I had a two hour layover in the small town of Pisa, on the day that I traveled from Lucca to Manarola. Lucca, is a town about two hours North of Firenze and it’s surrounded by a twenty-foot tall brick wall, making it a “walled city”. I had just come off my five-day high of being in Firenze, and I was hoping that I would enjoy a two-night visit to a small town in the Tuscan countryside. I enjoyed walking around its medieval-feeling city center, but I didn’t need to stay for two nights. Without a car, there wasn’t much for me to do there. So I was a little anxious to leave.
I was heading to Manarola, one of the five towns that make up Cinque Terre, a section of coastline on the Ligurian Sea that is famous for its vistas, seafood, and hiking, which would consume the next four days of my life. But, I was taking a pit stop in Pisa because if you haven’t heard, there’s a tower there that looks like it’s about to fall over.
When they say that the Tower of Pisa is “leaning”, they are not kidding. It is leaning at an impressive angle. I was a little on edge walking next to it. When I first recognized it as I was walking from the train station to the square that it stands (“leans”) in, I actually burst out laughing. Who designed this thing? How could they have screwed it up this badly? All funniness aside, the Tower and its surrounding square are actually pretty cool, and the Tower has been leaning like that for centuries.
I walked around the square, admired the Leaning Tower, the church, and the baptistery. I sprawled out on the lawn next to the baptistery to read and enjoy watching the tourists try to line-up that cheesy, iconic photo where you put your hands up so it looks like you’re holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I tried so hard to contain my eye-rolls and chuckles as one tourist after another attempted to take this iconic photo. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I walked through the city center a bit and found an aperitivi, made up of a bruschetta and aperol spritz. Eventually it started to rain, which was perfect timing since I had to jump on my next train to Manarola anyways.
The Leaning Tower of Pisa
Before arriving in Manarola, I was warned that there was some bad weather coming in and they would be at a “level orange” for about 24 hours after my train dropped me off at the station. That was all the information I got… What the heck does “level orange” mean? Google told me that it meant there was a gnarly storm coming in and there was the potential for flooding. And since all of the restaurants and shops in Cinque Terre reside in old buildings at sea level, and since most of them do not have more than one exit, “level orange” meant that everything would be closed except for three restaurants in Manarola (the three restaurants that have more than one exit). I quickly made a dinner reservation for that night at one of them, worried that I’d be spending an evening without food.
When I walked through the long tunnel from the train station into the actual town of Manarola, it wasn’t raining, just a little windy with an overcast. There was nobody there, except for my Airbnb host, waiting to greet me. He walked me through the little maze of the town to my room, which was a one-bedroom built into a stone wall overlooking the sea, and facing the main tower of buildings that made up the majority of the town. The room came with access to a little covered balcony up a flight of stairs. From my room and the balcony were unobstructed views of the sea. The waves beating up against the stone barrier protecting Manarola’s little cove were MASSIVE. A storm was coming and it was going to get crazy. My host, a very kind Italian man who spoke little English, reminded me that nearly everything was going to be closed until the next day and then said that I came to Cinque Terre at the worst time.
I walked around Manarola a little and explored it’s various paved and unpaved paths that led to different views of the sea. The lighting was beautiful, with an amazing contrast from the overcasting clouds while the sea, cliffs, and vegetation all popped with color. The waves, the surf, the sea, were rocking— and crashing over the rocks, splashing up thirty feet high. It was quite the show. Before arriving, I had seen photos of the same main street, the same main drag, so packed with tourists that you could hardly move. And now, there was nobody in town. It was a ghost town, like a ski resort in the middle of winter. Everyone had gone home, or everyone had taken cover from the storm. My room was steps away from the restaurant I would eat at later that night, enclosed in their covered outdoor patio, listening to the sound of rain as I ate an entire plate of spaghetti alla vongole. There were only a few other tourists at the restaurant. I loved chatting with my Airbnb host and I appreciated his help, but he was absolutely wrong… I came to Manarola at the best time.
It rained all night, but the next morning was perfect. It was still cloudy and a little windy, but the rain had stopped. I found a brioche and cappuccino and watched the waves, still as massive as before, from the little balcony above my room overlooking the sea. I could sit there and watch the sea for hours and never get bored, it was the perfect perch, the perfect place to be calm throughout the storm.
A few hours later, I decided it was time for some exercise. So I navigated myself to the trail from Manarola to Riomaggiore, the next town to the South. The trail was straight up a steep hill, and then straight down into town. The straight-line distance between the two towns couldn’t be more than a mile and the trail was steep, a true stair-city. There was hardly anyone on it, so I cruised up and down and was in Riomaggiore in about an hour. It felt amazing to have my legs burning and my heart pounding.
I explored Riomaggiore a bit and admired it’s beautiful cove and brightly-colored buildings, while listening to the waves crash up against the cliffs below. So magnificent. I was glad I was staying in Manarola though—it was quieter and felt a bit cozier.
The next day was one of my best yet on this amazing three-month journey. I woke up early, around 7:30 (that’s a alpine start when you’re on vacation in Italy), grabbed a cappuccino and a brioche, and headed for the trail to Corniglia, which was just a few steep switchbacks up the paved path right outside my room.
And on that trail, I found pure paradise. In fact, I think I saw God. The trail wound its way up through olive trees to a small town called Volastra, where it then remained flat and high up above the sea and passed through vineyards. Green and purple olives, and grapes were everywhere. The vines were slowly turning a light green as fall was coming, the sea was the most beautiful shade of teal you could possible imagine. It was the color you see in travel magazines and think to yourself that a sea could never look like that in real life. The light poking between the dark clouds was golden and heavenly. There was no one else on the trail, which was a fantastic contrast to the chaos that I experienced on the Path of the Gods along the Amalfi Coast. The views of Manarola and Corniglia, both made up of brightly colored buildings stacked on top of cliffs overlooking the sea, stood proudly illuminated under rays of golden sunlight. This is heaven. This is one of the most beautiful places on Earth.
It truly felt as if the Universe was trying to tell me something.
I would have never come to Cinque Terre if it weren’t for my friend, Cyn. Cyn, short for Cynthia, is a friend of my dad’s and has become a good friend of mine in the last two years. She lives in Evergreen, my hometown, and has two teenage boys. Cyn is a counselor and a therapist and also loves to cook. She has spent a good amount of time in Italy and in France, learning how to cook beautiful food. She is one of the people who have inspired my recent realization of my love for food and cooking, and part of my inspiration to come to Italy. If Cyn hadn’t told me about Cinque Terre in a random text message a few months ago when I asked her for recommendations on where I should go, I would never have visited. So thank you, Miss Cyn, for putting this place on my map.
I explored Corniglia for a little while before taking the train back to Manarola, where I found a delicious focaccia for a snack, took a shower, relaxed on the balcony, and later ate a pizza topped with prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella for dinner. What a day.
Riomaggiore, Cinque Terre
Over the course of the four days that I spent in Manarola, the weather slowly cleared and the town slowly filled up with tourists. One day I took a train to Vernazza and hiked all the way back to my room at the bottom of the switchbacks in Manarola. I got plenty of good exercise in, which (hopefully) made up for my daily carbo-loading of pasta, bread, and brioche.
I also spent a lot of time on that balcony. I read, journaled, mediated, and thought about life up there, all while enjoying the sights and sounds of the turquoise sea and the crashing waves from the storm. On the balcony, there were no problems in the world. I just watched my concerns, fears, emotions, hopes, and dreams all crash through me like the waves of the sea. I was standing at the shore, completely unfazed. I was at peace.
In the months since my stay in Cinque Terre, I have thought back to that day hiking between Manarola and Corniglia, wondering what it was exactly that the Universe was trying to tell me. To be honest, I really have no idea. But I did write the following in my journal one day up on that balcony, which I think sums up my thoughts, feelings, and attitudes during my five days in beautiful Cinque Terre:
Can I just sit here and watch
These waves crash on the rocks
and let my thoughts crash
Through me forever?
Waves of blue, and turquoise,
and navy, and
Thoughts of love and freedom
and longing and loneliness
and independence?
They’re so incredible, all
Of these waves and thoughts.
The sea is violent and chaotic
But I am so at peace.
I finally found peace.
I’m free from my thoughts,
From the world and the madness.
My soul is liberated.
My river has reached a sea.
The sun pokes through the
Clouds on the horizon and
I know that everything will be alright.
Truly, I believe it now.
No matter where I go or
Who I love or
What I do
It will be alright.
A river always finds a sea.
Sunset view from my room in Manarola