I was very much looking forward to visiting the Italian Riviera – it was one of the top priorities on my list of places to visit, simply because it looked like such an amazing location. Cinque Terre literally translates from Italian into “five towns” and what makes the area so significant is the way that the towns were constructed by the locals many centuries ago. The coastal towns have been built in some of the most rugged terrain imaginable and the buildings literally scale the cliff faces and steep valley walls, layer upon layer, creating colourful, very compact towns. Four of the five are situated right on the water at the mouth of deep valleys, with small harbours and swimming areas. The fifth – Cornigila, is perched atop a high cliff, some 300 metres above sea-level. Stretching along the north coast of Italy from Montmarte to Riaggamore. The whole area is UNESCO world heritage listed, and from the first town to the last, stretches merely 20km along the coast. Pretty much the only way to get in there is to catch the (relatively cheap) train, which takes you through the mountains in tunnels and drops you right at the doorstep of each town.
Malf and Dan had been in the Italian Riviera for a couple of days already, and were staying in their own private room in the central town of Vernazza. I was not so fortunate – nor did I need a private room – so I bunked down two towns further south in Manarola at the local hostel. Of course it was located right at the top of the hill, the highest point of the town, but it did have a good view and was right next to one of the churches which I thought was pretty cool from first impressions.
It didn’t take long for the three of us to meet up; we’d been planning our little Italian rendezvous since before we all left London, and Malf knew exactly where to look for me. Immediately after dumping my bike and bags in the hostel, I grabbed my towel and Cronulla cossies and headed down to the rocks for a swim. Malf and Dan saw me and dragged me into the quaint little cafe they were ordering their cafe latte from. It was strange, since I don’t see too many people I know on the road, so I always look forward to meeting up with friends along the way. But with Alex and Dan, it felt almost like we’d seen each other yesterday and were just picking up where we left off in London.
The water was beautiful. I was revelling in my 3rd day straight along the coast of the Mediterranean, and I wasn’t missing any opportunity to jump in for a swim. On the first day we had four swims, and on the second day in the Cinque Terre, another three. The tan was coming along magnificently and I was starting to lose the scary short and sleeve marks that I’d acquired from my cycling gear. We swam at least once in each town, in the harbours, along the coast at various rock ledges and in some pretty amazing little alcoves with caves and cliffs to jump off, and the water was beautiful. Everybody I know should be totally jealous of just how much fun I was having! I’m sure you all are.
With two days to kill in the Cinque Terre with Dan and Malf, we didn’t miss a beat at all. Together we did a little bit of hiking (though arguably I did a LOT more hiking than those two lovebirds, who piked a massive leg over a mountain and caught the train because they were lazy and slept in…), and we ate meals out and shared a few drinks on Dan and Malf’s private balcony overlooking the sea, which was pretty cool. The Coop supermarket was our friend, with some cheap beer and groceries for lunch, but we did splurge a little and went out for dinner both nights, and got pretty wasted on the second night at one of the local bars.
Speaking of the Coop, I’ve never ever been in a place where the customer seemed to be treated with the utmost contempt, as if they don’t even want your business at all and wish you would just vanish into thin air! On the first day, after turning around the first time because the joint was shut for ‘siesta’, I once again returned the next morning making sure that I made it within the store’s published limited opening hours. It was a small shop – no bigger than your average small cafe really, but rammed with groceries from wall to wall. There was no way that you could enter or leave the shop without the storekeepers knowing. I stood at the deli counter for a good five minutes waiting to have my bananas weighed and to buy some bread, but received absolutely no attention. Meanwhile the shop attendants continued to blatantly ignore me whilst they packed shelves and emptied boxes and so forth. Another Italian guy walked in and also stood at the deli counter to order his bread and received the same treatment. Unlike me however, he could speak Italian and so after a few minutes, he gave a very audible clearing of his throat to arouse the attention of one of the two ladies in the shop. Another minute later he repeated himself (he had more patience than I would have if I’d spoken Italian) and finally one of the ladies grumpily dropped what she was doing and muttered something to herself as she came to serve us.
After getting my banaba and bread, I still had to pay for it, and as myself, the Italian guy and another woman stood waiting at the till, the two storekeepers were kind of having a stand-off as to who would have to drop what they were doing and go to the register. The Italian guy reached the end of his patience and said something curt, and I got the impression that he said he wasn’t going to bother waiting and would leave his correct change on the till. One of them finally came around, apparently not happy to let him do that, and then I finally got served myself. The next day in the same store, I was purchasing exactly the same items, and encountered almost the same rudeness. The ladies who worked there really needed to work on my social skills I thought, but then an Italian fellah walked in, and he must have cracked a joke or said something to appeal himself to the storekeepers, because all of a sudden they became animated and engaged in his conversation. I couldn’t believe the difference. I got the impression that the guy was somehow related to one of the families in the village, or knew something like that. I would find out later that Vernazza (and possibly all the five towns) were quite snobby and to really belong in one of the towns you virtually had to be born there. Even some of the Italians (a couple of restaurateurs from Sicily) who had setup a restaurant at the top end of Vernazza that we visited, found that they were virtually excluded and shunned by the locals. Frankly I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and found the attitude amazing considering that the locals pretty much rely on the tourist trade to sustain a living. Well, it didn’t spoil the visit, far from it actually. Apart from the Coop it wasn’t particularly noticeable and in general I was finding Italian people quite tolerable.
We also met one of the loveliest couples along the way, a pair of Brits from Bristol in the UK who had returned to the Cinque Terre for the second time after having such a great holiday on their first trip a year or two ago. They liked it so much that when they arrived, they shunned the rest of their planned trip and stayed nearly an entire two weeks in Vernazza. Turns out they were both working for Her Majesty back in Britain, and they shared a few of their stories with us. One of the better discussions revolved around confiscated and seized drugs. Apparently it’s not uncommon for the police who are counting the inventory of a bust to get a bit high themselves after being locked in a secure room with hundreds of kilos of weed or cocaine. And one of the better stories was when some joker in Bristol decided to plant a marijuana crop in the pot-plants outside Bristol Police Station, and a year later, then phoned the local paper to give an anonymous tip-off that the police were ‘growing’ their own outside the front door of the station. Nobody had noticed it at all over the course of the year, and naturally there was some embarrassing explaining to do from the police, but it was all in good fun. Anyway, they were an awesome couple, and we not only had dinner with them the first night, but we met up the second night at another restaurant up the road, then kicked on for drinks afterwards.
We were just getting a roll on when I had to depart for the night, as my hostel curfew of 1am meant that I needed to catch one of the last trains back to my own town of Manarola. On the first night I nearly didn’t make it home at all, after heading out for a few beers and then having one too many bottles of red to wash them down. I got to the train station alright, but found my train had been cancelled and the next one delayed. I sat there on the train station sobering up for about 2 hours waiting for the next service, pretty much resigned to the fact that I would miss the curfew and be locked out in the street for the entire night. But I was in luck, as the hostel manager had heard about the drama with the trains and I wasn’t the only one affected from the hostel. Some inconsiderate fool had jumped in front of a train apparently, causing a long delay along the line. Well, whatever he was too upset about, at least I made it to my bed eventually.
I found out that just after I’d left, the other four kicked on for another drink then were saying their goodbyes, when an anonymous flying egg landed on their table from above. Too noisy apparently? Who knows, but that’s the gutless local Vernazza hospitality once again for you…
On the morning of the last day, I woke up cursing the bloody church bell next door. Every hour it would ring, from 7am onwards, and also on the half hour. There was no way you could sleep through it, and I found myself cursing about it to one of the girls in the hostel a bit later on. “Better get used to it, you’re in Italy now. And where you’re going, you won’t have to worry about bells so much as the shriekers as soon as you get to Turkey and beyond…” She made a good point. Once I hit the middle east and all that Muslim territory, I would not have cities of bell towers, but cities full of spires, each with their own singer or whatever they are called, yelling out to Allah during prayer time, or whatever it is they are doing.
Anyway, Cinque Terre was definitely awesome. Once again I smashed my budget, but I’m getting to the point now where there aren’t too many more expensive areas left on my agenda. And with Rome coming up in a few days, followed by Croatia and Bosnia and so forth, the budget would easily come good in the end. I’d done well to keep it mostly in check up to this point.
On the morning of the third day, I met Malf and Dan at the train station and we caught our final train leg together to La Spezia, where I would wave goodbye to them on their train towards Florence, and I would cycle on to Viareggio and Pisa, before hitting up Florence after that. By then they would probably be long gone to Slovenia however. So we said our goodbyes with a promise to try an rendezvous in Turkey, or failing that, of course back in the Steak and Kidney.
