[A] Cinque Terre, Italy: 11-13 June

We left for Cinque Terre, after much hassle from a rental car employee, on Friday afternoon, five of us in a European compact, heading across the coasts of both countries. The drive was a tolerable five hours of tunnels interpersed with ocean views, tollways dotted with road (toll total: 40Euro). We had a small miscalculation at Genova that led to about a 25 minute detour, but by 7:30 we were in the Cinque Terre area, looking for Monterosso al Mare, the second-most west of the five towns. We took one more wrong turn, but quickly realized it, and went to turn around. As we pulled in to a driveway on a winding cliff-hung road, an Italian had to stop rather abruptly behind us to avoid an accident. He was upset. He pulled his car up even with where we had gone to turn around, got out, shaking and screaming "Che cazzo avete fatto?" [What the dick did you do?]. We, caught completely off guard, were still laughing as he went to approach us. Two more cars come down the road, and the man was forced to move, capping our first Italian encounter at incredibly strange.

We parked the car in a public lot and began the search for our hotel. Walking instructions included, "Find Ely's wine bar", "Take a right at the two dogs. They are harmless." and numerous other gems. We were in search of a man named Manuel.When finally we found the broad stairs described in the directions, Jen, Lizzie, and Andrew went up to check in, and Brian and I stayed at the bottom of the hill, as we had reserved a four person room and were not inclined to be charged for five. As Brian and I stood and chatted, I saw an older man speaking to the people around him and looking nervously in our directions. A minute passed, and finally he approached us.

"Is it that you seek a man named Manuel?"
"Yes."
"I am him, Manuel."

He directed us in English towards the check-in, where he said his nephew Lorenzo was waiting. We were not charged for five people, thankfully. The room had a fantastic view, a full balcony, and a roomy bath. Here is the view from our balcony.

We ventured into town for food around 9 o'clock. We settled at a seafood restaurant by the beach. I had enormous shrimp. Full and satisfied, we brought a few bottles of wine back up to the room and enjoyed our view as the sun set fully. Later we went back down to a wine bar, found ourselves later at an American bar with a number of strange 30 somethings, and ended the night on the beach with a few pizzas.

In the morning we set out to hike to the next town, Vernazza, and by 11 we had hit the trail, which proved to be more challenging than our wine-sweating bodies had anticipated. We made it, nonetheless, in good time, hiking through vineyards, wildflowers, and broad ocean views.

Once in Vernazza, we went in search of water, for which we had foolishly not provided, and sat out on the rocks overlooking the harbor.

Andrew and Jen went for a petite swim. We took in the view, and I appreciated, on account of the night before, the slight overcast to dim the Mediterranean sun. We then, once again, went in urgent search of food. We found, inside the old, waterborne town, what was later called the best pizza ever, and I see little historical evidence to dispute that. We ate on benches by the beach.

We later enjoyed some gelato from an Italian who enjoyed mocking us. Andrew then napped on the pier and I read nearby; the others found a similar fate on the rocks. At 3:10 we took the ferry back to Monterosso.

There we found the new part of town, which had gone unexplored the night before. On its edge are the best beached in Cinque Terre, and we enjoyed the last hours of sunlight there, all of us swimming for a spell in the relxingly salty Mediterranean. I floated away a few good minutes.

Around 6 we headed back to the hotel for showers before dinner and hopes of catching the first U.S. world cup game in the American bar from the night before. We were more inclined, however, to take our time, and happened into what was later called the best meal of all time, and I find little historical evidence to counter that either. My first plate was spaghetti al pesto, my second was frito misso, a combination of the best calamari, crayfish(ish), and anchovies I have ever had fried, alongside two bottles of Chianti. Dessert was inconceivably good. I had an apricot marmalade chocolate cream cake. What. The restaurant gave us free limoncello. It was all too good. By the time we had finished, it was 10:15, and the soccer game had ended. None of us seemed to mind. We got some beers, wandered to the new side of town, enjoyed some wine on the beach, wandered back, happened upon an outdoor beach-side dance party, wandered more, returned to the beach party, watched a dance off, watched the dance off devolve into an Italian fight, watched the police come, and headed home.

The next morning most of us had regained pulses by 11, and we checked out, left our things, and headed to the beach for the last few hours. I read up in a shaded cafe for the first half, with sme watermelon, then almost as soon as I had returned to the beach, a group of Vanderbilt-in-Italy students walked up, including my friend Sarah Reid, from both Springfield and Vanderbilt. I was not sure what was happening, but it did not last long, as by 2 we had to be on the road. We got some pizzas to go, and enjoyed them on a stone wall hanging over a small stream on the edge of town.

The drive home was uneventful until we pulled into the return station, when we realized we needed to refill gas. An hour and four exits later, we returned the car and took the bus back to Aix. Terrific weekend.

À tout à l'heure,
a