Vernazza and Riomaggiore

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We have breakfast at the hotel on a large covered terrace with a spectacular view. Thankfully there‘s a conventional toaster, and I'm able to work out how to use it.

We decide to spend the day hiking some of the trails that link Cinque Terre's five villages. We read that some of the trails were damaged by severe floods and landslides in 2011; five people were killed and another 50 needed to be rescued. We check today's weather forecast; fortunately no rain's predicted.

We set off for Vernazza which is the next village to the south of Monterosso. The trail's rocky and narrow, and winds between vineyards around ridiculously steep hillsides that drop off almost vertically into the sea. Growing grapes here can't be easy. There are no natural surfaces that are even remotely close to being flat, and the farmers have had to create suitable farmland by building stone walls and filling behind them. Parts of the trail are scarcely thirty centimetres wide, and it’s a long way down if you were to slip off. The few handrails all seem to wobble a lot, which doesn't inspire a lot of confidence.

The views back towards Monterosso are stunning. My mum always used to say that there's nothing quite as blue as the Mediterranean and I now see what she meant; the colour really is amazing. Just when we thought the views couldn't get any better we catch our first glimpse of Vernazza, most of which seems to be perched on a rock around a small harbour. We read that it was founded in about 1,000 AD. I climb up to the Tower of Doria Castle which is at the top of the rock. We read that this was built in the 15th century to protect the town from African pirates. I've now climbed four towers in five days, and I'm a bit disappointed that I could have had a perfect five from five. We walked right past a tower in Monterosso yesterday and I didn't know until afterwards that you were allowed to climb it.

A young Aussie girl at the top of the tower asks me if I'd mind taking her photo. I say "no worries". She tells that she‘s had a lot of trouble recognising accents since she left home, but she‘s pretty sure that I‘m Aussie as well. She tells me that she comes from a farm near Tatura. She‘s surprised that I've heard of it, and even more surprised when I tell her that the company I work for has an office there with about 20 people in it. She says that she‘s travelling through Europe for five months.

We have lunch in the main square and then catch a train to Riomaggiore, the southernmost of the five villages. It‘s also very cute, and has a tiny rocky harbour surrounded by colourful ancient looking houses hanging off the cliff face. The sea's very rough and all the ferries have been cancelled for the day. The raging surf doesn't however seem to have deterred some of the local lads from swimming. We watch them nervously. We can't see any blood in the water, but it must surely just be a matter of time....

We want to hike the Lovers Walk trail between Riomaggiore and Maranola, which is the next village to the north, but when we get to the start we find that it‘s closed. Apparently it‘s never reopened after the 2011 disaster. We try another route, but that‘s also closed, which is a bit disappointing.

We agree that this has been an especially awesome day. It seems however that hiking here is not for everyone. Whilst most Trip Advisor reviewers have given it five stars, a small number were less complimentary. Ariel from Croatia gave it one star. He thought it was "steep, had a lot of steps, and wasn't very interesting". Of course it's steep and has lots of steps; it’s on the side of a precipice. Tammy from California gave it two stars because she thought it was too "gruelling". I think that maybe Tammy needed to have spent a bit more time on the exercise bike before she came. "Anonymous" gave it one star and said it was "overcrowded with fat noisy people who struggle to coordinate their feet one in front of the other". I think I might have chosen to remain anonymous too if I was going to get that personal......

We go for a swim in the hotel pool and then walk down into the old part of Monterosso for dinner. Issy orders a pizza which she says is the first one she’s had since we arrived in Italy. She says that she‘s getting tired of Italian food and asks me what the food will be like in France. She particularly wants to know about the snails. I'm not sure why she thinks I‘ll know. I tell her I don't like snails which seems to surprise her. She says that I looked like I was enjoying them the night that I had them and horse meat in Malta. She says she loved the snails that night, and that she‘s looking forward to more in France. I tell her that I thought the snails were great compared to the horse meat, but this doesn't mean that I liked them. I tell her that I also think that snails are hard work; they’re very small, and it's hard to get them out of their shells with a toothpick. While I'm on the subject of Maltese food she likes, I make the mistake of telling her that I also think that it‘s hard work sucking small amounts of something edible off artichoke leaves one at a time. It seems that I’ve offended her, and by writing about it I’ve probably offended most of Malta as well. I like artichokes; I just think that they‘re hard work. I think it‘s just as well we've been to Malta already; I may not be welcomed back. I might not be welcomed back in West Sunshine either. Issy tells me that she'll never cook artichokes for me ever again. I'm not sure that this is too much of a concern; I think the last time she cooked them was about a decade ago.

We finish dinner and I go to pay the bill. I think that my pronunciation of the very few words of Italian that I know must be improving. I say "buenosera" to the man behind the cash register and he says something back to me in Italian. I assume he must think I speak Italian. I‘ve got no idea what he's said, so I stare at him blankly. He then asks me in English whether the meal was alright. If he did think I spoke Italian I don't think he thought so for very long.

I‘ve begun to notice that I find it easier to blog after dinner, and I suspect this might have something to do with beer. I‘m also suspecting that if I continue to blog after dinner I‘ll probably run the risk of offending half the world’s population, so I resolve to always read the blog again in the morning before publishing. The temptation to publish immediately then becomes too much and I promptly ignore my own resolution. I wonder if I should think about giving up beer.

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