Today was largely a travel day, with one three-hour train ride to the Cinque Terre (Five Lands), a collection of wonderful little villages on the coast of Italy.
On our walk back to Milano Centrale, we stopped by a bank to use the ATM (bancomat). This was our first time ever using a foreign ATM, so the whole time we had our fingers crossed that we wouldn’t run into an issue. All went well and while we got enough cash to last the rest of the trip, we were surprised to get a pair of 50s in the mix. Hopefully, one of our hotels can break them for us.
We stopped at a cafe in the station and grabbed a muffin (muffin in Italian is muffin) and a couple of frolles (like donuts with apples inside) for the rails. We’re getting to be old hands at train travel by this point, so all was going pretty smoothly.
That is until it was time to board. Talk about a fiasco! First of all, the cars were ordered in reverse. Usually, the higher the number, the further down the platform you go. But this time the higher numbered cars were closer. Second, every car had a big #2 on the side. The actual number was on a little tiny sign stuck behind the door window.
Because of this, dozens people got on the wrong car and either got in the wrong seat, or couldn’t find their seats. This was especially for challenging for all the Asian tourists who didn’t speak much English or Italian. Our car was chock full of confused people blocking the aisles. It took me forever to get through and make it to our seats.
Marsha had just managed to squeeze through before I got stuck, but was having trouble getting her suitcase into the overhead. Fortunately, she got some help from a fellow passenger, a semi-retired Argentinian professor who was traveling Europe with his wife.
Eventually, people figured out where they were supposed to be and I finally made it to my seat. Because of the seating assignments I’ve mentioned previously, Marsha and I were supposed to sit across from each other, with a table in between. But so were the Argentinian couple, so we just swapped so that both couples could sit side-by-side.
I’d planned to get caught up on my blog (why I’m so far behind), but we enjoyed their company so much we spent the whole three hours talking about children, grandchildren, and most especially, travel! They’d just returned from Istanbul and were now touring more of Italy. Once again, we compared notes about where we were going and where we’d been. They also told us all about Argentina and showed us some incredible places to visit. Have to say, it’s definitely on our list now.
The other tricky thing about this train ride was finding our stop. Normally, there’s a video screen and/or announcements (in English and Italian) telling which station you’re approaching. But this train had nothing. And for some reason, the GPS on my phone wasn’t getting a signal. And from where we were sitting, we couldn’t see any of the station signs until after we left.
Luckily, our companions could. Plus, they were getting off exactly one stop before us. After they disembarked, my GPS started working again. And I’d watched the time, so I was reasonably certain that we were at the right station when we hopped off in Monterosso al Mare.
Our train misadventures for the day continued when the platform (and even the stairs) was so full of people we could barely get out. Had no idea why there was so many people everywhere, but it was all we could do to shove our way through and find our way downstairs and out of the station.
Once we made it to the street, we found ourselves in yet another paradise! We were right on the beach, which though small, was full of sunbathers, swimmers, umbrellas, and little cabanas. And cafes. Lots of cafes.
The hike to the hotel was mostly flat and easy-going except for all the pedestrians (still, nothing like the station) and the occasional taxi. Here again, you think there’s no cars here until one comes honking behind you.
All was good until we reached the driveway (which looked more like a path) to our hotel, the Royal Victoria. To say there was a slight incline would be a gross understatement. It just kept going up and up and up. And it curves around the side of the mountain. And just when you think you’ve reached the peak, it keeps going up some more.
And it was still hot. Not as hot as it had been, but still hot nonetheless.
We’d made it up about a quarter of the way, dragging our suitcases, and were starting to slow down. I suggested that we stop for a minute and Marsha readily agreed. At this point, we still didn’t know just how bad the climb was.
Fortunately, some fellow hotel guests were right behind us and one of them helpfully informed us that, back down at the bottom of the hill, there’s an intercom to call the front desk. They’ll send a shuttle down to get you. He even went back down with us and made the call himself. This man is a Saint!
Marsha and I figured the van must be coming via some back route, and kept looking back towards town for the van. But instead, a little tiny van came flying (and honking) down the twisting driveway. Our wonderful driver (who spoke little English) grabbed our bags and drove us back up. I worried he wouldn’t have enough speed to make it as he honked and slowed down for the pedestrians, but he did. And he carried our bags up to the lobby. Another Saint!
Our room is tiny, but slightly bigger than the one on Lake Como. We’re on the third floor and have a huge balcony (which I’m convinced is bigger than our actual room) overlooking the Ligurian Sea. And let me tell you that once again, the view is absolutely breathtaking!
Monaco and France (Canne, Nice) are directly across from us on the other side, but there’s no sign of land whatsoever. Thought we might at least get a glimpse, but no such luck. The Ligurian is much bigger than I expected.
After we got settled and relaxed a while on our ginormous balcony (did I mention the view is incredible?), it was time to head out for some dinner. The places closest to our hotel (including the restaurant in our hotel), seemed a little dressy. We found something more casual down by the beach with tables overlooking the water. The food wasn’t the best (Marsha didn’t even like the dessert) and our server was nonexistent. Which was a shame, because the server who’s section was next to use was working like a Trojan. Wish we’d gotten her instead.
I needed some change for the tip. Usually, service is included in Italy, but not always. And when you do tip, you have to do it in cash. I’d been trying to figure out how to ask for change in Italian, so I went to the bar to change a five. I’d gotten the verb wrong, but the bartender was nice enough to correct me. So when I try break one of my 50s, I’ll be better prepared. It’s a learning experience.
After dinner, Marsha got some gelato (again, not great, but better than our dessert) and we made the moonlit hike back up to the hotel. Much easier without luggage!
We spent the evening sitting on the balcony, listening to a band down on the beach. They played both Italian songs (none of which I recognized) and popular American songs, alternating the lyrics in both Italian and English. It was just like being in Epcot. Except the view was a whole lot better!
Ciao!
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