A trip to Cinque Terre isn’t complete without hiking from one town to another at some point. At home in California, I hike almost every month, sometimes every weekend if I can. I’d heard about the trails in Cinque Terre and had been eagerly looking forward to making the trek between villages. Today I hiked from Manarola to Corniglia and it was, without a doubt, the most beautiful hike I’ve ever experienced. In fact, it was not so much a hike as it was an afternoon of taking a few steps, stopping to stare in awe, taking a few more steps, stopping to take some photos, and so on for several hours in the same direction.
First the trail led us past Manarola’s gardens. It was still morning and we saw many people taking advantage of the beautiful weather to weed and water their land. I was surprised by the old age of the gardeners – they all seemed in perfect health and worked as though they’d tended to these lands for decades, which they probably had. It may be the wine, sunshine and seashore air, or maybe just their tenacity of spirit, but for the people of Cinque Terre, old age is no reason to stay at home and give up working.
Higher up, beyond the gardens, we came to olive groves and crumbling stone homes. Here the path was somewhat overgrown, with wildflowers sprouting up around the steps and wild asparagus at the edges. My guide, Daniel, picked a few and gave me one to try. It was skinny, bitter and unlike the ones back home, but it tasted fresh and green and I wished I could claim a small plot of land nearby to grow some of my own.
When the hill leveled out, we took a turn into a dense, verdant forest, which opened up moments later to a view of the ocean and a path between rows of vineyards. My coordination faltered due to my distraction – I was constantly turning my head to the right to inspect the curling green vines and miniature green beads of the plants, then outward to the sparkling blue water. (It’s a miracle I never fell off a cliff during my trip.)
Although I wasn’t ready for the hike to end, we finally came to the quaintly charming town called Corniglia. It seemed even smaller than Manarola, with fewer tourists, most likely because, at the top of a mountain, it is the only of the Cinque Terre towns not directly next to the ocean. We walked around a while before taking the train to Vernazza, Daniel’s home, where we visited his garden. I was happy to be let in through the gate of a local garden, but even more so to have a hand in tending it. We watered his basil and tied the tomato plants to their poles. Even though it was one afternoon, I like to think of Daniel eating a salad in Italy soon with the vegetables I played a small part in growing.
Although it seemed to me that everyone in Cinque Terre has their own plot of land for grapes, olives, citrus or vegetables, Daniel told me that he is perhaps the youngest man to continue gardening in the traditional way. It is heartbreaking to think of the old ways of living and the connection to nature being lost on the younger generation in Cinque Terre. I dream of one day having a garden like his, maybe a small vineyard, too.
Speaking of grapes… As the sun began to set, Daniel locked the gate to his garden and we headed back into the heart of Vernazza for a wine tasting. My interest in wine as an aspect of the culinary world and my Italian heritage has always been strong, but unquenched because I am (at twenty years old) still underage in the United States. This being my first opportunity to have a professional explain wine to me, I was very excited.
As we tasted – first two white wines, then a red – the sommelier guided us through the process of properly appreciating a wine. He instructed us to examine the color – was it pale yellow, a profound red? There were several steps, including smelling and swirling the liquid, before we tasted each wine. The last glass to be poured in front of me was a Cinque Terre specialty, a white dessert wine called Sciachettra. It is particular to the region, made with varying amounts of Bosco, Vermentino and Albarola varietals. The process differs from that of regular wine because it is made with dry grapes. It’s so sweet that when the glass is swirled clear droplets drip slowly like honey down the sides. When the locals speak of it, they adopt a reverent tone. Sciaccetra is too sweet for my taste, but I enjoy the fanfare and the passionate conversation that takes place whenever a bottle is presented.
I look forward to understanding more about the art of wine tasting, but of all that I learned so far, it’s the process – the building of anticipation and the mindful enjoyment – that seems most important. It is something I will always remember and try to recreate.
