Cinque Terre

One summer, when I was living in Philadelphia, my roommate Kate went to Italy and sent back a postcard from Cinque Terre, a stretch of coast in the northern Italian region of Liguria. She wrote that it was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. I tucked the destination away in the back of my mind, and recently came across it again when I was contemplating taking a short trip away from Bucharest. After six months in a loud, grimy city, I deeply needed to be surrounded by calm and beauty. I found a cheap ticket to Rome, plotted out a solo trek, and packed my hiking boots.

Cinque Terre actually lived up to all the guidebook hyperbole. After one night in an overpriced hotel in La Spezia, I made my way to Ostello 5 Terre, a very well-run and pleasant hostel in Manarola. The first morning was overcast, but the sky held and I hiked from Manarola to Vernazza, where I had some gelato and explored the town before taking the train back to Riomaggiore and walking from there back to Manarola. I wandered down to the beach in Corniglia, and sat on the smooth pebbles watching the water splash heavily against the rocks. All that power. I took in the smell of the earth and the wildflowers and watched caterpillars crawl end-to-end in a long line into a hole in the ground. I encountered lizards runing through the ruins of an old monastery, and petted the friendly stray cats that seemingly wait for you at picturesque checkpoints in the villages. Each part of the walk was beautiful in a different way. I treated myself to a nice dinner out. As I sat there in the trattoria, surrounded by couples, I realized that this was my first time traveling alone to a country where I didn't have friends to stay with. I allowed myself to feel the loneliness of it...So much beauty and no one to share it with. And then I went back to the hostel, borrowed a book from the library, and curled up in my bed to read.

The next day I took the train to Monterrosso. The weather was glorious; so much so that it was impossible to be lonely. Cinque Terre is spectacular on an overcast day, but when the sun comes out all the colors sparkle. I intended to eat breakfast in Monterosso--I was envisioning the perfect outdoor cafe--but the tranquility was marred by a construction site. I decided to embrace the fact that I could go anywhere I wanted and do anything I wanted for the whole day, without having to negotiate with anyone. It was a liberating thought. I let my body decide where to go, and it felt like heading up into the hills. I walked, up, up, up for a long time, on stone stairs that led at last to a panoramic overlook. I was having trouble deciphering the trail guide, but decided that I'd eventually end up somewhere. Somewhere turned out to be Levanto, a couple of hours later, where I had pizza and more gelato before taking the train back to Monterrosso, then hiking from Monterrosso to Vernazza. I had heard that this stretch of trail was the most difficult and least scenic, but while it was the hardest I also found it to be the most beautiful. Isn't that often how it goes?