Cinque Terre.
The acoustics of the name seems to suggest a promise. Cheen-kwuh Tairrr-uh. Its name rolls off the tongues of Italians like musical notes from wind chimes. The translation is simple, direct: Five Lands. The name dates to before the fifteenth century, but evidence of civilization in this remote area of Italy’s northwest coast dates to times before the ancient Romans. Surrounding the villages with a lush green halo are the steep but fertile terraces of grape vines, olive and citrus trees. And for the past three thousand years, the Ligurian Sea has borne witness to the comings and goings of the area, bringing fisherman’s boats and pirates’ ships to safe harbor or a deep grave below the teal waves.
Cinque Terre is a vertical place in a horizontal country. Tuscany, Lazio—these regions are all hills and plains. A photographer naturally wants to capture the sweeping, broad vistas of the Florentine valley and Roman cityscape with panoramic shots. Golden sunlight glints off of dust in the warm, dry air and takes you into classic fantasies of Italy.
But Cinque Terre is vertical. It is like a sculptor from the Renaissance hacked at the coastline with his chisel without smoothing his work. Roughhewn pietra serena cliffs rise from the Ligurian Sea straight to the heavens, with five narrow enclaves tumbling down to the water’s edge. Buttery yellow and fruit-colored houses are cradled in the safety of the valleys, few venturing higher than a particular point that residents must have agreed upon decades ago.
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| Vernazza's Harbor |
Though the name Cinque Terre is used for these five sea towns, the landscape, people and culture are not to be construed as similar. From north to south they boast names that tell the towns’ unique history. Monterosso’s ‘mountains’ turn a spectacular shade of red with the sunset, hence its name ‘Mount Red’. Vernazza, wanting to lay claim to its incredible white wine vernaccia, named the town in honor of its chief export—Vernazza comes from the Latin root verna—“of the land” or “native”. Then there is Corniglia, simply named after the prosperous farmer Cornelius who tamed this rocky terrain. The large water wheel of Manarola’s mill inspired is nome, morphing from the Latin magna rota to its current dialectical form. And finally there is Riomaggiore, paying homage to the “Big River” the residents tamed to build their village.
Less than a mile separates Monterosso from Riomaggiore, but it takes six hours to hike that single mile—a testament to the wild, untamed nature of this place. It wasn’t until a train line was cut through the rocky cliffs and unconventional travel became popular, that these quaint, picturesque towns became destinations on tourists’ maps.
In fact, that is why I am here on this train. Rick Steves’ PBS specials and Italy 2010 guidebook sparked my interest months ago, convincing me to travel the three hours by train from Florence to see the “Five Lands” myself. After two weeks of city life in my temporary home city of Florence, Steves’ description of a Vespa-free world featuring locally made vino bianco and views of the sea rivaled only by the cliff towns of the Amalfi Coast has had me itching to leave for days.
I am two hours and 53 minutes into my journey, sitting on a somewhat damp seat for the seven-minute journey from La Spezia to Cinque Terre—Riomaggiore, specifically. Everything is black outside the train car. Fluorescent lighting reflects my face on the glass windows, flickering on and off intermittently. The train car is old, a little musty, but serves its purpose. My friend Lauren sits across from me, listening to her iPod and holding her hot pink travel pack on her lap. Months ago when I made my hostel reservation, I went ahead and booked it for two, hoping I would find someone to join me. I was thrilled when Lauren—with her can-do attitude, easy smile, and corn silk blonde hair—wanted to join me. We will be staying in Riomaggiore for three days and two nights. Rick’s guide said Riomaggiore has a lot of local flavor, and I’ve been craving some local flavor and fewer tourists after exposure to cities like Venice and Munich.
Suddenly there is a flash of light. I straighten and gaze intently out of the window. We are almost there.
At the next flash of light, I am prepared to catch the view: dramatic and dazzling, the Ligurian Sea stretches out, robin’s egg blue with white caps lazily rolling onto a rock beach just visible below. I hear the screech of the wheels as the brakes are applied. The train lurches to a halt and I blink as my eyes adjust to the light. Exiting the train car, Lauren and I step onto Riomaggiore’s platform. A waist-high wall protects us from a precipitous drop into the clear waters below. I am finally able to drink in the commanding view of the Mediterranean after the brief teasing glimpses on the train. The land tumbles straight down into the teal liquid glass below.
Unreal. Lauren and I smile, high fiving each other for a location well chosen. Words aren’t necessary as we file into the crowd of visitors carrying cameras, toting official-looking hiking gear, and rolling bags that would never fit into an airplane’s overhead compartment bin.
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