Cinque Terre: a postcard from the lost world

It’s our first spring in 18 months and we can’t get enough of the Cinque Terre; its vividly coloured villages, sparkling beaches, warm Italian sun and hillsides splashed with red poppies, purple orchids and white narcissus.

Centuries ago, the steep hills of the Cinque Terre were terraced with dry-stone walls and planted with vines. The inhabitants of its five villages farmed the land, fished the seas and made wine. But poverty, war and the lure of the city led to the abandonment of many of the hillside plots. The stabilising stone walls fell into disrepair and devastating landslides became more common. In response, the Cinque Terre National Park was created to restore and protect the natural and cultural heritage of this achingly beautiful coastal area. 

We plan to walk for four days; two days on the Cinque Terre’s high route (the Sentiero Rosso), one day on the coastal route, and one day further north, in the wilder Portofino Natural Park. 

Climbing up through fragrant pine forests, we glance back on terraces of vineyards, olives and lemon groves. The vistas of snow-capped mountains and the mist caught in the bays of the Cinque Terre create a magical landscape. Wild asparagus, oregano and roquet grow in abundance. Higher up, there’s heather and broom and strawberry trees. Emerald green lizards dart across the track and a woodpecker scoots along in front of us. We walk up to the 11th-century Madonna di Montenero monastery. From its headland, we take in the infinite, cerulean blue sea. The last glow of the sun lights up the pink and yellow ochre houses of Manarola as we enjoy a glass of wine as dry and aromatic as the terroir.

We walk the Via dell’Amore (the Way of Love), which winds along the rock-face overhanging the sea between the villages of Riomaggiore and Manarola. It’s the most romantic and most walked stretch of the Cinque Terre. Legend has it that after it opened, the path became a meeting place for lovers from the two, previously separated, villages. Its handrails are covered in engraved locks, left there by modern-day lovers to symbolise the eternal intertwining of their hearts. The spectacular view of cliffs, villages and sea takes our breath away. 

Heading north from Manarola on the coastal route, there’s a festive feel in the air. We discover it’s Independence Day. There’s a steady stream of animated Italians on the trail, flashing silver sneakers and gold jewellery. Nonnas and small grandchildren slip away from the hustle to gather wild herbs in the hills. We sit down at a bar in Vernazza and receive a gift of a glass of wine accompanied by sausage and bread made in the same village as the wine. The promoter of the village’s products speaks English with a strong Scottish brogue. He tells us that his grandfather, a resistance fighter, would turn in his grave if he could hear this year’s Independence Day speech given by the fascist prime minister, Berlusconi. Ah, he sighs, the beautiful and chaotic tragedy of Italy. 

Our last day is spent walking around the rugged, still forested, Portofino promontory. Spring’s exuberance is dampened by a deluge. We shelter in the lee of a WWII German bunker and devour the best panettone we’ve ever eaten, still warm when we bought it from the village bakery earlier this morning.

The terrain is challenging. In one section we have to use chains to safeguard against falling from the steep, slippery rocks into the abyss hundreds of metres below. 

Eventually, the mist clears and we can see back along the lush, mountainous coastline to Camogli. To the southeast, there’s a high rocky headland with a 16^th century stone tower, built for defence against raiders from North Africa. We walk down through majestic cypress pines to the isolated settlement of San Fruttuoso, reachable only on foot or by boat. There’s nobody here today but for us.

We explore the picturesque cove and its 11th century stone abbey before continuing up into the wild cliff tops above Punta Carega and around the coast to Portofino. Its half-mooned shaped harbour and fauvist inspired buildings spilling magenta, yellow and orange down the steep hills are, like the five Cinque Terre villages, a balm after a long, grey English winter. 

Cinque Terre, Italy

April 2009

Postcards from the Lost World are from places we roamed before borders closed and overseas travel ceased. As we sit out the long interlude between journeys, we reimagine past wanderings and dream of a time before this time began.

Other postcards from the lost world: Gotland, Achill Island, Jodhpur and Istanbul.