Good Company

Stepping off the toasty train a cool, light breeze hits your face. Clear waters and colorful flowers encapsulate your senses. This must be paradise. The early mornings greet you with a beautiful sunrise as the church bells sing. During the day, kids head into shore after a few hours of fishing with dad. They eagerly bring back a small red bucket full of gaping fish. Many of the fish are small, but that does not damper their spirits. The little boy rowing the boat exclaims “good fish!” in Italian as he haphazardly docks the rowboat amongst the rocks. Not quite strong enough to push the boat in to shore, a bronzed older man with thick, weathered muscles drops his windsurfing board to help the son, who sweats profusely in the heat. Scenes such as this occur everywhere here. People helping people. Tourists frequent these five villages. Some leave after a few days while others find a place to call home.

Cinque Terre is made up of five different villages (Riomaggiore, Manarola, Corniglia, Vernazza and Monterosso) all easily accessible by foot, train or boat. Its unique atmosphere offers a bounty of options for outdoor enthusiasts and those who want to relax. At night noise softly resonates throughout the villages as red lights flicker in the salty ocean, a beacon for boats. All villages offer aquatic pleasures as well as a hike connecting the towns. A “Cinque Terre Card” allow visitors to trek between villages. 1-day, 2-day, 3-day or 7-day cards are available for purchase by the train station.

Cinque Terre is strung along cliffs giving this special place terrific views and fantastic weather. Because houses are on cliffs navigating through the town can be tricky. However, there is a great place to stay near the train station in Riomaggiore, the first village. This village is smaller and easier to navigate then some of the others. Mar-Mar, a sensible place to stay, offers student dormitories as well as room and apartment rentals. The woman at the front desk named Amy is always willing to help you with whatever you need. Amy, once a tourist, now lives here and helps run Mar-Mar. Be careful because the front office closes around 5 PM, so get there early to check-in.

It is nighttime. Strolling up the winding hill in Riomaggiore we begin to hear distant music. Walking closer you hear a rush of Reggae music coming from Bar Centrale, Riomaggiore’s local establishment, offering a great atmosphere on a lit patio with an air conditioned bar area. The food is delicious and the people are always willing to show you a good time. Italians reserve a special place in their heart for their kitchen and the place where food is served. It’s an important aspect of their culture and “[i]t’s the nerve center of Italy’s grand design,” states Beppe Severgnini in his New York Times Bestseller, La Bella Figura. The owner of the bar, Ivo Ronchieri, sings catchy modern songs resonating from his iPod along with some old school tunes as he speed walks around catching orders and delivering food. An adorable, black dog sits in the corner taking in the night. His ancient eyes have seen it all. We sit outside enjoying the company of the locals eating good food.

We remember and discuss another memorable night when we met an older man named Grey, who frequents Cinque Terre, at another bar in Manarola. His oldest child lives in Manarola and she has a child of her own, who will one day appreciate the many facets the villages have to offer. “All kinds of good things happen here,” says Grey, who takes brakes from playing his mandolin. We watch as Ivo keeps in touch with the local kitchen crews around Manarola. They whip him up something special, something not on the menu. “One hand washes the other,” says Ivo, as we wonder how he gets free food and drinks everywhere he goes.

As the clock ticks past 1 AM, when the bars close and the villages’ lights dim, a careful stroll to the bay is a must. There are always locals willing to start up a jam session, guitars and harmonicas included. The ocean breathes deep and crashes upon the rocks and over the barrier on this cool July night. Wooden boats churn and thrash, as the ocean plays with them like toys. It is a sight. The locals look out over the turbulence in awe as some speak in hushed tones to one another. You do not have to step to the edge to feel the waters light spray. “This never happens here!” shouts a frequent tourist, Harley, who knows the land as well as its weather conditions. He was hanging out at the Bar earlier and has followed the small crowd down to the bay. His sandals making flip-flop noises as he follows his buddies.

Chilling by the water Ivo begins to play the guitar as Paolo Faggioni, a native of Manarola, joins in with the harmonica. A light mood is established. According to Beppe Severgnini, Italians really are “…the world’s leading manufacturers of emotions.” Cinque Terre does not stray from that statement. It embraces it. You can tell by the way people communicate with each other. Always acknowledging the other with a quick statement or conversation. Because these villages are small everybody knows everybody. The oceans pure power is felt that night as the locals and tourists bond over a shared memory filled with music. A memory none will forget too soon. A memory carved into each as a representation of the fabulous night they shared…together. No “local” or “tourist” labels, just good company.

Awareness

Heading up to the train station from the Gould is not difficult, but sometimes what you see...is. A late twenty-something playing an accordion while tapping his right foot to keep rhythm. He is dressed in a worn and dirty stripped shirt. A tiny coffee cup sits at his feet. He looks like he is enjoying the music he plays. It sounds soothing at first, but listening longer a twang of pain resonates. Walk further along the side of the Santa Maria Novella, a couple artists recreating a Vermeer and a Botticelli. You ask yourself, "Why don't they create their own works of art instead of duplicating for tourists sake?" Forking over Euros is difficult when studying abroad and you never know where that money will go. Down the stairs and into the tunnel, an older woman covered in shrouds of dark toned clothing bows her head and hold out a tiny cup. A glance inside, maybe 40 cents. As you climb up the stairs and into the train station you notice a different change of pace. People moving quickly to catch trains and loved ones saying "Ciao!" Those arriving in Florence are met with many kiosks and, of course, McDonalds.

The last station before departing the station is a tiny place called "forexchange". These tiny offices can be seen throughout Florence, but this office was intriguing, mainly because of the woman who sat behind the glass in a very small room without air conditioning with a broken fan. The first time I met her I had to catch a train, but asked if she'd be available for an interview.

A few days later I discovered forexchange woman had a name, Clíona. She informed me however, that she only had five minutes to spare as she exited her booth. We meandered over to an ashtray where she asked if I'd like a cigarette. I politely declined as she lit up. Clíona, now native to Florence, was born in Ireland. Her Irish accent complimented her answers really well. The Irish native traveled to Italy for the holidays occasionally, but spent three months in Florence. "I fell in love with the city" said Clíona as smoke encircled her. She studied languages and computer science. Clíona speaks Irish, English, Gaidhlic (a combination of Scottish and Irish), French, a bit of German and Italian. Her broad spectrum of languages has helped her communicate effectively with tourists who come to forexchange, which can cash travelers checks. "Knowing languages has helped me get away with a lot more" confessed Clíona. She mentions that she was able to get great discounts. Her advice to students traveling abroad to always stay in groups if possible. "Just enjoy yourself and be open" said Clíona. She finds that Italians respect tourists more if you at least ask them if they speak English. Even trying to speak Italian helps too. Her favorite place to hang out in Florence is an Australian pub by Santa Croce.

It feels like surfing

Take a breath before the plunge. Do you feel nervous? You shouldn't. People around you do this for fun, the locals seem to be enjoying themselves, but the river heightens your awareness. You count to three as you cautiously glance at your friends...then you jump.

Disorientation. Water splashing all around. Action is everywhere. You feel the sharp rocks scrape your feet and remember to pull your legs up. Vision blurred, so you squeeze your contacts to focus. Veering right, a bridge looms ahead. As you attempt to grab the edge of the bridge something feels a bit strange. Your bikini bottoms are slipping down your legs. You desire freedom...but not that kind! Letting go of the bridge pulls you underwater. Coughing you reach the surface and realize you are being pulled at a rapid rate down the river. You see locals clinging to rocks and branches, you remember to swim left to disembark, but the journey isn't over. Pulling yourself out of the rushing water is a challenge. The rocks are slippery with green moss and other living organisms. Essentially, you a pulling yourself up into a forest with branches that poke and scratch. Once out of the turbulence you do it all over again. You realize it was totally worth the bruises, totally worth the initial disorientation. Such a rush!

I hear a conversation between another first timer and a local, who replies after his first go, "It feels like surfing, man!" I agree. What a beautiful July afternoon it turned out to be.

*An amazing picture (shown above) taken by Kelsey...thank you :)

Weaving around Venice

Something is always going on in Venice. Short narrow passageways are abundant in the winding cobblestone streets of Venice. People gather in squares or linger by water spigots placed here and there to quench their thirst. Dogs are seen panting in the paths wishing a cloud would shade them from the treacherous sun. Gondolas lay idle in the canals as gondoliers gently pester tourists and couples, who walk by for a ride.

In the afternoon the Sans Marco is loud, busy and packed full of people wishing to gaze upon history. Sweat drips down faces and the smell of sea water and dirt is evident. This alone is meant to deter just about any sane individual, but the architecture and the square is a sight to see and everyone is anxious for that perfect picture.

However, at night the square becomes calm as if slipping into a dream. Music is heard as people quietly murmur and sip wine. Soft tinkling of utensils indicates delicious food. This is the place to be. No pushing past crowds or straining to see sculptures and its details. The night is for conversing, good friends and reflection. The World Cup is discussed, but only briefly as not to upset any Italians, who wish to defend their broken hearts. But, they will get over their loss eventually as the blonde down the street wearing designer clothes walks past.

My own senses were heightened as I walked into to the square. The strong glow of the lights illuminated the looming structures as the music played by the "dueling orchestras" sprinkle the air with harmony. The songs played sound familiar and comforting. The violinist knows her craft, you can tell by the way she moves and rocks with the music. The people sitting at small tables listening are captivated. A time for people to recharge for the next day. It's a good night to be alive in Venice.


I noticed a short exchange between a woman and a small child at a water spigot...

The dialogue, I believe, is in Italian. Lots of facial expressions and tone of voice suggests anger, confusion, stess.
The woman I believe to be the young child's mother is asking her child to drink some water and wipe his face, but he does not want to. He gets upset each time she asks him to and eventually she gently forces him into the water. His face is priceless. It is one of shock, confusion and he basically he does not want to get wet.