The Giant Oat

Wednesday April 22 (grab a cup of coffee: this is a long post)

I wish I hadn’t used so many superlatives already. Venice was outstanding, Assisi was heaven, Meteora was gorgeous, but now I am in a place beyond beautiful, beyond magical, beyond fabulous. I am in Cinque Terre, and more specifically I am on a pebble beach between the village of Corniglia and Vernazza (editorial note: .I am quoting from my journal here…use your imaginations!).

Perhaps I ought to back up a bit. Cinque Terre is a National Park in the Italian Riviera, consisting of five little villages connected only by footpaths that go either along the coast or high high up through the hills. Locals here grow grapes, olives and other fruit on the steep slopes on terraces, as they do in Asia. There are very few roads (mostly just down a main street), boats are everywhere (parked on main street) and the houses seem to be built on top of each other, the land is so steep.

I was on the regular path between my village and the next to the north which followed the coast when I spied a sign saying °beach very beautiful°. I followed a tiny path, with ropes helping me descend, stopping regularly to question my sanity.

It was the scariest descent I have ever made. Not only was it very steep, on crumbly ground, with sometimes only one boot’s width of path on which to place my weight, but I was alone, and should I have fallen down into the dense brush or rocks below, I suspect I would have been there a long time before being detected. I don’t think this is an oft-used path.

I noticed how often, when I came across a perilous little spot, holding on to even the thinnest of vines made it possible for me to take the next step. It made me consider how in life, I sometimes need that vine to grasp, even if in reality it would never really hold my weight should I slip. It allows my brain to step over its own restrictions.

I tested out the water and thought it is not too cold for a swim, at least not for my Canadian blood. The water was the surest sea blue, but I feared an undertow, so I did not swim. I did go in up to my thighs, and lay in the sun (on a sheet snatched from the hostel) to dry.

As I set off for the next village I sincerely hoped there was another way back up. But just as I left the secluded beach, I found another one, except that it wasn’t secluded. That morning, I had read about how Germans are notorious for speeding through the paths with their alpine walking sticks, going too quickly to enjoy the scenery. I saw that this fellow on this second beach had walking sticks and was going to tease him about it —  until I heard his German accent.

His name is Marcus and he is a sculptor on his way to pick up some marble just outside Rome. We agreed to both take a dip in the water and keep an eye out for signs of undertow. I was in and out rather quickly, and he braved it a little longer. We lay in the sun, quietly enjoying the cloudless blue sky and fabulously warm and loving sun. I felt how big the world is, and I felt love.

Marcus tipped me off on the easy way back up, though easy is only a relative term. I still had to crouch way down below bent over reeds and my legs got quite the thrashing. This was no real path either. I had run out of water down at the beach and by the time I found myself back on the path to Vernazza, I was totally parched. Thankfully there was a little fellow selling water not too far down the path and I avoided passing out from heat and dehydration. But had I died, what a way to go in these beautiful hills in the sea.

Every ounce of my being was charged with the crazy descent and the braving of the waters, and I was on a high for the rest of the day. I thought this good high needed a good meal to celebrate, and I sat myself down at the finest restaurant I could find in rather touristy Vernazza. It was in a tower overlooking the sea, and I ate octopus, shrimp, mussels, crawfish, calamari and olives doused in lovely olive oil…for starters. Then I had the catch of the day (endangered seabass, unfortunately) baked with potatoes, tomatoes, olives and pepper. Maybe it was the sun, the wine, or the exhaustion, but the sparkle the sun made on the sea seemed like a crazy light show just for me. I think I really was high.

I sat with my meal, chatting to a couple at the next table, until well past both our tables were cleared and the owner told us he was leaving for his siesta, but we were welcome to stay. I sunned myself on some more rocks at the pier of Vernazza and really felt how good I feel. I fed myself a superb meal, I sunned myself, swam in the water, hiked a difficult trail and overall had a superb day…all by myself! I guess some experiences really cannot be shared. I needed this one all to myself, and I will always treasure it.

But the day of perfection was not yet done…

After showering and getting into cozy clothes, I headed out for an evening walk to watch the coastal sunset and to find some local anchovies to taste. I found myself in a tiny family run restaurant called La Cantina Dello Zio Bramante where part two of my fabulous day unfolded.

My waiter took a break from his own meal with a friend to come sit with me and to take my order, but not before getting my name and my country of origin. Smooth. He also pointed out is grandfather’s portrait, and his father and his mother, both behind the bar.

Before long, the waiter’s father and the restaurant owner looked at me on my own, writing in my journal and said Why are you sitting alone? Come sit here!! So I sat with his son, my waiter, and the musician for the evening. I spoke mostly in French, which seems to come easily to these locals. I ate some amazing pesto on bread, and delicious anchovies in a lemon and olive oil sauce. The owner snatched up one of my anchovied breads as he walked by, and I ribbed him for it, so he offered me the bruchetta and cheese leftover from another table. He fed me bits and pieces of this and that, and filled my glass a few times with different local wines, including a desert wine. I felt right at home and adopted by this family!

The owner sat with me and asked how the future looks from here (his exact words) and without thinking I said BEAUTIFUL! And I meant it. How can it not be?

When the guitarist was ready, my waiter draped his orange apron around the bar light to create ambiance and took a seat beside the guitarist with his own guitar. The two started strumming, and an old guy in a gross sweater started belting out the most heart-breaking beautiful Italian songs!

Before I knew it, the owner was swinging me around in a dance to the music of his son and the guitarist from the next village over. A harmonica player also appeared. I felt like a principessa.

This place had maybe seven tables in total, and at the back, a family of Irish people had gathered to celebrate someone’s fiftieth birthday. In true Irish style, they took over the jam session and we had a ceilidh with irish music and singing, and an eighty year old lady dancing up a storm. This greatly amused and shocked my two new friends who I had lured in to the restaurant (the least I could do after the free food), who happened to be Irish lads looking for an Italian restaurant. It was all very amusing.

By the close of the night, I had been invited to dinner and dancing the following night by the ambitious waiter, I had danced, and I had fulfilled a huge (shy) dream of mine to sing in a bar with a band. I knew it was a perfect night when they started playing Take me Home Country Road (West Virginia?) song, which is my absolute FAVOURITE for harmonizing and singing in general. Especially the °teardrop in my eye° line. I stayed up for Hey Jude and a few other Beatles tunes, helped out by my Irish tenor friend named Allan.

I would have stayed until the dawn, dancing, eating and singing with this crew of Irish grandmas, local musicians and fancy footed Italian barmen, but my hostel locks its doors at midnight and I had to run really quickly up a huge hill just to get back in time. I barely made it.

I slid in to my bed full up of almost all of the most beautiful things I could have asked for in a day. What a total and complete blessing it was, and I will treasure it always.

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