Cinq Terre: mountain walk

Four hours by train from Milan via Genova, I arrived at Monterosso, the fishing village that marked the northern entry point of Cinq Terre. The other four brothers of Monterosso bear the names of Riomaggiore,Manarola, Corniglia, and Vernazza. The five fishing villages set dangerously and safely among the mountains, on the cliffs, over the sea along the western coast of Italy.

Isolated from the outside world, shielded by mountain ranges to the east and by ocean waves to the west, Cinq Terra used to be an undiscovered Garden of Eden. No wonder the ancient dwellers came to Cinq Terra for protection purposes. Monterosso, the oldest village among all five, was founded by mountain residents beleaguered by the invading barbarians in AD643. Riomaggiore, the village to the very south of the region, was made residence by Greek fleeing from persecution by the Byzantium Empire. It was not until 1870 that railway begun to connect Monterosso with the outside world. Isolation has preserved its antiquity and originality. The bright-colored villages shine like gems in the slit of the azure waves and green plantation.

For centuries, the neighboring villages connect themselves with meandering trails through the thick forests on the cliffs. These are rough trails born out of necessity when human beings were not yet blessed by technology. Modern civilization has successfully penetrated the region with railways and tunnels, connecting two villages in a matter of minutes, saving an ancient toil up and down the hillside. I was attracted to Cinq Terre more for the ancient trails than the modern railway.

Early in the morning, I started my journey from Corniglia, the midpoint among five villages. My original plan was to challenge myself with a 40-kilometer hike from Riomaggiore all the way to Monterosso. Unfortunately, the trail from Riomaggiore to Corniglia was temporarily closed to maintenance after a rockslide. These footpaths have been subject to frequent temporary closure due to its vulnerability and fragility, especially after a flash flood in 2011 that claimed several lives.

I parted with my friend who favors train journey better than hours of trekking and set out. The red notice board with shiny white letters at the start of the journey warned travelers of potential dangers including rockslides, sunburn, extreme heat and forest fire and highlighted the necessity of decent equipment: shoes suitable for walking and water bottles to be refilled at village fountains. I guess the notice board managed to scare off a few with its exaggeration of the danger. I was not as worried about the journey from Corniglia to Vernazza as it was said to be an easy effort by the travel guide. Experienced hikers and travelers have kindly offered their observance to the later comers so that unknown is known and uncertainties are dismissed. With the confidence bequeathed by my predecessor, I walked past the iron notice board.

Crossing vineyards built on the terraced farm around Corniglia, I paid no attention to the "Danger" signs chained casually to the fence. The natural beauty was unfolding itself inch by inch like a scroll, mitigating any scent of danger. Bright colors of the village were melting into mosaics in the distance as I ascend to the hillside and the dancing lights cast on the sea surface turn into silver twinkling stars. There were several lemon farms in the mountains where sunshine is abundant. After all, Cinq Terra is only 2 hours by train from Genoa, where lemons found their first substantial cultivation in Europe from the 15th century. Immersed in Mediterranean sun, the lemons ripen fast. Yellow lemons were hanging from the leafy tree like golden bells. My watery mouth disclosed how much I was attracted by the fresh lemons.

Some lemon trees were hidden in the backyard of a mountain house. I was a bit surprised to see houses elevated along the trail. It was a mystery to me how the house dweller get access to daily necessities. It might be easier to live a simple life on the cliff as the tedious trip to climb up and down for the sake of replenishments might push the dweller to economize their efforts. Only the most essential goods will be elevated up to the top to sustain daily subsistence. Is this why almost all renounced Buddhist temples of retreat were high up hidden in the mountain forests so that monks eventually were trained to be saints who cares less and less about physical desires? On a second thought, I might be imposing my own understanding of life on a remote stranger who care less about what I care the most.

The village and trace of dwellers were left behind as I follow the path into a thick forest. My eyes were painted green. Rays of sunlight penetrates every tiny gap among the foliage and dropped on the damp forest floor. Patches of brightness in various shapes decorated the shaded ground and turned it into a dancing floor for clovers and wild flowers.

I walked passionately on in the magical nature across ancient stone bridges, over forest streams, onto rugged stairs, up to the terraced hilltop, down to the cool valleys…As I begin to feel exhausted when my high spirit boosted by the changing scenery calmed down, I start to notice what was underneath my feet, the trails pioneered and paved one stone after another by the villagers. The stones were taken nearby from the mountain laid on the path to make trekking easier. Some part of dangerous trip was fenced to prevent accidental falls. There were still rugged paths piled with sliding stones. Naturally, I was feeling grateful to the strangers who made my trip with their labor. Time has long passed when almost every decision is a pioneering act. There are now more roads to be maintained than to be built. Yet, there is no reason not to be able to exhibit gratitude to the predecessors and experience the beauty of from the same piece of land.

The village of Venezza seemed more magnificent than it really was due to my two-hour hiking for the sake of the destination. Spending some time resting at the water front munching on a slice of Focaccia, typical Italian oven-baked flat bread, my battery was recharged. Olive oil from the bread painted my fingers with a delightful scent. I continued on from Venezza to Monterosso, the most difficult part of the journey with higher elevations over the sea level, continuous steps and occasionally narrow slippery trail along the cliff.

I was actually hesitating on the difficult journey. How difficult will it be? Can I make it? What if I was too exhausted halfway through? Now the notice board at the entrance to the route was having an impact on me. Yet, I feel it a pity if I forgo the jaw-dropping scenery along the route. I continued on slowly, hoping to encounter someone of my built who just made their journey through so that I could have a word or two to test whether I could make it. Two young ladies came down the stories I was climbing up.

"Is it very difficult to get to Monterosso?"

"A bit, but it's FINE. You can make it."

I headed off. I know my hesitation resembled the hesitation of the horse in the fable. When he is about to cross the river, an Ox described the river as "very shallow" while the squirrel was nervous about the danger of drowning.

Upon sunset, I was covering the last mile of my journey. With legs trembling unconciously as I walk the stairs downwards and my stomach craving for replenishments, I entered the twon of Monterosso, contented.