Our Trip to Cinque Terre


“I am looking forward to seeing you,” said Emanuela, the proprieter of Hotel Pasquale in Monterosso, the largest of the five towns on the sea in Cinque Terre, Italy.

“We will be arriving very late,” I wrote in my email.  ”Our train gets into Monterosso close to midnight.”

“That’s okay, just ring the door bell when you arrive, as the door will be locked,” said Emanuela.

We left Rome on Thursday evening and took the train north to Spezia and then another train to Monterosso.  I was excited to leave the city.  I was excited to visit the Italian countryside.

“Walk along the sea and under the tunnel and the hotel is on your left, as you exit the tunnel,” wrote Emanuela.

And so, at close to midnight, in the darkness, we walked along the sea as Emanuela had told us to do. We walked through the tunnel and there it was – Hotel Pasquale.  We rang the bell and a very mature gray haired woman answered.  ”Come in,” said Emanuela as she carried my very heavy suitcase up two flights of stairs.  She was very strong.

Our room was beautiful, with a stone wall shower and a balcony overlooking the mountains and the sea.  My daughter A and son D and I were glad to see the three beds too and quickly climbed in and went to sleep.

A Little Bit of Paradise

I awoke in the morning to the smell of freshly baked croissants (I know in my previous Ciao,Ciao, Ciao blog post, I told you about these amazing croissants dusted with sugar and filled with homemade jam, but they were so good that my mouth waters every time I write about them) and couldn’t wait for breakfast in the hotel dining room overlooking the sea.

“That water is so blue…aqua blue,” I said as I looked out the window.  I was so ready to hit the trails and go hiking along the mountains of what felt like a little bit of paradise.

“Let’s go,”  I said to my kids A and D.  ”I’m ready.”

Emanuela gave us a map of the five towns.  ”There have been some landslides and some of the paths are closed,” she said.  ”Take the train to Riomaggiore and then you can walk to Manarola.  It’s about a 20 minute hike around the mountains.  If you are up for a more strenuous hike, the climb from Monterosso to Vernazza takes about two hours.  See that path over there,” she pointed to the path along the mountain, “it will lead you up the mountainside near the vineyards.  There are 500 steps up and the path narrows as you go higher.  Be careful.”

“Let’s try the easier hike today,” I told A and D.  ”We can do the harder one tomorrow.”

We hiked. I breathed in the fresh air.  I smelled the flowers and the herbs along the path.  I smelled the fragrant scent of the lemon trees too.  I looked at the sea and the mountains.  I was in paradise.  Yes, I was in paradise and all my worries were fading fast.  I was in paradise and it was so great to be outdoors…to awaken all my senses…to smell, to touch, to taste, to hear, to see.

In town, we passed the shops with pesto, pasta, pignoli nuts, capers, oregano, basil, olive oil, wine.  In town, we passed the restaurants with pizza, lasagna, bruschetta, tomatoes, swordfish, gelato, I wanted to eat it all.  I was in love with this Italian paradise and I was truly in love.

I went to sleep that night, dreaming of the Bacio hazelnut and chocolate gelato I had just consumed, but I couldn’t sleep too well.  (I likely couldn’t sleep too well because I couldn’t stop thinking and strategizing about potential ways for me to spend more of my fifty-plus life in this fantastic Italian town.)

Landslide – Turn Back

It was Saturday, and with only one more day left in Cinque Terre, I knew it was time to test my muscle and see if I could climb the 500 steps on the path to Vernazza.

“You think you’re up for this mom?”  said my son D.

“Of course, I am,”  I said with a tiny bit of hesitation.  ”Yes, yes, I’m going to climb the mountain.”

We put some water bottles in our backpacks and headed off.  I walked up the first hill.  That wasn’t too bad, I thought.  I can do this.  I thought about what Emanuela had said the day before, “The path gets narrower the higher you go.”

I climbed 100 more steps.  I looked to the left and there were the mountains.  I looked to the right and there was no railing, just the sea.  While I loved the color of the water and I loved the view, I didn’t want to fall into the beautiful aqua blue sea.  No, I didn’t want to fall into the water.  Not that day and not from such a high point.  (I’ve never jumped off a diving board and I didn’t want to try jumping off a mountain at my age. No, no, no.)

I climbed 100 more steps.  ”Look over there,”  said D.  ”Isn’t it magnificent?”  I could no longer look at the sea or the mountains.  I just looked down at my feet.  The path had gotten so narrow, I was concerned that my feet might miss the track and that would be the end, into the sea I would go.

I climbed 100 more steps.  ”I’m not sure I can do this,” I said to A and D.  I was starting to get a little scared.  I told D to walk in front of me and A to walk behind me.

“You can do it,” said D.  ”I’m so proud of you.”

I climbed more steps.  I held on tight to the rocks on the left-hand side of the mountain.

“I feel like I’m mountain climbing,” I said to D.

“The reason you feel like you’re mountain climbing,” said D, “IS BECAUSE YOU ARE MOUNTAIN CLIMBING MOM!  YOU REALLY, REALLY, ARE MOUNTAIN CLIMBING.”

I was glad that D had confirmed that fact for me.

I put my courage cap on and climbed higher.  I was so scared and sweating too.  I had dressed in sweats and a long sleeve black tee.  I rolled up the sleeves of the tee and rolled up the bottom of my leggings.

And then, and then, and then…there was a sign about an hour into our hike.  Up high in the mountains halfway to Vernazza there was a barbed wire and a sign with a big X on it.  ”We can go through the fence,” said my son as he followed others in front of us.  ”Come on, let’s do it.”

I looked back and I looked forward. I looked forward and I looked back. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. I followed my son.

And then, and then, and then…we saw those ahead of us coming back on the narrow one lane trail.  ”We tried to break through the next trail, but the guards stopped us,”  said the young couple.  ”We must go back.”

“Go back, go back, go back,”  I cried.  How was I going to climb back on that narrow path?  How was I going to walk down 500 stairs?  Sweat began to pour down my back and my forehead.  I thought if I died and fell off the cliff, at least I had eaten well during my vacation to Italy.

I turned around very, very, very slowly.

And then, and then, and then…I saw about eight hikers in front of me on the same narrow path.

“How are we going to get around those people?”  I said to my son D.  ”Tell them they must turn around.  Tell them they cannot hike to Vernazza.  Tell them the path is closed.”

D tried to tell them, but they did not budge.  Instead they laid their bodies flat against the mountain and motioned for us to go around them.

“Are they kidding? How am I going to get around them?”  I said to D.  ”That lane is soooo narrow.”  I climbed inch by inch as more sweat dripped off my back.  (Please, OMG, please, if I fall off this cliff, please let me be a cat with nine lives.)

Down, down, down, we went back to Monterosso.  Down, down, down, we went along the mountainside and along the vineyards.  Down, down, down, we went.  I was so happy to be back on level ground.

We showered and went out for pizza.  It was our next to last day in Cinque Terre and I was so happy to be alive to enjoy it.

“I was scared up in those mountains,” I said to my son D as we ate our pizza. “I was afraid I was going to fall.”

“Really?” said D.  ”Well, I couldn’t tell.  You were a pro out there.”

“Really? Well, thanks.  I’m glad I conquered my fears and climbed that mountain” I replied back.  (Now that I am 50+, maybe I am finally starting to be more fearless.  Am I? Am I? Am I? Maybe, maybe, maybe – although I don’t intend to do any more mountain climbing anytime soon.)

Hiking Guide


As I settled in for my last evening in Cinque Terre, I was curious to read the “Let’s Go Italy – The Student Travel Guide.”  I wanted to see what they had to say about the hike I had been on earlier in the day:

“The hike from Monterosso to Vernazza is the most challenging of the four town-linking hikes, the pain is worth the gain.  Breathtaking vistas of the towns and spectacular panoramas of the sea crown the uphill journey.  The start on the far-left side of Monterosso lulls hikers into a false sense of security with gradual ramps, before throwing them – BAM! – straight into a wall of steep, uneven, and seemingly un-ending steps. “

I was so glad I hadn’t read this Guide before I went on my hike.  I may never have gone.  But, now that I’ve done it once, I may just have to go back and do it again.  Yes, I may just have to climb every mountain next time.

Judi

Ciao, Ciao, Ciao!  I’m back from my trip to Italy and I’m here to say I definitely did my share of chow, chow, chowing.

However, as I sit here on this dreary, rainy Saturday afternoon in New Jersey, I wish, oh how I wish, I was still in Italy.  I went to Italy with my daughter A to visit my lucky, lucky son D, who is studying abroad this semester in Rome. (Mind you, I don’t know how much studying he is really doing since he is traveling all over the world most of the time.  I did decide after this trip that if and when I am young again in my next life, I definitely want to be just like D and travel all over the world.)

In Italy, it was sunny all the time and the weather was between 60 -70 degrees every day.  (It was so great to dress in tees and capris.  And I loved my new Merrell Lorelei Zip walking shoes which were super comfortable for walking all over Rome, Florence and Cinque Terre. I liked my Jag capris too which were made of stretch fabric to allow for extra expansion as I ate my way from town to town.)

In Italy, the vegetables were so fresh.  (Juicy red tomatoes, crisp orange carrots, delicate green arugula. The salads were the best in Rome at L’Insalata Ricca. My daughter A had eaten at this unassuming restaurant when she was a student four years ago and told me all about their large salads filled with fabulous vegetables. We hadn’t had a chance to sample their salads back then when I was visiting A during her stay, so I went there twice this time.)

In Italy, the desserts were to die for. (OMG, the cannolis and cookies from CiuriCiuri - simply spectacular.  D and I shared a crispy cannoli pastry.  We asked our waitress to fill one side with pistachio ricotta cream and the other side with chocolate chip ricotta cream and then we took bites from each side until our tasty cannoli was all gone – for me straight to the hips.  Then A and I devoured the biscotti, amaretti and hazelnut cookies.  I had to try them all.)

In Italy, the gelato shops were on almost every corner and my body seemed to gravitate towards them most afternoons or evenings.  (“You can have two flavors,” said the gelato man as he pointed to the vast array of flavors in the cooler.  ”I can have two flavors in one small cup?” I couldn’t believe it.  I thought I had heard wrong. I put my two fingers up to ensure he had said two.  ”Yes, two,” he said in perfect English.  Two, two, two.  I was so excited. Which two should I have?  They all sounded so incredible.  Two, two, two.  I chose heavenly hazelnut chocolate and chocolate chip with huge nuggets of semi-sweet chocolate.  It went down smooth – likely landing on my waist this time, but I didn’t care a bit, it was so worth it.)

In Italy, the pasta was perfect al dente. (I ate pasta several evenings.  Penne puttenesca was one of my favorite dishes with capers and olives as was the homemade capellini with pesto.  D also took us to one of his popular spots called Tonys in Trastevere, where he is living.  The three of us, along with his roommate B, feasted on focaccia bread, fried calamari,  antipasti appetizers and jugs of wine for starters.  Then I enjoyed tortellini for dinner made with veal ragu.  Our pants were ready to pop, but for the grand finale the waiter brought out complimentary slices of Tonys‘ chocolate cake with tiramisu cream filling.  I couldn’t resist. Mangia I did.)

In Italy, the fish tasted like it was straight from the sea. (“Where is that restaurant where we ate four years ago?” said A as we walked around Florence looking for a place to have lunch. “I know where it is,” I said to my kids as we walked down the street past the center of town.  I remember it was down this street.” “At your age mom, you’ll never remember where it is,” said D.  ”Yes, I will,”  I said.  ”I do remember, we just have to go a few more blocks and then turn left and it will be right there.”  ”Ha,” said D, as he grabbed my Blackberry and searched for the restaurant’s address.  Sure enough, we turned the corner and there it was – La Giostra.  ”How did you remember that?” said D.  ”You’re pretty good.”  It was my daughter A’s 25th birthday so we dined on squid carpaccio and I had shrimp risotto.  I also had fabulous baked swordfish fish with capers later in the week in Monterosso at Ristorante L’Altamarea.)

In Italy, the pizza was pretty, pretty amazzzzzing! As Let’s Go Italy – The Student Travel Guide said, Pizzeria La Smorfia has a huge selection of 50 different pizzas as three employees work the frantic pace serving, baking and making change.  (We had done a lot of strenuous hiking one day so we took ourselves to La Smorfia for lunch.  We ordered two regular size pizzas – one with buffalo mozzerella, eggplant and capers and another with pesto, ricotta and pinenuts.  We ate every last crumb of the deliciously thin pizza crust.  Then we went up the block to have gelato.)

In Italy, a scrumptious breakfast was included at our hotels in Rome and Monterosso.  (At the small Hotel Pasquale in Monterosso, I awoke each morning to a fragrant smell of freshly baked croissants.  I couldn’t wait to go down to breakfast and bite into the flaky pastries sprinkled with confectioners sugar and filled with homemade apricot jam. With a warm cup of frothy topped cappuccino, it was a lovely way to start the day.)

“How are your parents doing on their first trip to Italy these past two weeks?” I asked my son’s roommate B.  Just at that moment, his mom called on his mobile from their last stop in Venice.  ”Ask them how they are doing, ask them, ask them,” I said, “Ask them if they are enjoying their trip?”  ”How are you?” B said to his mom.  I could hear her yelling into the phone, “We’re in a food coma, a food coma” she said, “We’re in an absolute food coma.”

I too was in an absolutely fabulous food coma when I departed Italy last Monday morning.  It was a wonderful trip and I have more stories to tell, especially about my exciting adventures hiking through the five towns of Cinque Terre.  Stay tuned.

For now, arrivederci.

Judi