Travel Adventures;Tuscany

Fellow frozen Wisconsinites, you ready for a travel tale? About someplace warm?

Ruthie and I had just gotten off the train at Vernazza, one of five small fishing villages strung in an arc along Italy’s Mediterranean coast. Known as Cinque Terra the towns are built into the rocky cliffs overlooking the sea. They’re connected by a small rail line tunneling through the cliffs and also by trails we-two hiking nuts aimed to take on during our three day visit.

                It was mid-October, the off season for tourists, and this promised plenty of places to stay. Hoping so, we started downhill toward the heart of town, our eyes peeled for signs saying “Camera” (Room).  A tiny elderly woman suddenly singled us out of the crowd. Introducing herself as Mrs. Nerino, she pointed at our suitcases and nodded she had a room available. We shrugged-Why not?

                As she started leading us through a dark passageway I hesitated. A sign at the station warned to be wary of panhandlers, pick-pockets, and the like. My overly vivid imagination told me this passageway was perfect for being robbed by this woman’s henchmen. Only half kidding I said so to Ruthie.

                She laughed, “Dear, she’s tiny and ninety years old! We need a room!”

                Emerging at the town’s piazza (central square), we crossed to a four story building at the other side.  Mrs. Nerino hurried us up three flights of stairs with no stopping, while chattering Italian the whole time. Her English-speaking son met us on the third floor and showed us the only unoccupied room. Spotlessly clean and fully furnished, it even had, unlike some, its own bathroom. He opened the tall window shutters to show us the view.

                To the right of our building the beautiful blue-green waters of the Med lapped the shore of a white sandy beach. Directly below on the piazza were brightly colored canopies for outside cafes and at the far side a jetty formed a wide walkway lined with shops. Moored to the jetty, small fishing boats rocked gently at anchor.

                Mrs. Nerino asked expectantly, “You like?”

                I tried my kindergarten Italian- “Va bene, Ma-ma mia!”

                Ruthie whispered, “Dear, you told her-This is good…Mom!”

                Wrapping me up in a hug, Mrs. Nerino exclaimed, “Ah, mi filio! (my son!)” . She had just adopted us and talk about luck! From here on she would steer us toward restaurants serving the finest meals and to shops with the best items for the lowest prices.

                Ages ago all the villages had built stone watchtowers at the water’s edge for protection from marauding pirates. Atop Vernazza’s tallest tower was an open air eatery that served delicious, fresh caught seafood. We enjoyed our first dinner up there as the sun set over the gorgeous Med rolling in on long, slow swells.

                The next day we hiked a trail through rock-terraced vineyards and olive groves clinging precariously to the steep hillsides. It was warm this time of year and we deeply inhaled the sweet fragrances from the profusion of wildflowers and spices like sage, rosemary, and thyme.

                We met fellow hikers Anna and Eric, a young couple from Austin, Texas. When we told them where we lived, Anna laughed, “Roche A Cri Lake? We spend two weeks each year at a camp ground only a few miles north of you!”

On reaching Monterossa, the northernmost of the five villages we cooled off by splashing around in the Med’s crystal-clear waters. Afterward we broke out food from our packs and had a sunny day picnic on the beach.

                The morning after our last full day here we were sipping our espressos at an outside table of a bakery at the train station. Knowing us from our other visits, the owner grinningly presented a tray of marvelous French-silk pastries.  “You cannot get-a on the train without tasting these!”

                Vernazza had offered so much charm, not to mention the stunning scenery and beautiful weather, that we were this close to extending our stay.  But other parts of Tuscany were calling us. Besides, if we did drop in here again before heading home to Wisconsin, our other mom would put us up again, wouldn’t she?