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Our bus leaves Livorno promptly at 7:45am, en route through the beautiful countryside of Tuscany, and then on to the hillside villages of Liguria. Slowly the sun rises over the ombre stone houses, their red tile roofs paint the hills like sleepy ladybugs on bright green blades of grass. We first pass through the seaside villages by the Mediterranean, where the somber port of Livorno sits. Founded by the Medici family in the late 16th century to secure access to the sea, it’s now called the “ugliest” of the Tuscan towns, but still not bad by any standard that I know of.
Round stone tower lighthouses that look out over Napoleon’s misfortunate “home away from home”, Elba, and the other Italian seaside hideaways in this archipelago, eventually give way to fields of colossal sunflowers and small wild hares that jump happily through tall blue wildflowers. More giant umbrella pine trees line long promenades that lead to who knows where, a regal canopy surrounding farms with pretty ponies in early morning repose. Beside them, dotting the landscape, tall slender cypress trees. Legend has it that they were originally planted beside the graves of beloved elders in the hope that they would lead the way for their souls to climb upward and ever closer to the spirit world.
On the steeper hillsides, chestnut trees grow. In this small nation of beautiful scenery, land is not plentiful, and there is limited room for wheat and barley to grow. Chestnut flour has been the solution to replace those grains in this region. A special treat is in store for us shortly - castagneto, made with chestnut flour, rosemary, milk, pine nuts, and sheep’s milk ricotta - the local delicacy, chestnut pie.
We pass through the “Alps” of Carrara, where 80 percent of the world’s marble is mined. The mountain peaks look as though they are capped with powdery white snow. But this snow is much richer and exists year round. It is the shiny powder of finely chisled marble. We’re on our way to the shoreline of Liguria, beyond which we can actually see the maritime alps of southern Italy. But before we arrive, we must pass by tiny inland medieval hilltop villages, such as Taggia and Dolceacqua, where clusters of jumbled buildings cling to the cliffs of the Apennine Mountains, their bell towers reaching high to the sky. Below them, fields of wild basil grow as carpet cover for miles and miles and fill the air with smoky aroma.
Finally, we arrive at La Spezia, gateway to the towns of Cinque Terre. Yes, Cinque Terre! I can hardly believe that I am finally here; after years of dreaming about visiting Cinque Terre, this day has finally and truly come! On La Spezia’s bell tower, a crest of a lion and three crosses, symbolic of the early maritime powers that once ruled Italy: the lion for Venice, the most powerful, and the three crosses for La Spezia, for Amalfi, and for Genoa, a reminder of a time when Italy was not united, but a mélange of competing tribes.
The road, and our bus drive ends in Manarola, the first of the five hillside towns that comprise Cinque Terre. Our day is spent climbing through four of these five towns - Manarola, Riomaggiore, Vernazza, and Monterosso. We begin our journey here in Manarola, and from here, we hike a cliff side foot path that overlooks the Mediterranean to the next town, Riomaggiore. Our precipitous path winds through farming hillsides where cherry trees grow beside the olive trees, sheltering them from the hillside elements, the salt and the wind, and giant lemon trees do the same favor for vineyards of plump green grapes. That’s just the way it is here.
Freshly laundered clothes hang from lines strung between the tall narrow colorful houses that grow up the hillsides. Each house has only one room on each floor. To get from the living room to the bathroom involves climbing five narrow staircases, passing through the kitchen, dining room, and perhaps a few bedrooms first.
On the path to Riomaggiore, we must trek through a stone tunnel built into the cliffside, the Via de l’Amor, where countless Italian lovers have come before us to pledge their affection as they gazed out from the arched columns on to the sea below. Their love is immortalized by writings on the walls of the tunnel. My favorite, a pledge from a young woman to her beloved: “vuole simile verso essere lacrima , nato in tuo occhi , vivo acceso tuo faccia , morire acceso tuo labbra” “I would like to be a teardrop, born in your eyes, live on your face, die on your lips.”
We spend some time browsing and sunbathing in Riomaggiore before heading by ferry on to Vernazza. Here, my new buddies Cheryl and Shelly, and I grab a small piece of focaccia cippoline, fresh mozzarella and sweet white onions, an appetizer, really, and finish it off with fresh lemon gelato. Swirly and soft, but with tiny pieces of rind and pith, it is both pungently sweet and bitter at the same time, refreshing relief from the hot sun.
It’s all too soon before we board another ferry on to Monterosso, but not before we head to the rustic bathrooms by quayside, more rustic than I had hoped. The toilet, simply a hole in the limestone floor. Nancy, one of my new friends, wearing pants, told me she learned early on that the trick with pants is to hike them up as far as the knees to avoid any unsightly damage. It was immensely easier for me in one of my pretty new sundresses. I knew that I would love these sundresses but I never could have imagined just how much so than at this very moment!
We pass the hillside town of Corniglia by ferry. It is the only town of Cinque Terre without a port, so we cannot reach it by boat, nor by car for that matter. It must be walked, a twelve hour hike as it turns out from the last town we visit, Monterosso. What a beautiful surprise left for last as we disembark the ferry! The steep cobblestone streets are lined with charming shops and cafes and a small but efficient beach lies at the bottom. Being the foodie that I am, I ask our guide, a Mediterranean hottie himself, Andrea, where I can take a local lunch, somewhere where the Italians go. He smiles and ushers me to his favorite haunt, a local gem called Pozzo. We order the linguini with mussels, and a whole giant black pot arrives, fragrant and steamy. There must be forty freshly caught mussels in the giant pot. We order the spaghettini with pesto as well, and a bottle of local white wine, and share it all. And it is divine.
It is up there with some of my most memorable meals. The giant smooth beef filet with twelve side dishes in Buenos Aires, the bacalhau and vino verde in Lisbon, the baked feta and octopus in Corfu, my pizza and wine foray in Napoli, and the lamb and fragrant rice in Istanbul. It is that good. As we eat, Andrea shares with me his favorite Italian quotation by the famed Frederico Fellini: "La vita è una combinazione di magia e di pasta": "Life is a combination of magic and pasta." I am smiling, thinking that this entire day has been no less magnificent a combination of both.
We end the meal with simple crackers topped with miele and nocci (honey and walnuts) and a cappuccino. I leave Andrea to catch up with his tour guide buddies at another table and stroll outside to the shops. Some are closed, and as the ancient bells peal throughout the hilly cobblestone streets, I realize that it is Sunday. Fortunately, though, many shops are open, and I pick up a small bottle of limoncello for the cabin and a jar of pesto to entice E. to cook a great meal for us when I return home. I am here in the present, but I smile to myself at the thought of sweet memories of Cinque Terre that await in my future.
My final stroll up the hillside to the waiting bus brings me past rocky outcrops with plump tomato plants, swollen with shiny red and juicy fruit, intertwined with pink valerian, the leaves of which are used here to steep a calming tea, the forerunner of valium. Massive purple heather lines the pathway. I can hear the noisy honking of cicadas in the trees above me.
It has been an exhausting yet exhilarating day, one I won't soon forget. I flit in and out of a dreamy reverie on the two hour bus ride back to Livorno, as the music of another Andrea, one Andrea Bocelli, soothes my senses and lulls me into a dream world coarse as ancient stone church steeples and bell towers and silky as golden lemon gelato.
Hugs,
Jeana
Round stone tower lighthouses that look out over Napoleon’s misfortunate “home away from home”, Elba, and the other Italian seaside hideaways in this archipelago, eventually give way to fields of colossal sunflowers and small wild hares that jump happily through tall blue wildflowers. More giant umbrella pine trees line long promenades that lead to who knows where, a regal canopy surrounding farms with pretty ponies in early morning repose. Beside them, dotting the landscape, tall slender cypress trees. Legend has it that they were originally planted beside the graves of beloved elders in the hope that they would lead the way for their souls to climb upward and ever closer to the spirit world.
On the steeper hillsides, chestnut trees grow. In this small nation of beautiful scenery, land is not plentiful, and there is limited room for wheat and barley to grow. Chestnut flour has been the solution to replace those grains in this region. A special treat is in store for us shortly - castagneto, made with chestnut flour, rosemary, milk, pine nuts, and sheep’s milk ricotta - the local delicacy, chestnut pie.We pass through the “Alps” of Carrara, where 80 percent of the world’s marble is mined. The mountain peaks look as though they are capped with powdery white snow. But this snow is much richer and exists year round. It is the shiny powder of finely chisled marble. We’re on our way to the shoreline of Liguria, beyond which we can actually see the maritime alps of southern Italy. But before we arrive, we must pass by tiny inland medieval hilltop villages, such as Taggia and Dolceacqua, where clusters of jumbled buildings cling to the cliffs of the Apennine Mountains, their bell towers reaching high to the sky. Below them, fields of wild basil grow as carpet cover for miles and miles and fill the air with smoky aroma.
Finally, we arrive at La Spezia, gateway to the towns of Cinque Terre. Yes, Cinque Terre! I can hardly believe that I am finally here; after years of dreaming about visiting Cinque Terre, this day has finally and truly come! On La Spezia’s bell tower, a crest of a lion and three crosses, symbolic of the early maritime powers that once ruled Italy: the lion for Venice, the most powerful, and the three crosses for La Spezia, for Amalfi, and for Genoa, a reminder of a time when Italy was not united, but a mélange of competing tribes.
The road, and our bus drive ends in Manarola, the first of the five hillside towns that comprise Cinque Terre. Our day is spent climbing through four of these five towns - Manarola, Riomaggiore, Vernazza, and Monterosso. We begin our journey here in Manarola, and from here, we hike a cliff side foot path that overlooks the Mediterranean to the next town, Riomaggiore. Our precipitous path winds through farming hillsides where cherry trees grow beside the olive trees, sheltering them from the hillside elements, the salt and the wind, and giant lemon trees do the same favor for vineyards of plump green grapes. That’s just the way it is here.
Freshly laundered clothes hang from lines strung between the tall narrow colorful houses that grow up the hillsides. Each house has only one room on each floor. To get from the living room to the bathroom involves climbing five narrow staircases, passing through the kitchen, dining room, and perhaps a few bedrooms first.On the path to Riomaggiore, we must trek through a stone tunnel built into the cliffside, the Via de l’Amor, where countless Italian lovers have come before us to pledge their affection as they gazed out from the arched columns on to the sea below. Their love is immortalized by writings on the walls of the tunnel. My favorite, a pledge from a young woman to her beloved: “vuole simile verso essere lacrima , nato in tuo occhi , vivo acceso tuo faccia , morire acceso tuo labbra” “I would like to be a teardrop, born in your eyes, live on your face, die on your lips.”
We spend some time browsing and sunbathing in Riomaggiore before heading by ferry on to Vernazza. Here, my new buddies Cheryl and Shelly, and I grab a small piece of focaccia cippoline, fresh mozzarella and sweet white onions, an appetizer, really, and finish it off with fresh lemon gelato. Swirly and soft, but with tiny pieces of rind and pith, it is both pungently sweet and bitter at the same time, refreshing relief from the hot sun.It’s all too soon before we board another ferry on to Monterosso, but not before we head to the rustic bathrooms by quayside, more rustic than I had hoped. The toilet, simply a hole in the limestone floor. Nancy, one of my new friends, wearing pants, told me she learned early on that the trick with pants is to hike them up as far as the knees to avoid any unsightly damage. It was immensely easier for me in one of my pretty new sundresses. I knew that I would love these sundresses but I never could have imagined just how much so than at this very moment!
We pass the hillside town of Corniglia by ferry. It is the only town of Cinque Terre without a port, so we cannot reach it by boat, nor by car for that matter. It must be walked, a twelve hour hike as it turns out from the last town we visit, Monterosso. What a beautiful surprise left for last as we disembark the ferry! The steep cobblestone streets are lined with charming shops and cafes and a small but efficient beach lies at the bottom. Being the foodie that I am, I ask our guide, a Mediterranean hottie himself, Andrea, where I can take a local lunch, somewhere where the Italians go. He smiles and ushers me to his favorite haunt, a local gem called Pozzo. We order the linguini with mussels, and a whole giant black pot arrives, fragrant and steamy. There must be forty freshly caught mussels in the giant pot. We order the spaghettini with pesto as well, and a bottle of local white wine, and share it all. And it is divine.
It is up there with some of my most memorable meals. The giant smooth beef filet with twelve side dishes in Buenos Aires, the bacalhau and vino verde in Lisbon, the baked feta and octopus in Corfu, my pizza and wine foray in Napoli, and the lamb and fragrant rice in Istanbul. It is that good. As we eat, Andrea shares with me his favorite Italian quotation by the famed Frederico Fellini: "La vita è una combinazione di magia e di pasta": "Life is a combination of magic and pasta." I am smiling, thinking that this entire day has been no less magnificent a combination of both.
We end the meal with simple crackers topped with miele and nocci (honey and walnuts) and a cappuccino. I leave Andrea to catch up with his tour guide buddies at another table and stroll outside to the shops. Some are closed, and as the ancient bells peal throughout the hilly cobblestone streets, I realize that it is Sunday. Fortunately, though, many shops are open, and I pick up a small bottle of limoncello for the cabin and a jar of pesto to entice E. to cook a great meal for us when I return home. I am here in the present, but I smile to myself at the thought of sweet memories of Cinque Terre that await in my future.My final stroll up the hillside to the waiting bus brings me past rocky outcrops with plump tomato plants, swollen with shiny red and juicy fruit, intertwined with pink valerian, the leaves of which are used here to steep a calming tea, the forerunner of valium. Massive purple heather lines the pathway. I can hear the noisy honking of cicadas in the trees above me.
It has been an exhausting yet exhilarating day, one I won't soon forget. I flit in and out of a dreamy reverie on the two hour bus ride back to Livorno, as the music of another Andrea, one Andrea Bocelli, soothes my senses and lulls me into a dream world coarse as ancient stone church steeples and bell towers and silky as golden lemon gelato.Hugs,
Jeana
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