Return to Vernazza

8/27 - Levanto to my beloved Vernazza
7.72 miles walked

Leaving Levanto

My body knew that it was nearing the homestretch, I think, because it finally gave in that morning in Levanto. I had been on the brink of catching a cold for a number of days, but had been able to hold it at bay. One day away from surrogate Grandmother Teresa, and I fell apart. So it was with a bit of a head cold that I started one of the most famous stretches of walking paths in the world, that one linking the Cinqueterre.

As very often happens, my mind was not on the same page as my body. In my lack of foresight, I had neglected to call ahead in order to reserve a few days in the same room where I had stayed for three weeks five years ago. Now that I was a day away, I reasoned that there was no possible way the room would be empty, it being the absolute peak of the tourist season in Vernazza, the jewel of the Italian Riviera. Plan B, therefore, was to continue on to Riomaggiore, sleep somewhere TBD, and continue until that room should come available, at which point I would return by train to stay a few days. As I would have to pass through at any rate, I figured I would say a quick hello to Teresa, plan some dates, and continue on.

So I headed out, but not before thanking Claudio once again for his kindness. Maybe it was because my body was in a weakened condition, but the path from Levanto to Monterosso was really taxing. I had not reckoned on it being two hours long, and was in need of a good rest when I reached Monterosso al Mare, the first of the Cinque Terre. Still, I had a good four or five hours to go to get to Riomaggiore, at least according to the signposts, so I pushed on, stopping first for water from the town fountain, which was a ways from the beach. This gave me a good opportunity to see Monterosso, and say my hellos and goodbyes, since I would not head back there again.

A short account of my three-week stay in Vernazza in August 2003

I soon was back on the path (which, incidentally, was the first part of my walk that actually cost money to cross through), and was aided by my excitement at approaching Vernazza, the second of the five little towns that have since been turned into a national park, along with the surrounding cliffs and forests. By the time I reached the hills that first displayed that lovely little town, I was nearly floating down the mountain. All the dearly held memories started floating back...

If you've ever been bored at hearing me tell stories of my travels in Italy (aside from this blog, which is similar to a ride on the Gravitron, at least in the elicited feelings of excitement followed by nausea) then you have definitely heard me tell of the three weeks I spent in Vernazza in August 2003.

I wanted a true Italian experience near the water, so I asked my mother to find me long-term lodging in the Cinqueterre (I asked her to do a lot for me back then, and I still do now... not much has changed, at least in that regard). She first called one of the major hotels in what she heard was the best of the five towns.

In one of those serendipitous strokes of good fortune that often occur for me, especially as concerns Italy, it seems, the owner of the hotel happened to be part Brasilian, and recognizing my mother's Italuguese immediately, soon came to be on friendly terms with her. Rather than put me in the hotel, she suggested I stay in a room rented by her mother-in-law, a lady named Teresa. We reserved the room for most of August.

When I finally made it to Vernazza after a couple weeks in various cities and on various trains, I met Teresa in the main piazza, and she conducted me up to the room. Plucking up my courage, I made three requests almost immediately. 1) I wanted to speak only Italian, and thus prepare for my semester abroad, 2) I wished to find a piano that I could play on a regular basis, and 3) I hoped to learn a thing or two about Italian cuisine. She responded that 1) she spoke no English, so speaking Italian would be a necessity, 2) she had no idea about the piano, but would ask her son, who was skilled in these matters, and 3) the first lesson would start that evening in her kitchen.

It had never entered my mind that she would invite me to dinner, but then again I have no idea how else my request could have been interpreted. In any event, I learned that very evening how to make Pasta all'arrabiata, and ate my first raw anchovies (with butter on bread, I recall).
For the next three weeks, I lived in Paradise. I would wake up around 9:30 or 10:00 and relax in my room a bit, except for the days when I would go running with Giuseppe, Teresa's son and the co-owner of the hotel. Regardless of whether I went running or not, I would always go to the water around 11:00 and stay until around 2:00, rotating every fifteen minutes in order to bake evenly. I read a lot of Gibbon's Decline and Fall and swam a great deal, but mostly just lounged around lazily. When I was fully baked, I would grab the keys to the old church (I know, I know, they're all old, but this one was the one no longer used by the town), where I would climb the steps, enter into the comparatively cool and serene sanctuary at the top of the town, and there pound away at the Grand Yamaha for three, four, even five hours. I learned much of the first movement of Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano Concerto on that piano.

From the piano I would skip down the steps, turn in the keys, shower, read a little (evening reading consisted of the Lord of the Rings trilogy), and head up to Teresa's for another lesson and a wonderful meal. Here, sitting on what is surely the best and most well-positioned balcony in town, I would pass the evening with Teresa, laughing, sharing stories, and asking questions about Italian language and culture. After this, I would come down to the square, where I would loaf, wonder, wander, write, people-watch, listen, and dream.

Wash, rinse, and repeat, for three heavenly weeks.

This, then, was what I looked forward to doing upon my return to Vernazza; I hope to have given you at least an inkling of what was dancing through my head as I bounded down those stone steps. Of course, I knew that Teresa did not have the room available, but simply seeing the familiar faces and places was very exciting. I rang the bell at the hotel, was told by Bepe (Giuseppe) to meet him by the water, and made my way to him. We caught up for a bit, but I think he could sense my impatience, for he soon sent me straight to Teresa's place. I ran up five flights of stairs, forgetting my cold, my fatigue, and the weight on my shoulders. I flung open the door, and there she was, and hadn't changed a bit in five years!

She immediately set to making me a lavish lunch (of course), chatting all the while, laughing and slapping me on the back. I ate like a king on that lovely balcony, marvelling at how little had changed since my last time there. After I was satisfied, we got down to business, discussing possible dates for my return. Unfortunately, she only had two days open, on the 28th and the 6th. We agreed that I would stay the 28th, but I could not possibly agree to stay around the area or come back for one day, especially as it was ten days away. So what did we do? She offered me her guest bed, which was in a loft above her kitchen. Touched that she would invite me into her home (since, after all, the room she rented was separate, and I was technically a client), I gratefully accepted. She bade me change clothes, put on my bathing suit, and had immediately to the water: right back into the swing of things.