Lazing About on the Italian Riviera

The summer heatwave continued as we left Rome and headed for the Italian coast. The bus ride from the hills took us down disturbingly treacherous winding roads, but Ricardo navigated them with ease, causing only an occasional traffic jam with our great big charter coach.

The heat made everyone sleepy, and I could barely keep one eye open on the scenery unfolding out the window as we descended toward the sea. Somehow others were able to sleep soundly on the bus, despite the frightening drop-offs and ramshackle road conditions surrounding us.

Once we disembarked at the train station in Levanto, I learned firsthand the futility of relying on posted train schedules in Italy. Our group amused each other with parlor tricks while we waited, seeing who could whistle loudest, curl their tongue, or bend their fingers into ghastly shapes.

Danger Afoot

The train arrived at last and puttered into the one-street village of Vernazza, the cutest place I’ve ever seen. Dinner was pesto lasagna and fresh anchovies at Il Castello, high above the town atop a nearby hill. We also sampled not one but two local wines: a dry white and a special 36-proof sweet fruity golden wine. I sampled quite a bit of it, actually. So did our entire group.

We noisily staggered back down into town for a walkabout, and later wound up knocking back drinks with Matt, Ragen, and the twin brothers who run Il Pirata, our bar of choice “far” on the outskirts of town. After chatting a while, we wandered back into town (which took all of two minutes, it’s not a big place). We ducked into The Blue Marlin, another bar, for a looksie and a drinksie.

“Respect the locals!” I told everyone, tipsily waggling my finger at them, recalling Rick Steves’ travel guidebook mention of noisy drunken tourists annoying the locals. As being quiet was apparently not one of our options, we wisely decided to walk down to the rocks and the harbor to get away from everyone else. What we did not so wisely decide was to then crawl around barefoot on the sharp rocks, gashing our feet in the process. But the moonlight on the water was absolutely gorgeous.

The next morning, I strolled about town, finding it to be much more alive and busy than I’d seen it the previous evening. Over at the breakwater rocks, I was horrified to see all the blood Kyle’s foot had left on the rocks, after he’d unknowingly injured it the night before. No one else seemed to notice Blood Rock, however, so I kept quiet.

Angie, Kelle, Chris Two and I rented kayaks and went spelunking in the inlet caves west of town. We made it about halfway to the next village, but we were too lazy to go on. Once back in Vernazza, Angie took a nap and I read a book by the beach. Gradually, people returned from their various day trips and we all went for a swim—until two dozen jellyfish showed up. Everyone cleared the water in thirty seconds and then proceeded to discuss jellyfish for the better part of an hour.

Waking the Locals

Our last dinner in Vernazza was more pesto pasta and stuffed mussels at the restaurant down by the water’s edge. I was unable to wake an incredibly lethargic cat who was hanging around, even the smell of our dinner could not rouse him from his slumber in the sun. Our cries of “kitty, kitty!” were met with one eye opening halfway and then a sleepy twitch.

Breakfast before leaving town was at Il Pirata, which I learned transforms from my favorite bar at night into a respectable daytime pastry shop. I bid farewell to the twins and to the rest of town before shuffling back to the train station, sad to be going so soon.