Advertisement
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Journey Across the Country My morning began early, packing and then leaving the hotel to catch the 8:30am fast train to Florence. The fast train was so much fancier than the regional trains I’d been taking. The train was cleaner, newer, and felt more luxurious. The journey took just two hours, most of which I slept.
Arriving at Florence, I found the Pisa connection right away. There was no direct line to La Spezia posted, though my schedule booklet listed one. During this journey, the couple sitting across from me was flipping through a Rick Steves book. This means two things: that they speak English and that they’re more likely to have a conversation. Small talk on the road is easy, because everyone is traveling somewhere and comes from a different city or country. They quizzed me on my trip, and I reciprocated.
The Pisa train station left much to be desired. It wasn’t dirtier than any of the other stations, just much less organized. The connecting train to La Spezia was cancelled, and so travelers connecting to the Cinque Terre (more Rick Steves readers) shuffled to the indicated platform to await the next
Must love stairs!
There are three more flights of stairs to get to the street after you soiral down these steep steps.train. Except the platform was changed. So we moved. Then it was changed again, so we moved again. Several people, including me, gave up and took the elevator with our suitcases. Finally the train came, and we were on our way.
Arriving in La Spezia, I encountered similar difficulties. There was no schedule posted on my platform. Half of the Americans on the Pisa-La Spezia train had bolted for the ticket office already, but one couple was loitering. I asked them if they knew which was the correct platform, and they said number one (we were on seven) and took off. The screen above my platform indicated the next train would be going in the correct direction. I didn’t want to take any more stairs running around, so I pointed to the platform number and asked a local person, “Per Vernazza?” When the reply was affirmative I smirked inside. The other tourists were going to miss the train because they either needed to still buy tickets or were on the wrong platform. I, however, beat the system.
Once on the train, I again confirmed with a local couple sitting near me that this was going to my destination,
and they nodded. The ride was very short and cut through the mountains, so one minute would be pitch black and then the next would be cliff-hanging ocean views. Close to my stop, the couple told me it was time to get off, and I thanked them and departed.
Arriving at my Room Finding my room was not difficult; there’s only one main street in town. I buzzed the owners and the voice in the call box instructed me in Italian to come up the stairs. I was met by Carla, my hosts’ daughter-in-law. She offered to carry my suitcase up, but the damn thing was so heavy that we both shared the burden. The staircase was as steep as the one in San Marc’s basilica and three times as high to get to my room. It’s moments like these that light travelers gloat over the rest. We both reached my room, out of breath some.
The studio was perfect. It would be crowded at the maximum capacity of three, but for one or two it’s ideal, complete with a partially functioning kitchen (no stove, just sink, fridge and hot water for tea). The windows have a view
of two alleys and a fat tortoiseshell cat. It appears to be in the nature of all tortoiseshell cats to act like gargoyles.
My hostess, Maria, came in to greet me. She spoke no English, but her welcome was warm and genuine.
I was invited to her house, another studio, for coffee. There, I met her husband, Giacomo, and son. Giacomo’s English was fair and he made up for his wife’s vocabulary by chatting nonstop about the trains schedules, where I can find internet, and then asking me about my trip. I amused the crowd by demonstrating my ability to say, “I don’t speak ___,” in three languages.
Following out sit down, I retired to my room to cool off. Despite the heat and humidity and my sweaty travel clothes, I was in one of the best moods since arriving to Italy. I don’t want to jinx it, but I think I may be conquering the challenges of solo travel.
Tour of the Town Like I said, there’s not much to the town, which is part of its charm. When I arrived, the streets were busy with half naked tourists just coming from the beach. On
my way back up the hill to the tourist office, many of the day visitors were leaving. By the time I was finished collecting the train schedule and hiking map, most of the crowd had subsided.
What I really wanted this evening was a quiet, cheap meal. I found this at a local pasta and wine shop. The man working there spoke English, and he helped me pick out a local wine and pasta for dinner. A local grocery store provided parmesan cheese to top the pasta and peaches for dessert. My shopping bag full, I stopped for a gelato. This time I tried a scoop of almond gelato. Yum, yum, yum.
I snacked and watched the people on the beach. The supermodels in Milan had me fooled; there were no perfect bodies in Italy. Flabby guts are hidden by expertly tailored clothing. Most of the women were unabashedly wearing bikinis. My favorite was the granny in the triangle top. The water looked so refreshing. I think tomorrow I’ll take a dip in the afternoon.
Experimental Dinner Returning to my partial kitchen, I discovered I had no hot plate or pan to boil water. My engineering genius
kicked in and I improvised with the electric kettle. If the guy on Opera can make top ramin in a coffee maker, I can make pasta in a tea pot. It took a little longer for the noodles to cook, but it worked! As instructed by the guy in the shop, I dumped the pesto (this region’s specialty) over the hot noodles and tossed to mix. Topped with parmesan cheese, it was a culinary masterpiece. And it was delicious. Homemade pasta beats Safeway Select anytime. And while the pesto came from a jar, it was real pesto. I was very proud of myself, and enjoyed my dinner with a healthy serving of the local wine. Unfortunately, I cooked the whole bag of pasta, which could easily feed six people, and I don’t know how leftovers are going to hold up. Let the wine make these problems disappear…
Social Scene Around sunset, I ventured back out into the main piazza. Vernazza’s nightlife was active yet intimate. It was packed with people in the restaurants and children running around the beach. But the difference between this scene and the grand ensemble at San Marco’s square was that these people all knew
Typical flags
Most placed fly three flags: the EU, the country, and the region each other and were all connecting. It is clearly a tight-knit community.
** Photos unlabeled, Im writing from an Internet cafe. Check back later for descriptions. **
Advertisement
Tot: 0.266s; Tpl: 0.018s; cc: 14; qc: 60; dbt: 0.1074s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb
