Cinque Terra

The clock here at my parent's house reads 4:00 am but by body thinks its 11:00. We're back from Israel safe and sound and jet-lagged. Ryan, always a man of his word, is sleeping soundly through the night as promised. I have some time to tell you more about our adventure.

When we last left our heroes they were about to board a train to The Cinque Terres...

The Cinquea Terres or Five Lands are five tiny coastal villages nestled into the top left crook in Italy's boot. Homes, churches and shops all covered in rosy hues of plaster were built up over the centuries and now tower over the shimmering Mediterranean like a flock of sea birds reflecting the sunset as they head towards the cliffs to roost.

On the train there:

A 13 year-old boy sits hunched over a video game beside his mom. She reprimands him for stretching his growing legs into the isle and for just a moment I understand Italian perfectly. A man in his 60's adorned in the male Italian dress-code of silk scarf, sharp trousers and what my Grandmother would call a "smart" shirt sits behind them sifting through a 4" stack of paper work, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. A teenage couple sits whispering, giggling and necking, their own 80's soft-rock soundtrack playing through a cell phone for the whole train to enjoy. One car down a group of local boys also around 16 all in their summer uniforms of short-shorts, tank tops and fanny packs, cheer and chant together strengthening their bond of Italian Brotherhood. Outside the window the Italian graffiti adorning the post WWII era concrete walls is equally as illegible (to my eyes) as the open-air artistry of NYC.

The train weaves in and out of tiny towns and trough many tunnels as it winds its way westward through the mountainous north towards the coast. I know we're getting closer when a gang of Australians join our car with their sun hats and cool accents. The girl next to me smells sweet wearing this season's eau de sunscreen. I know they're Australian straight away but for the moment we all share a nation-less identity:

From the country Tourismo

The province of Rucksack

We live in the city of Sunscreen

Our street: Camera

Apt. # 2

Then all of a sudden there it was! The Mediterranean peeked out from behind the rocks and winked at us. My heart skipped a beat and I felt like I'd been reunited with a long lost friend.

Moments later we disembarked:

All Five Lands are connected via train and footpath, there is a small road but that's not the point. People come from all over the world to hike from town to town and in our case sample gelato along the way. We heard languages of all sorts being spoken adding a strangely cosmopolitan feel to these formerly tiny fishing villages. We wondered, with all the tourists and their Euros milling about, why the plaster on the houses was still pealing off? That being said, pealing plaster does make for a wonderful photography subject. The train dropped us off at the northern most town of Monteroso and we slowly made our way south by foot and by train to Riomaggiore.

The rosy Cinquea Terres are adorned with blossoming Jasmine, bright Bougainvillea, Oleander, Lemon trees and twisting gnarly Pines. We swam in my world-favorite ocean and Ryan pulled a rainbow of rocks and plastic bits out of the deceivingly white sand. Tired from wondering from high above the village's steep slopes down through their narrow streets we sat on a bench and wondered where to rest our weary bones for the night. Just then the unmistakable sound of a hefty key-chain echoed up through the cool alleyway followed by a dark haired middle-aged woman and her young granddaughter. She had a room for us and we gratefully follow her to it. That evening we gorged ourselves with Slow Foods:

Dear Antipasto, Dear Primo, Dear Secondo, Dear Contorno and Dolce…Oh how I Love Thee?! Let me count the ways…

In the morning church bells ringing nine times remind us to return the room key to the café around the corner. We bid a fond farewell to the terracotta rooftops and the shimmering sea and made our way back to the ranch.

Back at Casa Lanzarotti a calf was born and after three more days of helping out in exchange for gourmet food and sparkling conversation Geanluca and his long-time friend Daniello brought us to the train station. And that was the end of our wwoofing adventure- just like that, one last lift to the train station. We headed to Bologna, as in Bolognese sauce...yummm.