8th Post: Whose Idea Was This? (Cinque Terre, Part 2)

Swimming in Vernazza (I am on the very right)

Friday-Day 1 All of us in Vernazza, post-swim. Friday

(Ana, me, Alex, Kim, Billy, Kelsey, Johanna, Matt) 7 of us outside Ostello Tramonti, Biassa.

Saturday Morning.

Billy, Kelsey, Johanna, me, Kim, Alex, Ana (Matt took the photo) Via dell' Amore: The Path to Manarola

Saturday Leaving Manarola, Town #2.

Saturday.

~

Ostello Tramonti is not near La Spezia in the truest sense of the word 'near.' The bus stop we need is in La Spezia. We need to get to Biassa. We wait. And wait. And wait in La Spezia.

We finally catch the bus and it fills with people. As we get further and further out of La Spezia, the bus empties. Now it is the 8 of us, 2 other American travelers, an old Italian man, and the bus driver. The bus chugs up a windy, tree-covered road, honking its happy horn on every turn. We go up. And up. And up.

"Ostello! A Biassa! Gli studenti sta vacendo--" The old man is getting off the bus, and is telling the bus driver where to take us. He knew that we had no clue. He must have seen our faces as we all watched the bus wind its way into the middle of nowhere. The driver smiles and thanks him, "Si, signore. Buona sera." The door swings shut and we go up some more. Finally--friendly Italians.

We reach Biassa, a small town perched on a hillside in a valley high above the city below, surrounded by thick, unadulterated forests. An ancient-looking, stone bell tower juts out of a cluster of pastel-colored homes. There is only one road in Biassa. The bus stops outside of a several-storied building at the highest point of the town. There is a gigantic mural of a blue man backpacking towards the sun on the wall beside the front door. I realize I am back-packing. Sweet.

We split into two rooms, attempt to air out and dry our wet and salty belongings, and then go in search of food. Let me tell you, Biassa has no night life. Luckily, someone has decided to stay open this late into the evening, probably figuring that they can make some money off of hungry, tired, smelly American travelers. We all decide that it's time to chow down. Most of us have been on tight budgets, and have not yet sat down in a restaurant for a meal while we have been in Italy. Humble Biassa, we agree, is the place to do this, so we do it full-force.

A whirlwind of pesto calzones, pesto pizzas, pesto pasta and beer hits our table. We are all feeling too full, yet adventurous, so we all order Limoncello. It is supposed to be a traditional Italian digestivo, so we figure we might as well give it a whack. 10 minutes later, we are all advocates of Limoncello in the fight against the consequences of over-eating.

We spend our evening playing cards and watching the Italian version of Wheel Of Fortune. My roommates and I share a room with our friend Billy. I take the cot. It turns out to be a death trap, but I am tired enough that I am willing to risk it. Some of us sleep well (I did) and some of us do not, because Billy Domanick is a master at the art of snoring. (I feel bad for the 14 people sharing a hostel dorm with us in Amsterdam in October...I might just bring 14 pairs of earplugs with me to pass out)

We rise early and hit the road. Some other travel groups arrived the night before, and there are at least 25 kids waiting to get on the bus. The short, short, short Biassa bus. We start wondering how this is going to work, and are worried because the next bus doesn't come for another 3 hours. WE are going to get on this bus no matter what.

It chugs up the hill and our group jogs beside the door as the bus makes a u-turn and stops. We get on. And then so does everyone else. Plus one old Italian lady. An American girl speaks to her in Italian, probably trying to distract the old woman from what we all know is going to be a difficult, obnoxious bus ride for her.

All that needs to be said about the next half hour on that bus is: FEAR.

We make it to the first town, Riomaggiore, and begin again. We immediately hike the path to town #2, Manarola, because we want to get ahead of the crowd of Americans that just got off of the bus with us. For breakfast I buy Foccacia con Acciughe...foccacia with anchovies. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to have fresh anchovies. Tasty. Thank goodness someone had chewing gum.

We move on towards town #3, Corniglia. The path changes, and becomes an uneven, crumbling dirt path clinging to a cliffside. The fences are very wobbly. I have to wonder, Whose idea was this?! What genius said: "Hey! Let's build 5 towns in 5 different dangerous locations and then connect them with dangerous paths!"? (I am so glad they did.)

We climb 3 hundred something stairs and finally make it to Corniglia, where we all splurge on tasty treats: gelati e granita (granita is like an ice smoothie that comes in lemon and strawberry). We go in search of the path to the next town, Vernazza, where we swam the day before, but cannot find it. We learn that it is another monstrous hike. We go back down 3 hundred something stairs, passing the huge group of Americans that we rode the bus with, and find the train station. We all decide it's time to take it easy.

We hop off at the last town, Monterosso, and find the free beach. Surprisingly, most of the women are wearing their tops--Matt, Alex and Billy are clearly disappointed. We swim and lay on the beach for a few hours, building rock towers and reflecting on how lucky we are, and then we head home.

It takes forever.

That night, we all go our separate ways to clean up but we reconvene at Billy's with some other people soon after. The boys cook "Chicken Parm," as they call it, and it is surprisingly delicious. We can't stop talking about Cinque Terre to those who were not with us and the others tell their stories as well. It hits me--again--how lucky I am. I'm sorry to get mushy on you, but it was one of those moments.

We ended the evening down the street at the Dublin Pub, where we cheers'd to Cinque Terre and grappled with the idea of getting Fleur-de-lis's (Florence's symbol) tattoed on our hindquarters. Well, some of us did anyway. Some of us didn't. I'll be honest: I'm not so hot on the idea.