CINQUE TERRE

CINQUE TERRE – The five villages
March 13, 14, 15

Cinque Terre means five villages. It is on the Ligurian Sea, an arm of the Mediterranean. There are five villages spanning 12 miles connected primarily in two ways: By railroad and by hiking trails. All but one of the villages (Montorosso) are predominantly up a mountain side. Many people come here, not only for the beauty but to hike from village to village. The full hike is considered arduous for an experienced hiker. A partial hike (Vernazza to Coniglia) was more than I could handle.

We arrived in Vernazza by train in mid afternoon on March 13th. This day, as well as the next 3 days, was sunny, mid-60s and cloudless! We were met by Michelle who operates a 4 unit “hotel” along with her Italian partner Giuliano Basso. Michelle, who is about 30, 5’6”, proportionate and 3 months from having had a baby girl, pointed up to the mountain and said, “There’s your place.” I looked at our luggage and started having palpitations. Nevertheless, with Michele’s help, Ann’s guidance and my sweat, we made it up there in about 15 minutes. Ann counted the steps, 69, and Michelle confirmed that. We stopped along the way and admired the vista. On the way, in between heavy panting and Ann’s encouragement (“…you can do it, Gerard”) we noticed beautiful gardens, fruit trees and the sparking sea. Our “hotel” was charming: Spacious bedroom, nice sized room and a large communal terrace, all facing the sea. I began enjoying it after I wrung out my shirt and used my puffer.

We had a great time in this beautiful area. We picnicked on our terrace, walked from Romaggiore to Manarola (the lover’s walk), ate great pasta and seafood in reasonably priced restaurants, met some outstanding people and, all in all, enjoyed the experience. Due to recently being designated a national treasure, these five villages now have strict building regulations and will remain unspoiled. I hope you all will get here some day.

A couple of anecdotes:
On our first day here, while we were “checking in,” a young man and his girl friend asked Michelle if she had any rooms. She said she didn’t but if he’d wait, she’d help him find a place. While waiting, I spoke with him. He reluctantly (I had to cross-examine him) told me that he was a student at West Point. His girlfriend went to NYU and was doing a semester in Florence. It turns out that they are from Torrance. He’s spent summers at Catalina which, of course, piqued Ann’s interest, and they were traveling on Spring Break. I met another resident of the hotel, Katie, who was traveling with her parents. While talking with her, she put on a jacket which had West Point on the front. It turns out her brother is a first hear student there. Over the next couple of days, I ran into Andy and his girlfriend on two occasions and tried to hook him up with Katie and her family but was unsuccessful. Names were exchanged, though. Andy said he would be in Catalina this summer and look for Ann at Emerald Bay.

As mentioned, Ann and I took a hike on the coast from Riomaggiore to Manarola. Along the way we drew a heart on a wall with our names within (permissible, encouraged graffiti). When we got to Manarola, we watched a lone fisherman come into port. Unfortunately this town is situated about 40 feet above the sea and there is no place to moor a boat. The village drill is for an incoming fisherman to yell up to a paisano of his who activates a crane/winch from the town above. A hitch descends to the boat which the fisherman hooks onto the boat and it is then raised to the village area where all the local boats are stored each night.

One of the legs of the hiking trail is from Vernazza to Coniglia, supposedly a 90 minute walk. One day I ventured out on the trail. On the way out I don’t remember walking on level ground or downhill once. The views along the coast, back to Vernazza, and forward to Coniglia were spectacular. The trail itself was a bit rugged so when people would come from the opposite direction it got a bit precarious. Ann had heard of this trail from our friends Madeline and Jeff and chose not to test her aversion to heights. I made it to the outskirts of Coniglia and then made an about face. On the return trip I watched (and Ann said she was watching from our room) as a helicopter made about 10 trips picking up goods of some sort high up on the mountain and delivered these goods to a group of men 500 feet below. I was glad I wasn’t paying that bill.

There’s a guy named Rick Steves and he is the travel guru for Italy as well as other places. In his chapter on Cinque Terre he mentions to be aware of its charm for some people have come here , been enamored by its beauty, its residents, and have stayed. That Michelle’s story. She is originally from Fort Lee, New Jersey but later moved to the Bay Area. She traveled here in Sept., 2005, met Giuliano and now is raising a family here and operating the business.

We really enjoyed talking with her. One day we were comparing bad Italian T.V. variety shows with its counterpart in Mexico. You know, the loud, balding (or bad toupee wearing) short, fat emcee surrounded by tall, statuesque beautiful fawning models. If only life imitated art.

Our last meal in Cinque Terre was outstanding. I had a black spaghetti (colored with the ink from a squid), cooked in a red sauce with hot peppers. Ann had gnocchi in a gorgonzola sauce. We shared a typical main dish for this area of Italy: Anchovies cooked with potatoes, peppers and herbs in a red sauce. I know what you are thinking but they were fresh anchovies, mild tasting and delectable. Try ‘em…you’ll like ‘em.

We’re off to the big city again…Florence and its world of art.





They say this rock formation looks like Richard Nixon...Our last sunset at Cinque Terre.

PIACENZA..THE HEARTLAND

PIACENZA
March 9, 10,11,12



















On the way to Piacenza we had a layover in Voghera which entailed changing platforms. Rather than tote our luggage from the platform down to the ground floor of the station then up to a different platform where the train will be departing from, an ordeal, especially with Ann’s luggage, I traipsed everything across the tracks. No one was looking and I didn’t see a third rail (for non-New Yorkers, that would be the live, electric, rail).

We arrive in Piacenza and are greeted by Stefano, a friend of Ann’s introduced to her by her cousin Jerry. He is impeccably dressed in an Armani suit, $500.00 Italian shoes, neatly coiffed and looking younger and thinner than Ann remembered ….compliments were flying and off we go to his country villa in his 750 BMW. Italy is looking good.

Stefano lives on an approximate 10 acre parcel of land in the country on the outskirts of Piacenza. There are two homes on the property: One a 3 story villa and another which he calls a guest house but is actually a very beautiful home with a great enclosed room off the tennis court and next to the adjoining beautiful gardens. We will be staying at the guest house.

On arrival we meet with his Aunt Lidia, his mother, Mariarosa, his father, Rodolfo and his son, Francesco. They live in another villa , over 600 years old we are told, just around the corner. We are treated royally and showered with love. That night we go to his restaurant in town where we meet many of his friends and/or business associates. He is part owner of the restaurant and appears to know everyone. In the bar section of the restaurant we drink champagne and have antipasti typical to this region, Emilio Romagna. This consists of a selection of meats called salamis but to our eye looked like thinly shaved fat, which was very tasty.

The three of us had dinner and were joined by Stefano’s friend Ricardo. He had formerly lived in the United States in the late 80s and early 90s where he worked as a cowboy in Wyoming and was on the rodeo circuit. He was a big man, very robust, loved American football, had fought in Somalia, and liked practicing his English. We had a great meal of pasta, fish encrusted in potatoes, various wines and aperitifs.

As we were trying to recoup from the day before, we could hear downstairs preparations being made for our next feast. Lidia and Mariarosa were making homemade tortelli which was served as the first of our five course grand luncheon. Tortelli is pasta square with stuffing that is braided together. Ann asked for a cooking lesson the next day where she practiced and finally mastered the delicate method of making this type of pasta…another promised meal when we get back home

After our nap Stefano took us to a mall where he wanted to buy our girls the latest….Pinko jeans. On the way home Ann mentioned to Stefano that we did not need to go the “nice” restaurant he had planned on for that evening. He said, “No, we will just have one dish.” To make a long story short we had several bottles of champagne, pasta with Beluga caviar in a cream sauce made right at the table and rock salt encrusted whole sea bass which was a beauty to behold.

The next we awoke late and I did not feel well. Ann hung out with Stefano, had her cooking lesson covering tortelli with an added bonus of making tagliatelle and then met up with his wife and daughter. I lay low. That evening Ann watched a movie at home and by the time she came up she wasn’t feeling well. Stefano insists we stay another day and we agree….we are a little travel weary at this point and the extra day of a home atmosphere is inviting.

The next morning I felt better and Ann was staying in bed. The procession began. Mariarosa and Lidia fussed over her and took care of her with chamomile tea and soothing words. It had been a long time since Ann had been mothered and she found this so touching. I on the other hand had made a slight recovery. Mariarosa came over to our guest house with her latest offerings….a pan filled with what appeared to be chicken and peppers. Ann was not well enough to take food this day but says, “Gerard you have to.” I sit down with the family, have Rodolfo’s homemade wine (made by his gardener Stefano says) and take a portion of the meat Mariarosa has made. Mariarosa, Lidia and Rodolfo have a lively conversation then Mariarosa leaves the room and comes back with a dictionary. She pages through the dictionary and then finally says, “Rabbit, rabbit!”. There is a fire in LA that they had seen on TV at their home and they want to show it to me but they can’t find it because the satellite TV at the guest house has about 500 channels and they just can’t find it. After the rabbit they ask me if I would like some lasagna…I point to my stomach and decline.

Stefano and family, Giovanna, his wife, Guilia, his daughter and Francesco, his son

Bruna, the housekeeper has finished washing and pressing my clothing and is now fussing over me and making me a strong cup of espresso for the road. We meet at Maria Rosa, Rodolfo and Lidia’s house for a goodbye. Including Stefano, none of them can understand why we are going to Cinque Terra…it is off season and why aren’t we going south for the warmth? They kiss and hug us, bestow presents upon us and invite us to return and come to their summer home in Monte Carlo on our next visit. We look forward to it.







Artichoke apertif for our going away lovingly poured for us by Mariarosa



Stefano and Ann at the station...Goodbye Piacenza!

GENOVA....GENOA

GEVOVA....THE HOME OF PESTO PASTA




Let’s face it. We went to Genoa for two reasons: Salami and Pesto alla Genovese. It’s a large, port city and we were centrally located. Our hotel was in a commercial building and occupied the fifth floor. The ascensure (elevator)
reminded me of the one in Fatal Attraction. Now, now. Didn’t happen.

View of the ceiling of our bedroom and view of the laundry from our living room window.


Picture of St. Anne at St. Rita's Church.


Our first meal was great. I had pesto but with a strachette noodle which resembles about ½ of a ravioli. Enjoyable but I like my pesto better. Keep in mind my mother has said on many occasions, “Rod (she calls me that – no one else is allowed to), no one enjoys your food like you do.” That is definitely not a compliment. She’s actually, as they say, dissing me. Ann has pasta in a shellfish sauce that is incredible. We also had grilled vegetables and a zuppetta (mussels and clams in a red sauce) which are both tasty. For my first meal in Italy, I am pleased.

March 8, my sister Maureen’s birthday is International Women’s Day and it seems to be widely celebrated here. It is symbolized by mimosa, a yellow flower which is being sold throughout the city.

Our local church is St. Rita’s and for 10 am Mass, it is mobbed. Just about standing room only and it is a huge church. Apparently it is a daily occurrence.

Ann had a New York Times article form July 2006 about eating in Genoa. This one restaurant, Da Maria, the writer called the best in Italy. We hurried over there but stopped for a drink along the way. We met a young lady, Michaela, who had a day off (she was a now single mom, putting in her five years awaiting a divorce). She seemed to be enjoying her freedom. We got to know her well enough that she reveals that her first love was an Irishman in the IRA in the 70s and the thought brings tears to her eyes. She shows us the ring he gave her many years ago and tells us she has worn it every day since he gave it to her those many years ago. I buy her and Ann a small bouquet of mimosas and we take some photos.

Da Maria’s is a working man’s restaurant – picnic tables and benches, paper menus and crowded, bustling activity. We sit upstairs. Our waiter is a Rasta-Italian. His name is Roberto Marliaggio. Honest. We order raviolis in porcini, risotto, cimi di vitello (veal loaf we latter learn) and an artichoke torta. We were sort of reaching when ordering as everything is handwritten in Italian on a sheet of paper and we did not understand the description of more than half of the dishes. Except for the veal, I’d have everything else many times over…and the experience was great.

The other restaurant in the article was Osteria d Vico Palla which was a hard to find but worth the search. Ann ordered pansotti, an herb and cheese stuffed ravioli in a nut sauce and I had trofie in a red sauce made with fish shavings, cherry tomatoes and olives. Ann’s pasta was great…mine was to die for and Ann asked the chef for the recipe…to be recreated at home she promises.

We came to Genoa to eat pasta and we unabashedly did so.

Another great market

A beautiful yarn shop in Genova

COTE d'AZUR to ITALIAN RIVIERA

NICE....MONACO...MONTE CARLO....WHERE ARE WE????

At this point we were unsure of which high profile town we were going through but we stepped out at every stop...just so we got our feet on the ground.

The coastal route the train takes is a breathtaking train ride.

Gerard makes a big hit lifting down luggage for petite travelers.

This is a quick picture of Monaco from the train window.

EN ROUTE TO GENOA (GENOVA)

We took the train from Avignon to Genoa. The first half of the ride, the French half, was beautiful. Coastal all the way through Cannes, Monte Carlo, Nice, Marseilles, et. al. Palatial homes right on the Mediterranean…clean beaches…interesting terrain. Then we hit Italy and the vistas seemed to change. Even San Remo didn’t seem to measure up to the French cities. Same coastline, same Mediterranean but the effect was startlingly different. I hate to admit this but I did think Tijuana. To be fair, we were just passing by in a train.

AVIGNON, PALACE OF THE POPES

EN ROUTE TO AVIGNON
March 5

When we began planning this trip, we thought we would spend some time in the Provence area of France. One of our travel mentors (Tara & Phelim) suggested that we go to Grenoble instead because of its beauty and proximity to Switzerland. Somewhere along the way, Grenoble was scratched and we decided to go to Avignon for a couple of days …..good choice.

We took the train from Barcelona to Avignon. Just before the train took off, two heavily panting guys, schlepping their luggage, jumped on and sat across from us. They looked relieved…like us, they went to the wrong train station in Barcelona. Unlike us, they almost left no room for error. Remember, we had learned our lesson in our London/Paris train ride so we were sitting relaxed as they were collapsed into their seats. Rick and David are from Long Beach and were on their second annual European trip. We shared tales of Paris and Barcelona. Their next destination was Nice. We would both be changing at Montpellier. It looked like an interesting looking city that had modern cable cars transporting the locals. We also noted, and now appreciated more, the beauty of the French desserts. Even in the train station the delicate pastries signaled that we were back in France.

Our train for Avignon appeared. This leg of our journey did not required reservations so it was dog eat dog finding a seat…Ann jumped on the train looking for a private compartment for the two of us …I remained on the platform with our luggage...the conductor started talking to me in a language I did not understand. I was waiting for Ann to return. The conductor’s voice got louder…finally Ann appeared and the conductor began yelling at me…I understood what Ann was telling me, “He’s telling you to get on… the train is leaving.” The French have one of the most efficient train systems in the world I learned and pride themselves on leaving promptly…. I was holding up the train.

All of the compartments contained at least one person. Ann had picked one that was occupied by a young French student, Cyril. He was just returning from doing an ecological/oceanographic research project in Indonesia. Although his English was minimal, what was remarkable about him was how hard he tried to speak English. When stymied, he appeared to be cursing at himself but would inevitably get his thought across: He had a girl friend Babette, he was in his last year of university and due to the cost would need to get a job this summer and begin work…no, he would not be coming to La Jolla to study oceanography at Scripps. He was a fun compartment companion.


AVIGNON
March 5, 6
Avignon is an ancient walled city on the Rhone River in Provence. For about 100 years it was the Vatican of its day as it was the center of Christianity and housed 7 popes. Supposedly, St. Catherine of Siena’s intercession convinced the then sitting pope to return to Rome.

Using a “last minute” internet site, we booked into a great hotel, Hotel l’Europa right on the outskirts of the center of town but within the walls. The hotel had old style elegance and Ann noticed and appreciated the quality in the bedding, amenities, et. al. Among others, Napoleon had stayed here while in town! Ann also bestowed upon this hotel the “best bubble bath in Europe” award.

In Avignon our touring highlights were the Calvert Archaeological Museum and the Palace of the Popes. The Archaeological Museum had sculptures and pieces whose origin can be traced back to before the birth of Christ. They were unearthed in this area about 150 years ago. Ann found this place very interesting and was blown away with how old everything was and got into the fact that people so long ago had done all this carving….and for fun played with dice. The Palace of the Popes, the biggest Gothic palace in the world, was a massive fortress like structure. It looked more like a castle than a Palace…..it looked cold and austere and we were glad we weren’t sleeping there. We left there and headed towards Benedict’s bridge which has on it a chapel dedicated to Saint Nicolas, patron saint of bargemen. The bridge, along with the Palace, is a UNESCO World Heritage site. It spans just half of the Rhone, the other half was destroyed first in the Crusades of the 1200s and then again by raging waters and finally abandoned, although the chapel is still in use.

One morning we toured the local market as we seem to do in every town. We love the market scene. The market was outstanding. Not nearly as big as La Boqueria in Barcelona but the same quality: Beautiful cheeses, olives, cured meats, fish. We bought some spices for paella and herbs Provence. We decided to get some coffee so we stepped inside of a restaurant stall where men were drinking wine and playing cards. We ordered our coffee and met Barbara. She was like many of the women that we saw in Avignon: Dark hair, oily skin, actually Spanish looking. Her partner was Genevieve, about 15 years older, lighter skinned. They had pictures of naked or near naked men hanging on a wall. One of photos showed a foot giving the finger. They greeted their regular men patrons with a 3 kiss alternate cheek ritual. Ann had a tomato cheese baguette; I had a chopped sirloin steak and fries with our beer. The vibe was great, we hated to bid adieu.

Other than some large squares and the major tourist attractions, everything in town was quaint, including the shops, boulangeries and patisseries. If you were doing shopping, it was especially fantastic for children. Ann said she had never seen so many beautiful children’s shops.

While we were meandering about town one afternoon, Ann noticed a woman who had a beautiful hair cut. She wanted to ask her where she had it done and mentioned this to me…I approached her and asked. She very pleasantly conveyed to us that she had it cut in the best place in town and the only English words she spoke were “very expensive”. That this was the best place in town was confirmed by the concierge at the hotel so Ann made an appointment and had the singular experience of getting her hair done without speaking more than a few words of French… bon jour…..merci…tres bon.

From the very nice lady on the street, to the optician who fixed Ann’s sunglasses, to the charming French student on the train, to the man who helped us pick out some very nice local wines, to the lovely lady at the patisserie who made the most beautiful lemon meringue pie …each and every person was pleasant and not at all like some of the encounters we had experienced in Paris….Ann said she was happy to have returned to France to be leaving with this impression.