Squeezed between rugged hills which plunge into the Mediterranean, Manarola is one of five villages in the Cinque Terre National Park. The topography has prevented the construction of a road up this stretch of the Italian Riviera, but somehow it has not stopped the local communes from planting every available non-vertical cliff face with terraced vineyards, vegetable patches and olive groves. A railway passes through each village – quite literally. The line only briefly emerges from the earth at the stations and the occasional gully.
On this clear, calm early morning, our pension rumbles gently as the trains pass beneath us. The main street, usually full of villagers and wandering tourists is deserted. We leave the town and set off along the Cinque Terre walking trail. Still we pass no-one. Have we broken some rule? Where are the crowds of walkers we have heard about? Just when we think we must have entered the park illegally we pass another walker, obviously also keen to avoid the rush. He passes us without a word, with his fingers firmly inserted in his ears. Must be French, we mutter.
We continue on, walkers outnumbered by cats sunning themselves in the early morning light.
We stop at Corniglia for breakfast, then on to Vernazza before the final leg through to Monterosso, and only then do we encounter crowds not too dissimilar to the Abel Tasman coastal track. The difference being that sections of the Cinque Terre trail are very narrow – a stone wall on one side and a precipitous drop to a vineyard or wave-tossed rocks on the other. As we step aside to allow others to pass we get a “Buon giorno!”, a “Grazie!”, or an indifferent silence from some. “You’re welcome!” Shirls calls. Must be French, we mutter.
Lunch and the obligatory gelato at Monterosso is followed by a comparatively quick train trip back to Manarola through the tunnels.
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