.  The water suddenly turned azure.  I believe I squealed. 

I am from Santa Barbara.  I’m always in search of a good view.  I spent a whole summer with Landon, on our scooters, devoted to such research.  But there was nothing to compare to the end of a longish week, some trying times, resolving in the contemplation of the clearest and bluest sea, a hilltop, the sunshine after a rain, and cinnamon gelato.  Throw in some purple wildflowers and you’ve got Cinque Terre. 

Monterosso, the old part of the town, is simply charming.  I could write for hours about pink-washed bricks, lemon trees, tiny doorways, green shutters, the sticky heavy salt air, and the plate of fried seafood, whole fish, octopus, calamari, whole prawns and requisite undetectables that fed us for days.   

I think I’ve had opportunity to mention this before but I don’t always like to photograph every place I’ve been or every thing I’m doing.  I want to enjoy the actual experience whilst it is happening.  I don’t want to live my trip through a tiny rectangular viewfinder.  I’m including some photos but despite what some of you may be receiving in the mail, Cinque Terre is an experience, not a postcard.