Riomaggiore, Italy

Johnny Jones, June 2000

It was amazing that Trent Blair's Air Force assignment was in Italy. We agreed to meet Trent the train station in Milano and go together down to a remote, historic part of the Italian Riviera south and east of Genova, the Cinque Terre.

"Cinque Terre" means "five lands." It is five small towns just a couple of minutes apart by train, clinging to the coast of the Mediterranean. We decided to stay in the southernmost town, Riomaggiore.

We were disappointed about the slow, milk-run train we got in Genova; it was 5:00 pm by the time Trent had his first meal of the day. After that, I can think of few disappointments and loads of wonderful surprises. The first surprise was our incredible meal at an outdoor cafe. But we had to get used to the good food; even tiny grocery stores half as big as Casey's had marvelous cheeses, fantastic meats, and small tomatoes so sweet I preferred them to grapes.

We walked through the tunnel from the train station, then up the street to Edi Camere Afite. When I say "up," I really mean it; the street went at a 45o angle. Our tangerine-colored apartment was up a flight of stairs, then to the right off the street.

That's right; there were streets up stairs. And there were streets that were stairs. They were named, they went from dwelling to dwelling, and they consisted of stone steps connecting the dwellings jumbled on top of one another.

Our apartment wasn't just built; it grew and settled. If you had placed a marble at the front door, it would have been in our bedroom by no time. Chip and Bryan noticed there were no right angles in the place. But it was old and charming and roomy and clean, and it even had clotheslines. They may have been required; every place seemed to have them, and clothing blowing in the breeze out of the windows was part of the charm.

We planned to hike in the area; two of my books said local hikes were some of the best coastal hikes in Italy. Now was the time to really exercise those muscles cramped by hours in planes and on trains.

We decided to take the train up to Monterossa de la Mare, the northernmost of the towns, and walk back to our home base in Riomaggiore. The book said it would take five hours.

It took us six, but we ate lunch in Vernazza, and Amy swam a little in Moneterossa ó just enough to say she'd gone in swimming in the Mediterranean.

We had high expectations of the hike, but we were still impressed. This was a world-class hike, with treats for all our senses, and enough of a challenge that my calves were sore the next day.

We knew the hike was along the Mediterranean, but we didn't realize we would look down on the blue-green sea splashing on black rocks hundreds of feet below, or that we would be surrounded by terraced grape vineyards and olive groves. We didn't know how refreshing the breeze would feel blowing across our faces, or that we would smell lovely, light-scented flowers that looked like swans. We didn't know we could buy ice cream and pastry on the trail, just across from a herd of goats feeding on the hillside. We didn't know we would walk on ancient stone, new brick, charming cobblestone when we passed through the towns.

When we got back, we treated ourselves to a restaurant meal. Rick Steves' book recommended fresh anchovies. They were nothing like the salty, limp things we get on pizzas; these were fresh and crunchy and french-fried and you would not believe how good. The pesto was wonderful, too.

But I don't have time to tell you other things about Riomaggiore: about how honest and friendly the people were, in spite of the language barrier (we didn't find any fluent English-speakers), or the church bells that began the day, or the older ladies correcting toddlers on the street. After hiking the five towns, we were convinced ours was the best ó not as touristy as Vernazza or Monterosso, but with more facilities than Corniglia or Manorola. Riomaggiore. We didn't know a place like that really existed.