Tuscany North Untour, Fall of 2003
by Ron Moline, Oak Park, IL
September 24th. First Impressions:
Driving from the Pisa Airport to Calci in our little blue Fiat, we are most impressed by the lack of American-style modernity. The buildings are very old, flat-topped, and all stucco, of various earth colors. There are few billboards, and once off the highway, the roads become very narrow. We were reminded of driving into a town, say, in one of the Virgin Islands; the pleasant temperature (mid -70’s) added to this impression.We do not actually drive into the town, Calci - our hometown for the next two weeks - but about a mile north, turn instead onto a dirt road, running along what appears to be an ancient stone wall, and - some two-hundred yards hence - come to our villa. It is love at first sight.
Villa Rosselmini is the name of the property on which we are staying. It consists of a very elegant 17th century villa, the current home of a Marquis and his young family, and a long, nearly as ancient, building connected by a large open garage to the main villa, but running at right angles to it. This building has been made into modern, but quintessentially Italian, apartments, one of which - Azurro- will be our home for the duration of our trip.
The rooms had casement windows on both sides. The windows open inward, the louvered green wooden shutters out, and one looks out upon either the villa and its lawn, on one side, or at olive groves - with a slightly run-down tan stucco residence in their midst - on the other. There are rows of clothes-lines amidst the olive trees, dotted with clothespins, which we will subse-quently make use of. A very high hill forms the backdrop on this side.
September 25th
We attend an orientation meeting with Alesandra, who had met us at the airport: a very pleasant, very helpful young woman, who had lived in the U.S. for a year or two. The meeting is held at the Antica Tratorria Stefani, on SS12, on the way to Lucca, and we have a lunch to die for--two or three delicious appetizers, and two pastas, one of which, tortelli with porcini mushrooms, is incredible. We resolve to come back.Afterward, we drive on to Lucca--and life suddenly gets much more complicated. Alesandra has provided us excellent directions, but that doesn’t mean we can easily follow them, and it takes us a couple of tries to find the designated parking lot. The walled city of Lucca is a marvelously preserved, beautiful medieval city. One can bicycle or stroll entirely around the town on top of the wide earthen wall, built on top of even more ancient Roman walls. We walked partway, and descended into the narrow streets (more like walkways) of the town.
We first came upon the church of San Pietro Somaldi, built in the 13th century, with a wonderful carving over the main entrance (called an “architrave”), created in 1203 AD. The church stands on ground where an earlier church once stood--built in 763 AD. Eventually one gets sort of used to these sorts of dates and histories, but at this point in time we just found it mind-boggling.
We walked on to come upon a church with unbelievable columns, row on top or row, all different; this is San Michele in Foro, a 12th century extrava-ganza. From there, we just roam the narrow streets, soaking up the atmo-sphere. There are many tourists, of course, but more Italians, and it is as much fun to watch the people as it is to see the historic sites.
Time to leave: and our first trauma of the trip.
Leaving Lucca, we followed the signs for SS12. At a right turn, the sign says, SS12, second left. I and Barbara miss the “second.” part of that instruction. I turn left at the first turnoff, and find myself on the autostrada, going God knows where. By the time I get off, we are completely befuddled, our map seeming of little help. We find ourselves completely and utterly lost, in the middle of some town with congested streets, and coming upon signs of no use to us at all. Plus: it is starting to get dark.
You get the picture. Obviously, we made it--eventually.
September 26th
We return to Lucca - a little more easily, this second time - together with some lovely Untour neighbors we met, John Anderson and Mary Hill, and have lunch at Puccini’s, across the walk from the famous composer’s house. A relatively expensive and excellent restaurant: porcini and parmesan salad, spaghetti with seafood, and Zuppa Luchese-lentil and faro soup, with lots of olive oil. Wonderful! It may be at this meal that it dawns on us that we are drinking lots of wine, and walking away without being high and without subsequent headaches.I have already discovered something about the innumerable Renaissance paintings of various religious scenes, which are in every church and every museum--or rather, something about my reaction to them. The renderings of the Madonna and Child, in whatever setting, with whatever intended symbolism, are basically bland and unmoving, whereas lesser figures in these paintings are often richly expressive of human feeling.
I think I understand the painters’ dilemma. Christ and his mother are, by definition and requirement, beatific--above mere human emotionality (the exception being - again by definition and requirement - the agony on the cross). How to paint such figures and make them warm and human, eliciting the feelings in the viewer you would expect them to have in the presence of a young mother and her baby?
I am not an art historian; but from what I remember from college courses and from what these paintings evoke in me, I think the Italian painters in this circumstance followed the lead of their more ancient Byzantine predecessors: they didn’t try. The likenesses they offer essentially say to us that Mary, the mother of God, and her Child, are an ineffable mystery. They cannot be portrayed as just two more human beings. Look elsewhere for human emotion.
And indeed: one large, dark painting - in which church I do not remember - shows Mary and the baby Jesus sitting in a garden, while at a little distance, Joseph observes them. It is not a famous painting--at least it didn’t warrant a mention in the guidebook or pamphlet in the church; but I was captured and moved by the figure of Joseph. He gazes at Mary and the baby with a look of affection, puzzlement, and care. His look conveys: who, after all, is this woman, my wife, and more especially, who is this mysterious child, already in some mysterious way anointed by God?
September 27th
We head out to some places recommended in our Untour information that don’t appear in most of the guidebooks. First, Bagni di Lucca--an old spa town, along a river, heading up toward the foothills of the Italian Alps. The town has seen better days; we could easily have passed it up without regret.Then on up, and up, to a high hill town with winding, narrow, climbing streets, called Barga. This was a real find: a very medieval town, with its ancient church at the very top of the hill, and with spectacular views of the Alps. The town was at one time one of the many independent city-states of central Italy, but they were practically wiped out by the Luchese (the citizens of Lucca), and, some time after that, became a protectorate of the Florentines.
The church had within it a pulpit supported by whimsical lions made of marble, one of which is astride a man who with one hand is trying to feed it something, and with the other has a knife! The apse contained a twelve to fourteen foot, somewhat primitive, wooden statue of St. Christopher, carved in the 12th century. We had a lovely picnic lunch on some steps on the piazza, toward the back of the church: prosciutto, cheese, bread, fruit, and Chianti.
All these little towns have towers, walls, sometimes fortresses, and the history makes you wonder what it is about Christianity that led to so much bad behavior. These city-states were constantly at war with each other, and each tried to outdo the others in the opulence of their cathedrals. Thus the absurdly over-decorated church in Lucca, previously described.
After our leisurely stop in Barga, we precede higher into the foothills, to the town of Castelnuovo--another charming town with cobblestone streets and great views. We have coffee (espresso, of course) at a little cafe across from the church. Our trip back home is uneventful.
September 28th
Together with John and Mary, we go to Voltera--another wonderful medieval town, whose buildings are made from a lovely yellow-gray stone characteristic of the area. The first fifteen minutes out of Calci, trying to get to Pondera, are no fun at all--confusing, convoluted, unclear.Voltera is built high on a plateau, and requires driving up high hills with winding, hairpin-turn roads. The views are magnificent from the plateau, overlooking the rolling countryside below--a landscape of olive groves, grape arbors, and tall cedars. The town is truly ancient: it is built on top of Etruscan ruins (the Etruscans preceded the Italians in central Italy, from around the 8th century B.C. to the 2nd century A.D., and that city in turn had been built upon a Stone Age settlement.
In the Piazza dei Priori, the main piazza of the city, there is an antique car show going on--these antique cars, however, being Fiats, Citroens, BMWs, VWs, etc., rather than American cars. The hundred-plus cars drove out of the piazza singly (not that there was an alternative), honking as they exited, much to the delight of the large crowd of people enjoying the show.
There is also a photo exhibit going on in one of the ancient buildings on the piazza. Mostly black-and-white, many very interesting, including one photo-graph of an Italian family, taken in the late ‘30s, with the two little boys solemnly giving the fascist salute, and their father, with a clipped, Hitler-type mustache and well-tailored coat, looking on approvingly.
We also go to view the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre, remarkably well-preserved, dating back to pre-Christian times.
September 29th
It is Monday - the day of the week, we are told, when most museums are closed - so we head off to Chianti country. In the charming town of Castelline in Chianti, high on a hill, we stop for lunch at Le Tre Porte. I have cinghiale e tagliatelle - wild boar with pasta - and Barbara has pasta con funghi (mushrooms). And, of course, a wonderful bottle of Chianti. We drive on to Greve in Chianti, and then head home. We decide to take a different route than the way we came--seemingly longer, on paper, but allowing us to use the autostrada much of the way, avoiding the exhausting driving of the winding, narrow roads, and innumerable small towns.Faster? Hardly. Whereas for much of the way on the Autostrada, many if not most cars are going over 100 mph (on a super-smooth surface, by the way, which invites one to speed up), we are bumper to bumper and barely crawling for the last 40 minutes of the trip.
September 30th
We finally drive into Pisa - the tourist destination closest to Calci - but only to park in a lot near the train station, and take a train to Florence. The train ticket system is interesting, in that no one at any time checked to see if we even had tickets. We could have gotten on any train with impunity, without ever paying a dime. I suppose they must do spot-checking; we heard somewhere that the penalties are serious if you have no ticket.The train ride is less than an hour. We are initially a little disoriented and confused, walking to our hotel, although by the next day we have found that it is not hard at all to get around in the city. We stay at the Pensione Pendini, on the Piazza della Republica, which was the center of the Jewish ghetto in earlier times. Under the Medici, the Jews prospered and had complete free-dom of movement. Later, though, one of the Counter-Reformation Popes clamped down, restricting the Jews to the area of the city around this piazza, made them wear identifying insignia on their clothing, and established a curfew.
The duomo (cathedral) and baptistry are as magnificent as I remember them from 1958, the one and only other time I visited Florence. The famous gold embossed doors of Ghiberti which graced the baptistry - and which I saw in place, those many years ago - have been replaced by very satisfactory replicas, and the originals put in the Museo del’Opera Duomo--the museum close by the duomo.
In the Museo as well is the extraordinary Pieta, by Michelangelo: a marble sculpture, almost amber in color, of Jesus’ descent from the cross. The body of Christ is being gently lowered by his mother Mary and Mary Magdalene, and His body looks: dead. His head lolls to the side; together with the torso, arms, and right leg, the body forms almost a Z, powerfully conveying lifelessness. Hovering over this scene of the two women lowering Jesus is the form of a bearded man, an expression of compassion and caring on his face. It is not known whom Michelangelo intended this figure to represent, but the idea that it is Michelangelo himself had resonance with me.
We walk around the city afterwards, and in the evening dine outdoors at a very crowded restaurant, Brogo Antico, in the Piazza Santa Spirito. Seating is at long tables; Barbara sits on one side, I on the other, and our dining companions consist of a middle-aged Norwegian couple, on one side, and a native Florentine woman in her 50s (who is later joined by her husband) on the other.
It’s fun to chat with all of them; the Norwegian man is a high school teacher and guidance counselor, and the woman a speech therapist. The Italian woman tells us that she’s just back in the city briefly from her country place, where she spends most of the summer, and where she enjoys caring for her olive trees and tending to her antique roses. I ask her what brings her back to the city--to me a seemingly innocuous question, certainly by American standards, but she is mildly taken aback, and answers -congenially - “Well, if you must know, I have to attend a condo meeting about some business.” I have a pasta dish, Barbara has beef--both excellent, but not so remarkable that I remember to write it down afterward in my journal.
October 1st
The Pensione Pendini is a very pleasant place to stay--centrally located, surprisingly quiet, and comfortable. It occupies just two or three floors - starting on the 3rd floor - of one of the large old build-ings on the piazza. After breakfast, we go off to the Academia, in which is to be found the most famous sculpture in the world: Michelangelo’s David. The streets are fairly crowded with tourists, even in October. We are a bit put off by all the people; I can’t imagine what it’s like in the summer. This summer in particular, with its over-100 degree heat, must have been horrendous.As you no doubt are aware, the long hall at the end of which stands the David, in the Academia, is flanked on both sides by “slaves”- marble figures, three to a side - that are as powerful in their own way as the David itself. The figures are incomplete, each emerging from its block of marble as though being born, or created--man being formed out of the inchoate matter of the universe. David himself is incomparable. There is one other place on earth where I have felt a work of art to be so perfect, so moving, that to see it is to know that no photograph or facsimile could capture its power--and that was the Taj Mahal, in Agra, India.
There was scaffolding on one side of David, which, surprisingly, was of minimal distraction. There is also a large computer screen with simple controls beneath it, next to David, where one can, by manipulating the con-trols, see the whole or aspects of David from any angle. The visit to this museum was simply extraordinary.
Afterwards, we go the Jewish Synagogue (is there any other kind?), a beautiful edifice, built in the 19th century in the Byzantine style. Security to enter the synagogue is extremely tight, including going through a metal detector. A very earnest young man, slim, with a short black beard, aproached us as we wandered about the interior, and announced that a tour would begin in 15 minutes, if we would like to join it; in the meantime, if we liked, we could also visit the museum on the second level. That sounded fine to us, and we casually perused the museum, descending to the sanctuary again ten or so minutes later. The same young man approached again, clearly hoping we would not leave, explaining one more time that a tour would begin in just five minutes. We were quite agreeable, and five minutes later, the young man approached us to announce: now the tour will begin! There was one other couple, two American women.
After the man’s spiel, which lasted about ten minutes, I asked him if he encountered much anti-Semitism these days. He said that he didn’t know about Florence, because he had only moved here a few months ago. In Padua, the city from which he’d come, he said it was not a problem. “But,” he added, “who knows what will happen, now that we have a mad President!”
We have lunch near a very large indoor-outdoor market close to the synagogue, called San Ambrogia. The restaurant, highly recommended in our guide book, is Cibéro, and the food is exquisite. Barbara has Cimicino, thinly sliced veal in a green sauce of anchovies, onion, and parsley; I have Baccalá, creamed dried cod with toast. As good as it was, I should have had one of the specialties; I could see the look of disappointment on the owner’s face when I placed my order.
October 2nd
We are off to Siena, to meet our Chicago friends, the Goldsmiths for lunch. Route #429 is a very winding road, through many small towns--in forty-five minutes, we’ve only gone about twenty miles. From the area around Voltera onward (southeasterly), the countryside is beautiful, with several walled towns adorning the hillsides on both sides of the road. About twenty miles from Sienna, we turn onto an expressway, and then exit again at the appropriate sign.At least we think it’s the appropriate sign; but now, driving on some road on the outskirts of the city, we have little clue how to proceed. I have a general idea where we are, and we try to head toward a parking area located on the map, but it proves impossible to find. I see a parking symbol with an arrow, pointing ahead and the sign beneath saying, “Al Centro”--to the Center. Beneath that, a lit electric sign: “Completo.” Full. Soon we are circling about, unable to find parking anywhere and unsure in any case where we are relative to the central, ancient city.
After what seems like a very long time (actually, about twenty minutes), I spot a place in a little parking alcove next to an ancient wall, and park. Amazingly: no money is required, at least as far as I can detect. Still, we have no idea how far we are from the main piazza where we are to meet the Goldsmiths, and by now we are already an hour late. We are two rather tense people; but once inside the wall, we discover that we are within a ten-minute walk to the Piazza, and there, sitting at an outdoor cafe, smiling and a very welcome sight indeed, are Jean and Marty.
The central piazza of Sienna - Il Campo - is one of the most famous piazzas in the world: spacious (just this side of huge), with elegant medieval buildings on all sides. The Siennese are among the wealthiest of Italians, and peculiarly insular, to the point that there are several “clans”, each with their own flag, each in their own borough, or neighborhood, in the city. Once a year they have an extraordinary horse race around this piazza, called Il Palio, with each clan running its own horse. Anything goes--you can try to drug the competing jockeys, you can bribe...I don’t know if you can go so far as to maim other horses. The day of the race, you can try to keep your competitors from making it to the starting gate, but if the horse makes it and the jockey doesn’t, and somehow the horse wins the race out of the sheer joy or racing, it doesn’t matter! Your flag has won!
After caffé, we and the Goldsmiths visited the Palazzo Republica, completed in 1349, and one of the handsomest buildings on Il Campo, with a very elegant gothic tower next to the imposing building, the whole made of red stone. After this tour, we walked to the Duomo, which, like all Tuscan cathedrals, is made of white marble and is awesome. It achieved its present size in 1215, and the facade, designed by the famous Tuscan architect Pisano, was added in 1284. The city fathers had in mind to make it the biggest cathedral in all of Italy, but were stopped by the Plague of 1348. Its pretty clear that the artistic genius and skill of the Tuscan sculptors and architects had to cope with a sensibility rampant among their patrons: the bigger and more ornate the work, the better.
We have lunch at a guidebook-recommended restaurant, at which we are the only patrons, which of course always leaves one with the uneasy feeling that everyone else knows something you don’t. At any rate, the food was quite good; Barbara and Jean each had a lemon risotto that was outstanding.
October 3rd
Friday. My Waterloo. We paid gazillions for the full car insurance, and thank goodness.We are trying to find the ancient and abandoned monastery “high on a hill overlooking Calci,” according to our local guidebook. In fact we drive right by it--twice, since we are misled by the fact that it doesn’t seem very high above Calci at all, and because there is no sign in front of it. As a result, I head up a real hill, on a road that is the single street through a little town called Montemagno.
The road becomes increasingly perilous. The incline becomes steeper, the road narrower, with stone walls on both sides, and it begins to wind. Barbara folds the rearview mirror on her side in, so we won’t bump it. We pass the Communist Party headquarters, identifiable by the hammer and sickle sign. There seems no place to turn around (although in truth there are narrow driveways where one could manage it); I pray I won’t meet a car, because one of us would have to give and that, no doubt, would be me, since I’m on the downhill side. We are both getting very nervous. And then the road ends.
Ends! To the right, a dirt path. Straight ahead, a closed and locked gate. To the left, a very narrow driveway, descending at - I kid you not - a 45-degree angle. There is no choice; I must head my stick-shift Fiat down the drive and back up, repeatedly.
I head down, put on the emergency brake, put in the clutch, roar the engine, and gradually take off the break and let up on the clutch. Several times. There is the smell of burning rubber. Barbara, directing from the outside, says later that, at moments, only three wheels are on the ground. I scrape both sides of the car, several times.
A very nice young Italian man emerged from the house at the bottom of the drive, and gently asked if I had not seen the sign saying Do Not Enter. I had not. He says not to worry, many people make the same mistake, and he proceeds to assist Barbara in assisting me. I eventually make it.
The day is not a total loss, however. We drive up another hill, Monte Serra, which has an even more winding, but broader, road. We are soon very high, with astounding 50-mile views in all directions. We find a place to park, and hike about a mile along a path to have a picnic overlooking Calci, far below. We feast on prosciutto, white and dark bread, goat cheese, delicious olives, and a bottle of local wine. Afterward, I doze, Barbara draws. Walking back to our car, I take a detour, as Barbara continues on down--I am curious to see where a wide set of concrete steps, heading back up in a different direction, leads. What I find, about a hundred yards up, on the very top of a hill, is a small modern edifice made of concrete blocks, with a beacon light on top. It has two large metal boat anchors (go figure!) as decorative motifs on either side of the entrance.
Late afternoon, we arrive home, do a wash in the clothes washer, and use the clothes dryer universally found in Italy: clotheslines and clothespins, just outside our door!
October 4th
We drive to Pisa, where I find parking on the street. There are no individual meters, but rather a meter machine at the corner. You put in coins, and the machine issues you a stamp, with the time of day and the amount of time you have purchased. This you place on the dashboard.The duomo, baptistry, and leaning tower, all sit on a large green lawn, totally unlike any other city in Italy that we have seen. The marble is gleaming white, alternating with layers of light gray, in all the buildings. I find this the most beautiful duomo and setting of any seen on the entire trip. The cathedral is the oldest of the Tuscan duomos, begun in 1064, and it has classic, simple lines, and un-adorned columns. The tower, to my eye, does not look weird, or silly, or stupid; it is an incredibly elegant edifice, and its lean does not detract from that at all for me. Interestingly, one of our guidebooks says that one theory holds that the lean was intentional, not an accident, and in support of the theory points to other evidences that the Pisano architects made some startlingly modernistic and idiosyncratic innovations in their works.
In the apse of the cathedral is a wonderful mosaic by Cimabue, Christ in Majesty, created in 1302. The pulpit, which has a frieze supported by red marble columns, was sculpted by Giovanni Pisano, and is an incredibly detailed depiction of the last days of Christ. The cathedral also features sculpted bronze doors created by Giovanni’s father, Bonnano Pisano, in 1180 A.D.
We buy tickets to the duomo museum, which proves not very interesting. I am struck by some carved Egyptian pictures, created in 1250 B.C. Also, some intricately inlaid wood, serving various purposes, called “intarsia,” and unique to Pisa.
The Camposanto, a short ways from the cathedral, proves more interesting. It is a large rectangular building with a large courtyard in the middle, its inner walls extending only half-way up, with columns supporting the roof above. The area under the roof - you could almost call the four sides cloisters - contain many sarcophagi, dating from early Roman times, through the Rennaisance, and even up to the modern era. The inner walls were originally covered with frescoes which were described as magnificent, but which were destroyed by bombing attacks in WW II. Still intact, though, is a fresco entitled the Triumph of Death, made in 1348. It is a vivid, gruesome, depiction of the Plague, with two corpses in open coffins, bloated and defiled by snakes crawling over and about them, and a procession of mourners on horses, one woman holding a handkerchief over her nose.
We leave the cathedral area and walk toward the Arno River. Pisa is a major university center in Italy, and near the cathedral is the medical center, where we see many well-dressed doctors strolling about. The river is as beautiful here as in Florence, with similar graceful bridges, and pastel-colored ancient buildings on both sides. We cross a bridge, and are in a different world from the tourist sites.
I wanted to take a photo of the traffic policewoman and policeman with their fancy hats, at a busy intersection by the river, and should have done it when I had the thought (around 11:30 a.m.). By 12:15 p.m., when we returned this way, there were no cars, no pedestrian traffic-- and no police. Siesta. The perfect time, I would think, to rob a bank.
We had lunch at a place along the river, Il Vecchio Dado. For me: mussels in a spicy sauce, and ravioli with cheese and mushroom sauce; for Barbara: octupus and potatoes, then a cheese, tomato, and capers pizza. Delicioso!
Upon returning, Barbara and I walked up the road to Montemagno, taking pictures, and with the intention of giving the helpful young man a bottle of wine in appreciation. Alas, we could not find him. We did discover that I could have driven my small car up the dirt path, to the right of the gate up at the top, and easily turned around a few hundred feet further. Such is life.
We never did see the inside of the monastery, by the way; as with many Italian public monuments, the hours are strange, with openings and closings going on all day, none convenient to us.
October 5th
We drove today to San Gimignano, a walled medieval city famous for its many (fifteen) ancient towers. Incredibly, the town in its prime had seventy-two tours, and indeed you may wonder why. I know I do! Well, the answer seems to be that these edifices started out being for defense (most of the old towns have a couple), but took on an aspect of prestige, so that every family wanting its place in the sun had to build one.Getting there was not so much difficult as tedious; the route we took, an ordinary narrow road, went through many towns, some of them very close to each other, which meant slow going. The approach to San Gimignano, though, is magnificent--you see the town, high on a hill, from some distance away, with vineyards and olive groves on the rolling Tuscan countryside in every direction.
The town itself had a lot of tourists, even now in early October. The church is not a “duomo,” which is to say, not a cathedral, because it is no longer the seat of a Bishop. It is called, rather, a “collegiata.” The outside is not especi-ally remarkable, but interior is striking in that every wall and the entire ceiling is covered with frescoes--Old Testament on one side, New Testament on the other.
We have lunch at the Ristorante Il Pino: for me, asparagus & faro soup, rissoto with white truffles and zuccini flowers; for Barbara, ribolita Tuscana, quail with vegetable compote and french fries (!). Her ribolita - a thick soup of bread, potatoes, and beans - was very heavy, and the side order of French fries could only be justified on the basis of a homesick craving! We had a great bottle of white wine with our meal--a wine for which this area is famous, called Vernaccia.
Later in the afternoon, we had coffee at an outdoor café, and were almost blown away--a terrific wind had come up. Then we went to a little ceramics shop, where we purchased a lovely rectangular dish and two small ceramic tiles. Wondering about, we went on to buy a purse for Ellie, a cheese grater resting atop a lovely wooden box to collect the grated cheese, and a funny toilet roll holder for Sandy.
Coming home was awful. We took the expressway, and hit returning Sunday traffic to the various cities of the northwest, and barely moved for over an hour. Finally getting home, I was exhausted and grumpy. Also, the weather had turned quite cold.
October 6th
A beautiful bright day to go to Cinque Terra-the coastal area featuring five cliff-side villages, within walking distances from each other, on the Mediterranean. We took the Fi-Pi-Li expressway to the Autostrada, and got off at Lieci. Our plan was to take the ferry from Lieci to Rio-maggiore, and then some combination of ferry and train to the rest of the towns. But: no ferry! (Stopped running for the season, just the day before.) And: no train! (Ever.) I was pissed not least because I’d found this terrific parking place right on the street, with no parking fees, and was feeling very pleased with myself. Nothing for it, though, but to drive on to LaSpezia, a town on the way to Cinque Terra and from which, we had it on good author-ity, one could get a train.Again, the honor system. We bought an all-day round trip ticket, allowing for stops at any all of the five towns, but were never asked to show it. Our first stop, after a fifteen-minute trip which included about five minutes in pitch blackness, through a tunnel, was Riomaggiore, most of which is high on a cliff overlooking the sea. We walked through a tunnel along the cliff, with great open archways on the seaside, called the Via del’amore-- romantic indeed, commemorated by countless couples with countless graffiti. To the credit of these countless tourists, however, the graffiti were confined to the interior of the tunnel, and were not to be found on the cliffs for the rest of the walk.
It was only a twenty-minute walk to Manarola, a charming little village closer to the sea, with one main street. We stopped for lunch at a little trattoria, and I was not disappointed in what I had read was one of the specialties of the area: acciuge con limone--fresh anchovies with lemon. We also had trenatta (pasta) con pesto, and giambherti alla griglia--grilled lobsters.
From Manarola, it was a fifty-minute walk to Corniglia, somewhat more demanding, including an incredibly climb up stairs from close to sea level to the village--377 steps, to be exact. Corniglia is the only one of the five towns to have no access to the sea, but of courrse with great views, including of two cliff-side towns on either side of it. After some debate, we decided to go ahead and take the hour-and-a-half walk to Vernazzza. We were grateful it wasn’t a hot day (we’d been told it often is, even late in the season), because it was demanding. Much of the way, the trail was a rocky, mountain-like path, at times on the very edge of the cliff dropping off to the sea., interspersed with stretches through terraced vineyards. It was never treacherous in the sense that you could drop the hundreds of feet into the sea, but there were many places where it would have been easy indeed to fall twenty or thirty feet, onto the next ledge.
The path was up, half way, and then down, half way, to Vernazza--a cozy town with more access to the sea than the other towns. We were beat, and decided to skip Monterosso. We waited almost an hour for a return train, and took it all the way back to LaSpezia. On the drive back, Barbara’s navigation is perfect: we are almost home with nary a mistake until at the very end, when I turn left instead of right at an intersection going to Calci, requiring us to circle around and back.
Our final evening, we had a dinner together with John and Mary, and toasted our wonderful vacation, and the important role we played in each others’ experience. The next morning, we drove to the airport, dropped off our car (simply a matter of tossing the keys into the receptacle at the desk--and we were off, home to the beautiful fall weather of Illinois. Arrivaderci.