After lunch, on the way to Vernazza the hike entered the realm of what one might term "challenging." The paths became steeper, thinner, rockier, less protected. We began to wander past grape vines and lemon trees. Bushes full of wild flowers and vines. It was no longer along the coast exactly, but rather wandering through the areas a little further inland. It was still quaint but now becoming more of a workout. By this point we had definitely lost all hints of tour groups and were no longer being held up by anyone's pace but our own which had gotten slower and less springy. Despite the sweat in our eyes, you could still tell this was a beautiful expanse of space. But not one you'd want to be visiting in August.
When we emerged from the trail, we immediately headed to the Vernazza harbor to take a breath and take in the sights. The beach here was sandy rather than rocky and was a lot more crowded than the other, smaller towns. People were swimming and boating and swimming from boats. But we had one more town to reach before we could stop for the day so we grabbed a gelato and got back on the trail.
Should anyone be wondering, gelato is only a momentary band-aid for exhaustion and for all the magic it holds, still does not make a straight-up set of rock stairs any easier. Especially when one of your hands is busy holding the cone.
Our fifth town, Monterosso al Mare was by far the largest and most packed with tourists. It was nice but not quite quaint and the path to reach it was the most difficult yet - but also the most mysterious. You walk along very thin trails, overhanging ravines and streams and passing farmers working in their terraced fields.
We encountered more than a few people heading up the trail as we headed down and they were not happy individuals. For as difficult as it was for us, it must have been doubly difficult for them. Most of this part of the trail was a steep decline from our direction -- which is difficult to control when your legs are fatigued and ankles starting to wobble. But coming up that path in flip-flops might just be worse.
A mother and daughter, Americans both clad in flimsy sandals and wearing their cutest summer ensembles, passed us on their way up the trail. The mother said, "I don't think I can take much more of this," to which the daughter responded, "There can't be that much more to go." Au contraire my dears. There was a lot further to go. And I only know that because I'd just traversed it. But who was I to tell these seasoned explorers that their best bet would be to turn back now and dive face first into a tub of gelato? Where would their mother-daughter bonding be without a few trials and tribulations?
So instead of bursting their bubble we kept moving forward. Past all of the sights that made this trail one of the most beautiful I've ever seen. Aside from the brief-but-still-too-long moment when a rather large fellow in short tights ran past us going down the trail.
Just when you think you've found the most beautiful place on earth, there's always a man running by in short tights to prove you wrong.
No comments:
Post a Comment