Tags
Hoooooo-boy. We had a pretty good time in Cinque Terre. It turns out that we’re pretty small-town people; Firenze was… ok… but we just couldn’t pick up the soul of the town, whereas we are having a much easier time doing so in smaller towns. To that end, we were pretty excited about settling down in some smaller towns for a while.
Then this was the first thing we saw when we got off the train in Riomaggiore.
Yeah, that was ok.
It was only a 5-minute walk to our apartment, and our landlord was very friendly (effusive might be a better word). We climbed the staircase of death up to the third floor (carrying luggage) and then went up on more flight of increasingly-narrow steps to our terrace.
The sea, she beckoned. So we put on swimsuits under our clothes an headed to the beach. The water was c-o-l-d (cold!) but our feet were swollen and sore from our previous treks, and the cold water did them wonders.
There was still the small matter of dinner to be sorted, though. We went to a seafood place recommended by our landlord, and settled in. I don’t know what the big deal is about anchovies; they’re great! Little tiny morsels of salt. Sure, they taste a little fishy but that’s what the lemon is for. We had fried anchovies until the main course.
I forget what Emily had, but I had prawns. Now, we think we know what prawns are, in Canada (I try not to generalize to North America). They’re bigger shrimp, right? No. They are small lobsters, like donkeys are small horses (cue gnashing of teeth from those who know better).
Anyway, I got five prawns — each the size of a cat. Um. How do I eat these things? I figured I’d just bluff my way through it, utilizing the knowledge I’d gleaned from Lobsterpalooza at Uncle Al’s. I took to it, breaking the beasts apart and feasting on their sumptuous innards. Give me brains! Let me suck shrimp brains from their heads, RAWR!
Our waitress watched with bemusement, later bringing me a little wet-nap. That was like offering a chamois to the rainforest; I was covered in sauce. It was dripping down my elbows. Spent, we returned to the apartment to rest up for the next day.
On our second day, we decided to take on the famous Cinque Terre hikes. Unfortunately, due to tremendous floods last year, two of the four (there’s a hike connecting each of the five towns) hiking trails were closed. There was also a train strike that day, so we would be forced to take a boat between towns. Horrors!
Those who know me well speak not only of my immense technical skill as a brain surgeon, but also of my impressive sea legs. We chartered that skipper and, using only the barks of a dog to guide me, I yeomaned that thing into bow. Actually we bought tickets and someone else captained the boat. We had about an hour until it departed, so we looked for a cafe. We found one given patronage by little old men only, and thought this would be a good place to stop. We had a glass of wine and some olives while we passed the time.
Once we got to Vernazza, we began what would be a very long hike to Monterosso, the last of the five towns. We walked. And walked. Uphill. Then more uphill. The scenery was gorgeous!
Finally, with feet and knees aching, we arrived at Monterosso. Talk about weenies! I hear tell that Courtney did all four hikes in one day, wearing flip-flops!
We caught the boat home, and ate and drank our fill. The food was unremarkable, as was the wine. The beauty of Cinque Terre is in the place itself. The wine is fine, but it doesn’t stand up to a week in Tuscany or Piemonte.
For the final day, we caught the train out to Corniglia (rabbit) — a town that had been inaccessible by boat, for whatever reason. It was lovely, and featured the Fanny Bazaar!
Um. That doesn’t… that doesn’t mean what it does in Engl-
Oh, ok. It’s a touristy thing. Phew!
There have been lemon trees everywhere, but always out of reach. We found one that was just in reach, but was in an apartment building’s front yard. I looked to the left; no one was around. I looked to the right; no one was around. This was the time!
I got up close to it, and started to take a picture of it, but I heard a screen floor slide behind me. This tiny, incredibly-old man stuck his head over the balcony. Caught!
I explained in broken Italian that I was only taking a picture, and he replied with a long string of friendly responses. After a while I clued in, and asked if we could have a lemon. He replied with what I can only believe was “uh, yeah. That’s what I’ve been telling you for the last three minutes.”
So I sidled closer, and raised my arm to the tree. No misunderstanding yet. I seized a lemon. No misunderstanding. I pulled… nope, that one’s staying on there. The next one too. Then the next one. But the next one? That was mine.
I pulled it free and started thanking the man. “Only one? Take two!” So I did, and now we have Italian lemons, the smell of which is ensorceling.
We picked up a few things for lunch, and adjourned to our terrace.
We had a pretty decent dinner at Il Grottino, just across the road. This time Emily attacked the prawn menace and got juice all down her elbows.
In the morning, after a brief salute to the sea, it was time to head to Alba. Overall I highly enjoyed our time in Riomaggiore (and the Cinque Terre) — we’ll definitely be back someday.