Surprisingly, I have not turned green from all the pesto

Perhaps I have been more prejudiced by growing up in Idaho Falls than I previously realized--it was so nice to get outside a major city for a weekend, where there was time to take a siesta (although true, we did that in Athens), where we were in the middle of cliffs and the sea, where we got to walk on something that was not pavement...

I loved Cinque Terre. It was a restful weekend away in the middle of two months of whirlwind Eurail travel to all these amazing European cities, and I think a very good choice.

I spent Thursday night in Milan--definitely a major city. Lejla and I wandered around the city center for several hours that evening, waiting for Christine's train to get in. I can report from the fashion capital of the world that dark blue--"midnight blue," I would say--high heels are decidedly in.

We stayed the weekend in Riomaggiore, the eastern-most village of the Cinque Terre. It had one main street, the Via Colombo, and two side streets that split off up the hillsides. All the houses are built up the steep cliffs, with narrow staircases winding up between them and secret alleyways that invite exploration. The village is focused around the harbor but spreads into the terraced vineyards up above. Interesting fact that may or may not be true: the network of stone walls that make up the terraces of the area around Cinque Terre is at least equal to the length of the Great Wall of China. This sounds a bit fantastical, but when you actually see them, you think it might really be true.

Friday afternoon was grey and cloudy--we couldn't see the tops of the steep hills around the villages because they were so shrouded in mist--so we spent the time poking into the corners of Riomaggiore. The little church, decorated in lilies and roses for Easter, was absolutely silent. All I heard was my watch ticking. It was the first time we've been in a church in Europe where no one else was there. We also wandered up one of the hillsides (I can't decide whether to call them hill or cliffs--they were so steep, like cliffs, but rounded, so I'm very torn on this issue) along the edge of a vineyard and overlooked the beach. At that height, Riomaggiore was almost hidden from view by the mist surrounding us. Coming back down the slick black rocks covered in rain, we felt we had done good training for the following day's hike.

We also ate the first pesto of the trip (pesto originated in this region of Italy): a plate each of trofie al pesto, this delicious homemade pasta. Lejla had to take a phone call about train tickets 30 seconds before the dishes arrived--Christine and I tried to wait as long as we could for her to come back to the table, but the heavenly smell of the pesto wafting up from the plates in front of us literally compelled us to pick up our forks and start eating. That was my favorite pesto of the trip.

We made up stories for ourselves again for our lives in Riomaggiore around the time of the plague: Lejla was the daughter of a fisherman who spent her days in the market around the harbor, giving "a fish and a smile" in return for each lira; I was the daughter of the man who made "the best wine in Riomaggiore" (that phrase must be accompanied by Italian hand-gesturing when spoken); and Christine, the apothecary's daughter, was conducting a secret love affair with one of the Sicilian pirates who kept attacking our village.

That evening, we sat on the harbor wall with a bottle of wine and a container of what I suspect were wild strawberries we had purchased from one of the little coops on the street. We watched our first Cinque Terre sunset with wine-filled mugs from the hostel (we do the best we can) while thoroughly discussing whether Lejla-the-fishmaiden ought to marry the fisherman her father likes or the house-painter who she has not seen since childhood but who recently returned from Venice, where his family went after his father died in the plague. We felt the choice was obvious and so decided Gianluca the painter was going to have to duel Roberto the fisherman and win.

We walked along the Via dell'Amore, the most famous portion of the paths connecting the five villages, in the dark to get to Manarola for dinner. The path was entirely ours, which must never happen. The sea made such crashing noises against the rocks below us...More trofie al pesto for dinner, then back to Riomaggiore and then bed. My earliest night in Europe so far, and even the group of 5 girls from Chicago talking in our hostel didn't keep me from falling asleep within 2 minutes.

Saturday started out cloudy, but Lejla and Christine convinced me to wear shorts for our hike--a wise choice, because the sun was out in full force by 2 pm. Unfortunately and uncharacteristically, I completely forgot both sunscreen and a hat for this trip--my one weekend at the sea. Once the sun had burned away the clouds, which happened somewhere between Corniglia and Vernazza, I left Lejla and Christine behind to enjoy the views while I charged ahead to Vernazza to buy sunscreen. I am happy to report I emerged from my showdown with the sun unscathed by sunburn. (Perhaps it was all the pesto and olive oil in my blood.)

The hike was very easy--luxurious, actually--in some parts and steeper in others, but every inch with a gorgeous vista of the cliffs and the sea. We stopped in each village to wander and test the pesto--I racked up 1 pesto pizza and 2 focaccia slices smothered in pesto to my account. I decided that Riomaggiore, Manarola, and Corniglia were my favorite villages; they were less touristy than Vernazza or Monterosso--especially Monterosso. Vernazza was beautiful, though, and had an excellent harbor.

We took the train back--there always seemed to be one arriving that would take us between the villages, siesta-ed, then had another bottle-of-wine-and-strawberries sunset, this time on the Via dell'Amore. Once the stars started peeking out, we remembered that we hadn't had any pesto in a few hours, so back to that first restaurant for Round 3 of trofie al pesto. Nightlife is scarce in Riomaggiore--which is exactly the point--so it was another bottle of wine back on our Via dell'Amore bench for star-gazing and life discussions. I could see Orion, the Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, and the tip of the Little Dipper; last summer's accomplishment of Draco has vanished from disuse. I resolved to widen my astronomy portfolio at the next opportunity.

After a morning of postcard-writing on our spot on the harbor wall and one last pesto pizza, we had to spend that sunny Sunday sitting on trains back to Geneva. I did not want to leave, but at least I had Life of Pi to reread...

Photos.

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On another subject, I wish we would just advance enough as a society to realize that Daylight Savings Time creates more hassle than it is worth. I reset my watch this weekend, but my cell phone here does not automatically reset itself--so, since I use my cell phone as my alarm, I have been arriving at work at 9:30 for the past two mornings, convinced that I was arriving at my usual 8:30. No wonder Monday morning flew by so quickly.