So we're doing something just a little different today, boys and girls. Hold on to your hats.
I'm skipping the Pisa blog, with the intention of lumping it into a big ole Northern Italy post in a bit. That brings us to my next Italy stop, which most definitely gets a post all its own. Cinque Terre.
I'd never heard of Cinque Terre before coming to Europe, and it sure as hell wasn't on any itinerary of mine. But then I had fellow hostellers in Paris, Marseille, and San Sebastian all suggest -- nay, implore -- that I visit this enchanting collection of Italian villages. So, I did.
I did despite the sad fact that now is not exactly the best time ever to visit Cinque Terre. The area is still recovering from deadly mudslides that happened almost a year ago to the day, and then just a few weeks ago, landslides on another path (ironically the easiest path of all) critically injured several women. Cinque Terre is probably most famous for the "blue trail", a series of coastal hiking paths that connect the five villages. But the mudslides closed the one between Manarola and Corniglia semi-permanently, and then the recent landslides prompted all the mayors to close the remaining paths. You know me and that Best Luck with timing?
Nonetheless, I went. I figured I'd work something out.
My hostel is in the village of Manarola, the second-smallest of the set after Corniglia. Manarola is just stereotypically beautiful -- exactly what you would expect an Italian coastal town to be. Brightly colored buildings, boats everywhere, a sparkling sea gently pounding a rocky coastline that sharply juts up into steep hills and terraced vineyards.
My hostel, Ostello 5 Terre, was up a windy steeeep road right next to San Lorenzo church. I found it no problem... and humped up the 37 steps to the front door... only to find it shut tight, and a cheerful little sign saying they were open from 7:00 AM to 1:00 PM, and then again at 4:00. It was 1:30.
I was a little pissed, because I had just humped Sisyphus up a pretty significant grade and now I had nowhere to dump him. I was also pretty sure the hostel's site on hostelworld had not mentioned a siesta. But making lemonade out of a heavy-ass backpack, I humped it back down to the town proper (really quite tiny and adorable), and plunked us both down in an outdoor booth in a modest looking cafe. I got a half-bottle of red and some bruchetta for me. Sisyphus got nothing. Ours is not a relationship built on equality.
At 4:00 I stumped it back up the hill and -- wonder of wonders -- the hostel was open! I politely but firmly told them they needed to update their information. I got a very Italian response. Then, I got told I needed a token to take a shower, which would grant me five minutes of hot water. I was gifted with the wi-fi password, which was 24 characters long and contained upper and lower case along with numbers. (Try typing THAT into an iPhone.) I asked about the kitchen and was told that I could not use the kitchen because it was actually a restaurant. I noted the sign that the common room closed at 10:00 (this was later changed to 9:30) and went upstairs to my room to find that my absent roommate had draped her wet laundry over every single available surface. And then I discovered that the wi-fi did not work on my floor.
Best. Hostel. Ever.
No not really. But at least I had a good view (albeit mostly obscured with laundry). I shook off the hostl ridiculousness and went to go exploring.
Manarola is so darn cute it's not even funny. I walked on the path along the coast until I found the barricade on the path that led to Corniglia. Then I set out to explore the town a bit, and walked through, and up, until alley stairs turned into crumbling stairs up the mountain itself, straight up through the terraced vineyards. Any farmer who makes this trek on a daily basis has my admiration! I was puffing by the time I got to the top(ish).
After I climbed back down, I went into town one more time and got some pizza takeaway to eat at the hostel. I was seriously annoyed by the No Kitchen thing, but now I've been to a few more Italian hostels and I seriously don't think any of them have had a proper kitchen. WTF is up with that, Italy?
At dinner, I chatted with fellow backpackers about what we planned to do in Cinque Terre since the coastal trails weren't available. But one guy said "You can hike the path from Corniglia to Vernazza. I mean, it's "closed" but not really. And the path's fine. I did it today."
Reeaallly?
So I decided I'd spend the next afternoon trailbreaking (not in the traditional sense but it sounds better than "hiking a trail that is closed".
Took the train to Corniglia, which is perched high up on top of the coastal hills. This means it is a hike to get to town from the station. So, so glad I did not get a hostel in Corniglia, because humping this with Sisyphus would have freaking sucked.
I explored the town a bit, and as I did I overheard a local telling a group of tourists where to get the trail to Vernazza. She made sure to emphasize that it was not available for hiking at the moment. Bugger that.
I found the trail, and just like dude said, there was a "closed" sign but the trail itself was not blocked in any way. I saluted the sign and started on my way.
I was kind of counting my blessings that the trail was closed, because it meant that it was beautifully empty. With all the tourists packing the five villages, these trails must be like goddam highways normally. Now, I met just a enough fellow trailbreakers to feel pretty confident that I'd be found before I bled out should I take a particularly dramatic tumble down the mountain Also, them being closed meant I didn't have to pay anything to hike, which you usually do. :) Yay, free nature!!
I was having a pretty good time, and the views were enough to take your breath away if it wasn't already gone from stumping up the 256,543 stairs on the trail. I passed groves of olive trees strung with nets.
But unfortunately my Achilles tendons decided that a hike was a perfect time to start acting up big time. I have what I guess is fairly serious tendinitis in both tendons, and it makes walking an utter chore sometimes. It comes and goes in severity, but on this hike they both flared up worse than I think they've ever been before. Seriously hampered my progress, and it quickly denigrated from enjoying the view and the challenge to limping along with a teeth-baring grimace at every step. It kind of sucked. I finally had to stop, rest for a little while and eat some advil. Eventually they calmed down enough that each step wasn't torture, but I couldn't (and can't) ignore that on this trip they have been getting steadily worse. I've had this problem for about a year (thank you no health insurance), but before now it tended to come and go. I guess all the extra walking (and walking with weight) has not been kind to them. Anyway.
I soon had bigger and more immediate problems to worry about, because I came up on a genuine landslide completely blocking the trail. Dude from last night had failed to mention this. The few other hikers I saw were going over or around it in various ways, and I decided I would try going under -- the Italians had stacked up what looked like telephone poles under the slide, I guess to stop it moving further down. I slid down the hill and did pretty well climbing over the logs, but then when I had to climb back up at the other end I'm afraid I got a little stuck. I was straddling the top log like a pony, looking up at six or eight feet of very steep hill covered in loose shale with no handholds. Uh....
At that exact moment, two muscular Italian construction workers, complete with flowing hair and bare tanned arms, came along the trail from the Vernazza side. They looked down at me, wagged a finger, and lowered this cable they had been carrying that even had a loop on the end. I grabbed it and they hauled me up back onto the trail in seconds. So I can legit say I have been rescued by my very own Italian Guardian Angels/ Descendants of Roman Gods. I thanked them profusely and continued on my way to Vernazza, feeling very mighty indeed.
Vernazza I think is the prettiest of all five villages. I loved it instantly, and kind of wished I had stayed here instead, especially since this is the most central location (with Manarola isolated on both sides due to blocked trails). I explored and eventually found what was doubtless the very cheapest pizza place in town -- two slices of pizza and a big beer for 10 euros! Sure, my pizza was served on paper and there was some sort of septic-related construction work going on just behind me, but... 10 euros!!
Walked around some more, got an amazing ice cream cone and ate it on the jetty rocks, watching the waves. Pretty damn sweet. Waiting for the train back, I met another American tourist who had just hiked to Vernazza from Monterosso. So apparently that trail was open as well, and there wasn't even a landslide! I knew what I was doing tomorrow.
Back at the hostel, I met my two new roommates and they invited me out to dinner with them. We picked a place maybe a little fancier than I would have chosen on my own, but the very big upside here was that I had a seafood linguine that was sublime. My dinner companions were awesome -- I found out that one of them was on the women's Olympic soccer team for New Zealand, and her partner was about to start work in Zurich doing media relations for FIFA. Sometimes, other people just make your own life look dead boring.
Came home and did the standard reading/computer stuff. Had to rest my stupid Achilles tendons before the next big hike tomorrow!
I'm skipping the Pisa blog, with the intention of lumping it into a big ole Northern Italy post in a bit. That brings us to my next Italy stop, which most definitely gets a post all its own. Cinque Terre.
I'd never heard of Cinque Terre before coming to Europe, and it sure as hell wasn't on any itinerary of mine. But then I had fellow hostellers in Paris, Marseille, and San Sebastian all suggest -- nay, implore -- that I visit this enchanting collection of Italian villages. So, I did.
I did despite the sad fact that now is not exactly the best time ever to visit Cinque Terre. The area is still recovering from deadly mudslides that happened almost a year ago to the day, and then just a few weeks ago, landslides on another path (ironically the easiest path of all) critically injured several women. Cinque Terre is probably most famous for the "blue trail", a series of coastal hiking paths that connect the five villages. But the mudslides closed the one between Manarola and Corniglia semi-permanently, and then the recent landslides prompted all the mayors to close the remaining paths. You know me and that Best Luck with timing?
Nonetheless, I went. I figured I'd work something out.
My hostel is in the village of Manarola, the second-smallest of the set after Corniglia. Manarola is just stereotypically beautiful -- exactly what you would expect an Italian coastal town to be. Brightly colored buildings, boats everywhere, a sparkling sea gently pounding a rocky coastline that sharply juts up into steep hills and terraced vineyards.
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| Manarola |
I was a little pissed, because I had just humped Sisyphus up a pretty significant grade and now I had nowhere to dump him. I was also pretty sure the hostel's site on hostelworld had not mentioned a siesta. But making lemonade out of a heavy-ass backpack, I humped it back down to the town proper (really quite tiny and adorable), and plunked us both down in an outdoor booth in a modest looking cafe. I got a half-bottle of red and some bruchetta for me. Sisyphus got nothing. Ours is not a relationship built on equality.
At 4:00 I stumped it back up the hill and -- wonder of wonders -- the hostel was open! I politely but firmly told them they needed to update their information. I got a very Italian response. Then, I got told I needed a token to take a shower, which would grant me five minutes of hot water. I was gifted with the wi-fi password, which was 24 characters long and contained upper and lower case along with numbers. (Try typing THAT into an iPhone.) I asked about the kitchen and was told that I could not use the kitchen because it was actually a restaurant. I noted the sign that the common room closed at 10:00 (this was later changed to 9:30) and went upstairs to my room to find that my absent roommate had draped her wet laundry over every single available surface. And then I discovered that the wi-fi did not work on my floor.
Best. Hostel. Ever.
No not really. But at least I had a good view (albeit mostly obscured with laundry). I shook off the hostl ridiculousness and went to go exploring.
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| Just in: churchbells are loud. |
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| Does this show how steep it was, even a little? |
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| This is how you grow grapes on a freaking mountain. |
At dinner, I chatted with fellow backpackers about what we planned to do in Cinque Terre since the coastal trails weren't available. But one guy said "You can hike the path from Corniglia to Vernazza. I mean, it's "closed" but not really. And the path's fine. I did it today."
Reeaallly?
So I decided I'd spend the next afternoon trailbreaking (not in the traditional sense but it sounds better than "hiking a trail that is closed".
Took the train to Corniglia, which is perched high up on top of the coastal hills. This means it is a hike to get to town from the station. So, so glad I did not get a hostel in Corniglia, because humping this with Sisyphus would have freaking sucked.
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| Corniglia |
I found the trail, and just like dude said, there was a "closed" sign but the trail itself was not blocked in any way. I saluted the sign and started on my way.
 |
| LOTS of stairs for a "coastal" trail!! |
I was having a pretty good time, and the views were enough to take your breath away if it wasn't already gone from stumping up the 256,543 stairs on the trail. I passed groves of olive trees strung with nets.
 |
| Tiny Corniglia in the distance. |
I soon had bigger and more immediate problems to worry about, because I came up on a genuine landslide completely blocking the trail. Dude from last night had failed to mention this. The few other hikers I saw were going over or around it in various ways, and I decided I would try going under -- the Italians had stacked up what looked like telephone poles under the slide, I guess to stop it moving further down. I slid down the hill and did pretty well climbing over the logs, but then when I had to climb back up at the other end I'm afraid I got a little stuck. I was straddling the top log like a pony, looking up at six or eight feet of very steep hill covered in loose shale with no handholds. Uh....
At that exact moment, two muscular Italian construction workers, complete with flowing hair and bare tanned arms, came along the trail from the Vernazza side. They looked down at me, wagged a finger, and lowered this cable they had been carrying that even had a loop on the end. I grabbed it and they hauled me up back onto the trail in seconds. So I can legit say I have been rescued by my very own Italian Guardian Angels/ Descendants of Roman Gods. I thanked them profusely and continued on my way to Vernazza, feeling very mighty indeed.
 |
| First view of Vernazza |
Walked around some more, got an amazing ice cream cone and ate it on the jetty rocks, watching the waves. Pretty damn sweet. Waiting for the train back, I met another American tourist who had just hiked to Vernazza from Monterosso. So apparently that trail was open as well, and there wasn't even a landslide! I knew what I was doing tomorrow.
Back at the hostel, I met my two new roommates and they invited me out to dinner with them. We picked a place maybe a little fancier than I would have chosen on my own, but the very big upside here was that I had a seafood linguine that was sublime. My dinner companions were awesome -- I found out that one of them was on the women's Olympic soccer team for New Zealand, and her partner was about to start work in Zurich doing media relations for FIFA. Sometimes, other people just make your own life look dead boring.
Came home and did the standard reading/computer stuff. Had to rest my stupid Achilles tendons before the next big hike tomorrow!
Wow! Super cool, Mary!!
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