Cinque Terre by Boat

Stumbling. Tumbling. Drifting. Climbing.

The day is sunny.  The seas are calm.  Mike and I congratulate ourselves for traveling to Cinque Terre after the hordes have departed. There are only two other couples on board the ferry.   One of them stops and speaks to us. 

After a bit, I have to ask, “Do you know what you are doing?”  i.e., Do you have any idea exactly where we are going and what we are supposed to do when we get there? 

They did.  We don’t. Their plans are to train, hike, and ferry their way across the mountains that shelter the five small historic fishing villages of the Ligurian coast.  Me, I’m not so sure.  Walking seems like a good idea, but not five hours — up mountains?

We arrive at the first village, Riomaggiore, and head to the front of the ferry to disembark.  A gangplank is lowered onto the foot of the cliff below the town.  The ferry pitches and yaws.  I walk.  Carefully.   The others stay on board — I wonder why.  Have we done the wrong thing?  There is nothing to do but climb.

Riomaggiore

Reaching the tightly walled passages of the tiny village I overhear morning greetings in English.  I stop.  We are directed through a long tunnel to the other side of the village and the train station.  I do have thoughts of walking — this is supposed to be the easy path — from Riomaggiore to Manarola.  Eavesdropping on an English couple all set for a good day’s hike I learn that all trails are closed.  Lower.  Upper.  All.  Landslides earlier this month, and injured tourists have put the Italian government on alert.

Michael creates his own open path, following his nose.  The town is stacked one building on top of another with only tiny trails in between.  Dirt paths, cement paths, steps. We climb. Looking at his watch, he decides we need to begin our descent in order to catch the next ferry.  Picking our way slowly down the minute passage we discover the path to Manarola. A gate bars our way.  Warning signs are in four languages.  Locks are many.

The consummate adventurer, always walking the path less taken, Mike decides on a small side trip. Before descending he sees a sign warning of dangerous descent. Of course, he walks down.

In Riomaggiore there are many tourists from the trains. We are glad it is not high season because their numbers overwhelm and since the trails are closed they are all boarding the ferry.  I fear disappointment awaits them when they learn that today, because of safety concerns, the ferry will only stop at tre terre not cinque terre.

Monterosso

We make the decision to go to the very last village and work our way back.  It’s noon, we are hungry, and Monterosso is the largest of the five villages with the most restaurants and the best beaches. I always opt for the first thing I see, but Michael walks on.  Luckily, Michael walks on. 

Lunch is wonderful.  Perched at a table for two, on a cliff that sits high above the Mediterranean, appropriately we dine on Frutti di mare. Mussels and clams in a rich tomato broth.  Delicately floured, lightly fried every kind of sea creature you can think of, and a vegetarian lasagna made with pumpkin, mushrooms, and pecorino — rich as Croesus.

The sea sparkles beneath us. The sun warms.  The sky is a brilliant blue.  The plates before us are empty but we don’t want to leave.  We order another half carafe of wine and linger.  Just being here is enough.

 

Vernazza

We delay dessert, opting for gelato in Vernazza.  Needing to walk off all of our culinary indulgences, Mike sees a sign to the next town. The town where the ferry will not go.  We hike as far up the mountain as we can, till once again a locked gate turns us away.