We only felt ok about leaving the beautiful Tuscan hills because we knew we were headed for the warm Mediterranean Sea on the west coast. On the way, we dropped into Pisa to see the Leaning Tower. We knew it was on a lean, but were surprised to see just how much of an angle it is on. Photos don’t seem to do it justice. We were also surprised to see the other buildings that make up the church (the Tower being just the bell tower that sits alongside). The grass surrounding it all was a nice feature, and quite unlike any other city church we’re visited. Everywhere we looked, there were people standing with their arms out – getting photos of themselves holding up, or pushing over, the Tower. Off course Deb insisted on having a photo of herself doing the same thing. Opposite these beautiful white immaculate buildings were the ubiquitous street stalls, selling souvenirs, clothes, and countless other rip offs. Behind them were the usual rough looking terracotta coloured houses with shutters. It was a huge contrast.
Having done the Leaning Tower thing, we continued on our way to Cinque Terre. The road gets pretty winding after La Spezia, and Gloria decided to take us on ones that were so twisting and above sheer cliffs, that Deb almost needed to have stress counselling.
We finally made it to the turn off down to the village of Riomaggiore, where a policewoman stopped us and said that we would have to park our car and take the bus down, as there was no parking for cars in the village. Yeah right!! She obviously didn’t realise the amount of luggage we had piled in the car. Deb rung the accommodation place, and once we found someone who could speak English, they told us tell the police that we had parking sorted (which wasn’t actually true). Luckily she let down anyway. It turns out you’re not supposed to take cars to any of the five villages unless you have organised parking – unfortunately we didn’t see that bit in the travel guide until after we arrived. There are only 8 public parking slots in Riomaggiore, and they cost €3 per hour. We were lucky enough to get one while we walked down the steep main street to sort out what we could do next. The lady in the office said she would see if her husband could do something about the parking, otherwise we would have to try and find a spot on the road outside the village – not something we were particularly keen on. Meanwhile she took us to our room. We went down the road, then up some steps, then down a lane way, then turned right, then along another laneway, then down 3 flights of steps to our room which was still 2 floors up. Confused? This whole place is like this and of course all the 5 fishing villages built on steep hills in the same way.
We found our way back to the car and were in the process of trying to figure out how we were going to our stuff down to the room when the woman turned up with her husband in their wee flat-deck truck (very wee, about 4ft wide). Through a process of pigeon English and sign language we worked out that they would take the luggage down on the truck with Deb, and then come back to show Hamish where to park the car. She was very bossy so we did as we were told.
So Deb started to carry the gear to the room, and Hamish followed the man up into the narrow lanes and pathways of the village. He had a lockup garage in one of his other apartments that we could have for €5 a day - a great deal. Once the car was locked up, he took Hamish back to our place via little walkways, some of which were so narrow that the side mirrors got folded in against the walls of the buildings as they went through.
We had figured out that we should be able to walk to tracks between the 5 villages in easy stages over the next three days. It is possible to walk the 9kms in one day, but we figured we needed to be gentle on our 50 year old bodies and try not to pull any muscles if possible. So the next morning, we packed up some lunch, bought a 3-day ticket for the train and track, and caught the train to the village at the far end, Monterossa. We then started the hard slug back to Vernazza. The book said it should take 2.5hours to do 5km. In NZ, if a walk says it takes and hour you can generally take about 15% off it. Not this one. Deb was sure there were more steps on this track than the Eiffel Tower had. It was hard work. The only compensation was everyone else looked like we did, and the scenery was absolutely amazing along the way. For the first time on our whole trip, there was more English being spoken than any other language. There were Australians everywhere we looked.
Once we got to Vernazza, we found a spot on the tiny beach there, had our lunch, and took a well earned swim. It was then that we pinched ourselves again - yes we were really here, swimming in the Mediterranean!! We eventually got the train back to Riomaggiore, showered, and then had a siesta. That evening we spent awhile in one of the street bars people-watching, ate dinner back in the apartment, then had an early night.
Saturday morning we woke to church bells. Italian towns love their church bells – especially on Sundays. This time we started our walk in Corniglia (the middle village) and walked back to Vernazza. It was 1.5 hours and 4km. Not nearly as hard, but still had a few trying bits. Once again, we parked up on the rocks in the Vernazza harbour an went for a swim. Until Hamish let out a yell from a sudden pain in his chest. Deb’s first thought was a heart attack. Once he was out of the water, we could see a very large red welt, which the people next to us said was a jelly fish sting. Turns out they had got one the day before. It was very uncomfortable, and the pain didn’t subside for several hours. That was enough excitement for one day, so we went home and had another siesta.
That evening, while out checking what the local cafes were offering for dinner, we looked up at the hill behind the village and saw what appeared to be smoke from a fire. Sure enough, that’s what it was, and pretty soon a crowd had gathered, as the fire was spreading quickly. It was only a few hundred metres above the village, but we heard no sirens, and no local fire brigade swung into action. Deb asked a shop lady if someone was doing something about it and she told “no problemo, the helicopters will come soon and put it out”. But no helicopters came and shortly after, it was dark. Eventually one lone fire engine turned up from somewhere over the hill, and started driving back and forth on the only road, spraying water with little or no effect. Most tourists had been back to their rooms and packed their bags ready to get out. We noticed that several of the locals were finally starting to look concerned, and had starting shutting up their shops, so we decided we had better go and pack a grab-bag as well. At the height of the blaze, virtually the whole hill behind the village was ablaze, and had come to within 100 metres of the houses. Eventually it looked as if the one lone fire engine had managed to at least stop the flames getting into the houses, with the main part of the fire diverting over into another valley. At this point we felt it was probably ok to go and get something to eat – only to find that everyone had thought the same, with every restaurant being full to overflowing. So we bought pizza and a bottle of wine and sat down by the water in the small harbour. Once we felt the fire was under control we went off to bed and slept soundly.
The next morning the church bells were deafened by the sounds of helicopters and planes flying low over the village. The cavalry had finally arrived – it just seemed a little late. There were two helicopters and two amphibious planes, and they spent nearly all day dumping water over the hills. We spent the next half hour or so watching the aircraft go down to the sea, pick up water, and fly back up over the village. Hamish was in heaven again, as he had never seen the big planes skimming the surface of the sea and scooping up the water into their bellies. Rumour has it the fire was the work of arsonist, as there had been another fire in the hills behind the neighbouring village two days before.
Having taken enough photos, we went back for bacon and eggs and then set off on the final walk of the track Corniglia to Manarola, and then on to Riomaggiore. This is the easiest section of the entire track, and everyone in the local region seemed to have decided to walk it at the same time. It was like rush hour in downtown Paris - we have never seen so many people with high heels and make-up on a walking track. There was even one guy pushing a baby in a pram around one of the cliff faces – with many dozens of people banked up behind him because the track was so narrow.
When we got back to Riomaggiore, we headed off around the point to a small beach. It’s quite a rocky beach, and there weren’t too many spots that didn’t have people sprawled out in the sun. They looked to us like pink versions of the seals we often see sunning themselves on the rocks around Otago Peninsular. After having a nice swim (with no more jelly fish stings), we went and joined the bodies on the beach to enjoy the sun. We love the European sun, as we haven’t been burnt since we arrived nearly two months ago. In NZ we’d be red within 20 minutes in the same circumstances.
That night we found a little café, and had pizza, pasta and a bottle of Chianti. It was good. Afterwards we took our wine down to the rocks by the water and finished it off while watching the sun set over the Mediterranean. It seemed a fitting way to say goodbye to Italy.
That night we were woken by the biggest electrical storm either of us had ever experienced. The flashes of lightening were happening at the same time as the thunder. We felt like we were in the storm rather than it being above us. This went on for at least an hour, during which time the entire village lost electricity. It was still raining the next morning with lightening still flashing in the distance. What a way to finish our stay in Italy – going out with a bang.
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