Cinque Terre

Yesterday we took a memorable day trip to the area known as Cinque Terre (“Five Lands”).  After J.D. arrived all of us sat down and talked about priorities for day trips.  J.D’s choice was Rome, and Shelley wanted to go to Cinque Terre. 

Cinque Terre is a strip of land along the Ligurian Sea that encompasses five tiny fishing villages, and the area is now a national park.  There is a hiking trail that connects all five villages, and a train runs between them, but I think they can’t be reached by automobile.

The trip was in a sense a test of our ability to navigate the Italian rail system, as getting from Lucca involves transferring trains twice.  We walked to the train station, where there are two ways to purchase tickets, either at the window or at ticket machines in the lobby.  The ticket machines are handy, but we went to the ticket window partly because the machines were occupied and partly because we wanted to find out if there was a train early Sunday morning to get J.D. to Pisa in time for his 9:15 flight (there isn’t).

Except for certain kinds of trains, you buy an open ticket that doesn’t reserve a specific seat, but you have to validate the ticket at a machine on the platform before you get on board.  Once you validate, the ticket must be used within six hours.  If you fail to validate and the conductor checks your ticket, you can receive a hefty fine, but there is not a conductor checking on every train. 

After we changed trains in Viareggio, within a couple of minutes we boarded a train for La Spezia, the next leg of the trip.  Just after the train departed Viareggio, we noticed a conductor coming through checking tickets, and moving people around.  I also noticed that almost everyone else had larger tickets than we did.  I thought we might be in the wrong car.   

I was mistaken—we were on the wrong train.  We had gotten on a Frecciarossa  high speed train that requires reserved tickets and costs more.  I don’t know that we should have known that, and we weren’t the only “stupid American tourists” in our car who made the same mistake.  The conductor acted like it happened all the time, and told us we had two options, to pay 43 Euros (or double what we had paid for our tickets) and stay on the train or get off at the next stop and pay nothing extra.

We got off at the next stop, Massa Centro, only to find that the next regionale train wasn’t coming for an hour-and-a-half (which turned into two hours).  Fortunately all of us had brought something to read, so we enjoyed the sights and sounds of the Masso Centro station until the train came, which it eventually did.

In La Spezia, as we sat on the train that we would take us to Cinque Terre,  J.D. noticed a sign on the train in four languages (Italian, French, German, and English) that said, “Do Not Throw Anything Out of the Window.”  He thought it odd that the rail company would need to put up a sign to tell people that.  I, being older but not necessarily wiser, and having done more travel, wasn’t surprised in the least.

Back in the summer of 1981, Shelley and I and another couple embarked on a seven-week, 11000-mile trip around the United States, the only travel experience we’ve had even remotely close to this one.  Early in that trip, we were driving through rural Mississippi, and I was struck by signs along the side of the highway that said, “No shooting guns from moving cars.”  Like J.D. with the sign on the train, I wondered why the hell the state of Mississippi needed to tell people that.  Of course, I also observed that those signs were all riddled with bullet holes.

The delay in Masso Centro meant that we had to rethink our plans-again.  One of Shelley’s interests in going to Cinque Terre was possibly being able to sit out on the beach, but the temperature was cool and the water rough, and only two of the five towns have any beaches, the others being located on cliffs high above the Ligurian.  I had thought about hiking the easiest part of the trail, from Riomaggiore, the southern-most of the five, to Manarola, but we cut that from the plan due to time constraints and concern about my knees.  If you decide to hike any of the trail, you have to purchase a park card (5 Euros, one day, 9 Euros two days).  Much of the region and some of the trail was damaged by a devastating flood in October, 2011, and part of the trail is still closed.

We decided to focus our time on the small village of  Vernazza, and it was an amazing experience.  From the train station, we walked through the village down to the tiny harbor.  The “beach” area was so tiny that we didn’t see it, but all long the main street are boats.  The small harbor is protected by a molo (breakwater), and if you get too close trying to get pictures you may get soaked.  In 2007 an American tourist was swept away and killed by a rogue wave.

It was after 2:00 (or 14:00 Italian time) and we hadn’t eaten, but unlike Lucca, where restaurants always seem to have a table available, all the places were packed.  At the end of the street, right next  to the harbor, we saw a set of stairs leading to Ristorante Belfonte.  It was full, but on the very top deck we found a table.

The view of the sea was spectacular, and we could see up the coast to Monterosso, the northern-most village.  For lunch Shelley and I split a Sea Bass baked in sea salt, and the waiter brought it to our table and dismantled the fish before our eyes.  Sea Bass is not something I would normally order, but we figured if we were on the coast then it would be a mistake not to have seafood.  J.D. ordered the specialty of the house, Scampi (prawns) boiled in sea salt.  The presentation was both artful and intimidating, but it was excellent as well.  J.D. and I also split a carafe of red wine, something I don’t normally drink.  Either because of the sea air and the atmosphere or because we’re in Italy, it was most enjoyable.  The only local delicacy we didn’t end up trying was anchovies.  Maybe next time.

After lunch we walked up steps, lots and lots of steps, to see the Castle, once a watchtower for pirates and now a park.  The British bombed the tower in World War II and fortunately it was rebuilt, because the trek up the stone steps was rewarded with views even better than those from the restaurant.

It was a memorable meal and afternoon.  And an added bonus was that not once, but twice, I assisted other tourists who were looking to buy park passes or trying to figure out the train schedule.  Good thing they didn’t see us have to get off the train in Massa earlier in the day.