Locks of Love for Cinque Terre (CT Part II)

May 25, 2010 (continued)

It has all the potential elements for a good Hollywood movie: love, adventure, plot, danger, and disaster… all in a gorgeous setting of vineyards, craggy cliffs and turquoise waters.   Young (presumably attractive) villagers from neighboring but isolated towns happen to meet, fall in love, and start secretly rendezvousing by the light of the moon on a wild rocky coastline trail between villages, until one fateful, tragic night…  Hmm.  Then again, I think audiences might prefer a happier ending. 

Via dell’Amore (“Lover’s Lane”) is the trail connecting Riomaggiore to Manarola, running above the rocky cliffs along the coastline… and legend has it that a tragic death finally prompted villagers to make the trail safer for star-crossed courtships and less fraught with excitement, landslides, and danger.  Or maybe it was just good business.  Or a growing communal anti-fence sentiment a la Robert Frost.  Regardless, it has only been during the last century that a paved, level trail was made to connect the towns, and in more recent years, concrete tunnels were added and steel netting was bolted cliffside to trap errant landslide rocks.  I’m sure it was more of an adrenaline rush when it was fraught with danger, but I was just fine strolling with my children along a safely paved, level trail and leaving the former wild, narrow, rocky pathway to history books and the imagination of screenwriters.

It took us only about 20 minutes to walk the path between the towns, directly alongside a gorgeous view of the open water and past cluttered displays of amorous graffiti and padlock clusters representing a whole lot of sworn commitment and love.  

If you look closely, you can see the locks...

The town of Manarola is perched on dark rock jutting out into the ocean, with tower houses strategically located for defense of the village.  The Gothic style church, the oratory and the square bell tower are all situated in the upper part of the village at the town square.  Manarola is charming and peaceful and small – we were soon done with our tour and off to see the next town, enjoying the beautiful views of Manarola from the hiking trail as we left it behind and went on to Corniglia and its gorgeous vineyards. 

Looking back at Manarola

Ahh, the dreaded but all-too
familiar "Sulky Girl" pose

We tackled the villages one by one, traversing the miles of hilly dirt paths through lush green vegetation in between. The deceptive simplicity of the first paved trail to Manarola and other pleasant paths that followed had given us no hint of the narrow, rocky trails lacking in safety rails that awaited us in a few stretches of our journey.  Loose dirt and rocks on skinny trails and alongside steep vineyard terraces or ravine dropoffs had me nervously calling out “Please be careful! Stay away from the edge!” every few minutes as we trekked on, generally in single file with me bringing up the rear.  None of this seemed to faze the children, who seemed completely unperturbed and blissfully unaware of the potential for disaster, but I found I was running “what do we do if…” scenarios through my mind as we walked.  I wasn’t coming up with any good answers, so I went with the “pray fervently that all will go well” preventative approach and was grateful that worked out.  We occasionally ran into other adult hikers, but for the most part had the trails to ourselves.  The kids relished the uniqueness of their “age 10 and under” status on a fairly challenging hike for little legs, and enjoyed a feeling of accomplishment.  As for me... well, that uniqueness posed some challenges and might have given me an ulcer, but the adventure and the fabulous views made it worth it.   (Note: I do recognize that my photos only show trails and paths that look perfectly easy and harmless. I was clearly too distracted to think about taking photos of the more "exciting" ones!!)

On our way to Corniglia (with Manarola in the background)
-- yes, this was a nice, safe stretch

Corniglia... on the waterfront.  

Some of the paths were simply lovely

Looking back at Corniglia

For a while, 6-year-old Reyna was our trail guide, as I learned that the assignment of leadership and responsibility was the best possible way to divert her focus from tired legs and “how much farthers?”  But as we were in the last stages of the hike to Vernazza (village #4 of 5), muscle fatigue and an imminent Reyna meltdown were threatening to derail our progress.  I kept insisting that it really wasn’t possible for me to walk uphill with both the heavy backpack on my back and a sweaty 50-lb. 6-year-old clinging to my front.  She was unconvinced, however, so I needed a distraction.  We had already worked through the “I’m going on a trip” game, practiced skipping, leaping and galloping, recalled and relived our Aunt Sarah hiking games, and sung through 100 bottles of pop on the wall.  On a sudden whim, I pulled out my trail map, folded it accordian-style, and pinched the middle to create a paper bow tie/hair bow/mustache and introduced the children to the old 3-character “You must pay the rent” melodrama.  It was a hit.  We spent the next 25 minutes passing the paper accessory around so my three giddy children could reenact it at least a dozen times.  Each.  Wow.  Saved by a classic.  And that old TV show “ZOOM” from the 70’s…

Our first views of Vernazza

As we finally descended the steep and uneven rock stairs to the town of Vernazza, I was relieved that the trail to village #5, Monterosso, was closed due to a landslide.  We had completed as much hiking as the CT coastline trails would allow, and it did feel like an accomplishment.  We found a pizza place and happily ate our fill and then strolled through town to the waterfront town square.  We climbed up to a lookout tower, wandered around town, and mostly sat and soaked in the local scene and enjoyed the amazing views.  Vernazza was an instant trip favorite, and we were reluctant to leave.

Vernazza city center

Vernazza

Finally it was time to go.  We decided there might be an Italian conspiracy…  at the train station in Vernazza, three ticket validation boxes were broken.  But it didn’t matter… this time we had no tickets to validate.

It was nearly 8 p.m. in the evening, and the ticket office was closed.  Our Cinque Terre cards were valid for the first half of the train journey back to Deiva Marina, but not for the last half, and chances of finding a ticket office open in any other of the small town stations at this time of day were slim. We wandered back into town and asked at a local jewelry shop if there was any other place in town to buy train tickets.  They shook their heads, but said for only 2 stops, we would probably be okay.  I thanked them, and couldn’t help but see a gorgeous square silver onyx ring to charge to my credit card and add to my growing European jewelry collection.

We ran back up the stairs just in time to board our train, and crossed our fingers for an uneventful return trip.  The kids were concerned about our unticketed status, but I told them it would work out.  I had only 10 Euros in cash, and no passport or other id on me.  What could the train conductor do?  For good measure, I added that if we were taken to jail, we could always call Martha…  Oddly enough, that didn’t ease their panic.  So after another round of stressful speculation, I suggested that we could say a quick prayer if it would make them feel better.  My worrier Regan said she already did, so I said, “Ok, then.  We’ll be fine.”

We discussed our plans for the remainder of the week, and with only one stop to go, we spotted the approach of the ominous blue blazer with the red stitching…  a Trenitalia ticket-checker.  As we watched through the door window, he was asking every single passenger down the aisle to show their tickets.  We were sitting in the next seating compartment, and he swung the door open and walked towards us.  He glanced over, and then walked right by into the next car to continue his citation-writing quest.  I was so startled by his uncharacteristic indifference that I didn’t even have a chance to follow my original gameplan, which was to preemptively throw ourselves on his mercy and ask to buy tickets on board before he busted us.  He simply walked right by.  Regan said it was just like the story I’d told them at Mauthausen from “The Hiding Place,” where the guard at the concentration camp randomly skipped the patdown search only on the one woman who was smuggling in the Bible.  She got a little bit teary, and we all smiled at each other.  I offered a quick silent prayer of thanks for faith rewarded, and we got up to get off the train.  It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

Vernazza... from the train station platform