Cinque Terre 2

April 20, 2006

My mother has been carrying around a little kiwi since Turin, wrapped up in a square paper napkin. She brings it with her everywhere, like a fat, fuzzy good luck token. Every so often, she takes it out and waves it hopefully at us. "Do you want to eat?"

"No."

"Oh." She looks sad, then puts it away for a little while longer, until -- inevitably -- it makes its reappearance in her hand again, ready for the next offer.

She explains to us that she doesn't want us to waste it. The organic riches of the Cinque Terre area are spread out at her feet, and she is carrying around this silly kiwi like it is the embodiment of all joy on earth.

My mother is inexplicable.

Manarola is a tiny little cliffside town, the second of the Cinque Terre national park villages that are built precariously off the sides of, yes, cliffs. These are terrace towns, where over thousands of years the villagers built terraces on the cliffs in order to build vineyards and eke out a living. Nowadays they're a national preserve, and the terraces are being painstakingly rebuilt in order to resemble what they used to be before neglect and erosion settled in and wiped much of it away. It's the Italian Riviera, and the food here, ladies and gentlemen, is indescribable. This area is the birthplace of pesto, for one thing, and there is fresh seafood every day, since the sea is literally a jump away. The place we're staying at is a youth hostel, but like no youth hostel I have ever stayed at. The rooms are fantastic, the service is great, and the little restaurant attached to it is literally the best food I have ever eaten. Ever. In my life.

It's valuable downtime after all the cities we've spent our time crawling around. Nature is a great relaxant. Yesterday morning we were up by 7, had eaten breakfast by 8, and by 8:30 we were off on our big hike along the trails that connect the villages. 3 hours of hiking over ridiculous terrain, and beautiful scenery.

My mother, who continues to suffer from a chronic inability to keep her attention on the road, continued to display a suicidal tendency to look at things instead of at the trail. In the US, this wouldn't have mattered so much. Americans, being litigious, tend to take care with their natural beauties and keep them carefully corralled so there can be no accidents. There are railings, there are pavements, there are warning signs and gates making things as idiot-proof as humanly possible. The Europeans tend to be bigger believers in natural selection. If you are too stupid to stay on the road and live, you are too stupid to breed.

No railings. No warning signs. Nothing but a sheer drop down. It is lovely.

My mother finally learned to keep her eyes on the road. Mostly.

We hiked around the next few villages (Coniglia, Vernazza) then took a short train to the next town, Monterosso. By that time, 4 pm had rolled around, so we got on a boat and puttered back to Manarola. Fabulous food again, and then we crashed at the early hour of 9 pm. We've been early to bed and early to rise sorts, this trip. When we get back to the states, I'll hate mornings again. In the meantime, I'm perfectly happy to get up before the sun does, and toot around the country before it gets hot.

I sympathize now with the concept of the siesta. The Italians have the right idea.

Also, I am starting to get used to the Italian keyboard. Look! I have apostrophes!