Magic Mountains

Distance Traveled:   55,940 kms (BNE-MEL-SYD-BKK-PKT-BKK-CNX-BKK-PP-SR-BB-PP-HCMC-NC-TH-HA-H-L-MR-AG-SV-TF-AC-LL-ML-CZ-TF-CZ-SV-L-BP-ZG-SP-LJ-VN-PG-SZ-MN-ZR-GV-ML-FC-RM-FG-MN-VC-CT-RM-PDX)

Time Difference: -17 hours (from Brisbane)

Soundtrack: Just random.

Currently Inspired by: Nothing

Stacks: Loads of little ones walking around Cinque Terre, but two main ones coming out of the damn water over sharp rocks, trying not to bash my feet up and falling over spectacularly.  Fortunately falling over in water doesn't hurt too much, at least not physically.  My pride took a bit of an injury!  It was funny because the previous day Laura and I has seen some guy fall over getting out of the water and we sniggered and I said "uh oh, karma is going to get us now."  It would appear that I got Laura's karma, too!
Words written: 89,502.  Still too busy.

Cinque Terre is magical.  If you go to Italy and you don’t go to Cinque Terre, you have missed out on the most mind-smashingly beautiful part of it.  I thought I would be sad to leave Venice because it was so gorgeous, but Cinque Terre made Venice look like a ghetto.  Also, there isn’t too much to do in Venice past a couple of days.  I met some tourists who said they spent six days there and I was thinking “what the hell did you do?” I was starting to get bored after a day and a half.

From Riomaggiore

Cinque Terre, which literally translates to Five Lands, is made up of five tiny little seaside towns on the north west of Italy.  The main town centres are for the most part built down low, nearest to the water, and then above them on the steep mountainous parts are stacked terraces consisting of several miles of ancient retaining walls, where farmers grow olives, grapes and lemons.  The walls were said to have been built by people carrying stones on their backs and heads, and apparently laid end to end are “at least” as long as the Great Wall of China.  And extraordinary feat and one that reminds us that humans are tenacious and versatile creatures, determined to conquer the land they inhabit under any circumstances.

Lovers' tokens on the Via Dell'Amore

Many visitors who visit Cinque Terre take advantage of the hiking trails that run between all of the towns. There is also a train available. The town we stayed in was called Riomaggiore, which is the southern most of the five.  In order heading north are Manarola (30 minutes), Corniglia (60 minutes), Vernazza (90 minutes) and Monterosso (120 minutes), making a total of five hours available trekking over some of the most stunning country in the world.  There is a high trail, which takes about eight hours.  Needless to say we availed ourselves of the “low” one.  The trail between Manarola and Corniglia was still out from the damage caused to it by rains in 2011, so we had to catch the train to Corniglia and hike from there.  It was worth it though, as the pictures hopefully show.  You can click here to see them.

Exhausted from the hike to Vernazza

Something that struck me about Riomaggiore was how at home I felt there so quickly.  It really is the tiniest little place, consisting of really just one small main pedestrian street with low apartment buildings on it and a few houses behind them, and the locals I imagine would be well within their rights to be irritated over the absolute hordes of tourists that descend upon their sweet little home every summer.  However they seem to take it in their stride, and several times I saw groups of older locals sitting on the benches that line the street, watching the crowds in a kind of warmly amused fashion, and nodding at you when they caught your eye.  It doesn’t take long to feel like a local there, probably because it only takes about two seconds to orient yourself.

Of course it wouldn’t be Italy without some serious system issues.  The shower drain in our hotel chose our final night there to shit itself (with no number for 24 hour maintenance of course), you couldn’t breathe in the bathroom without seriously whacking a part of your body against the sink / shower screen / doorknob, or move in the room without kicking a bed or bashing your shin on something, the trains seemed to run on their own kind of fantasy timetable, the train ticket offices didn’t take credit cards or sell intercity tickets, the intercity train ticket machines were all broken on at least three attempts before I managed to get our tickets back to Rome, and I have since discovered that on one of the broken attempts they charged my card erroneously for the tickets, making me pay $120 twice for one lot which I will now have to dispute, the public toilet in Riomaggiore was worse than the worst toilet I saw in Asia (as in, I couldn’t even use it) and, worst of all in my opinion, the damn gelato shop wouldn’t let you try a little spoon of it before buying so I ended up with a nasty apricot thing that I immediately regretted. That’s a crime against dessert, if you ask me.

Beach at Monterosso

Blissful days of hiking, laying on the beach and eating delicious pesto (for which Cinque Terre is famous) have a tendency to pass far too quickly, and it was with equal degrees of speed and sadness that my time in Cinque Terre and thus Italy, drew to a close.  Saying a teary goodbye to mum, who was staying in the area for a few more days, Laura and I clambered aboard the Rome bound train, in separate seats and even separate carriages, because although there were two spare seats in my carriage for the entire trip, the ticket machine had decided that we couldn’t sit together even though I bought both tickets at the same time and it allowed me to choose two seats together (of course).  We had decided to stay out near the airport for our final night to make the next day easier, and as such we were able to go up a little in price, staying at the Marriott.  We practically exploded over the amount of space we had in the room and the gigantic bathroom, and went for a luxurious pool swim and had a delicious dinner to top off the trip.  It was a great end to a great five and a half weeks.

My trip to America was not fun.  The first leg was nine and a half hours to Toronto, which until I just about boarded my connecting flight I thought was Vancouver for some reason, and I had previously determined to stay up for the entire two flights as I was arriving in the US at 7.30pm at night their time which was something like 4.30am my time and I knew I would need to sleep all night to avoid the worst of the jetlag.  The second leg from Toronto was shorter, being only five and a half hours, but was a nightmare of nausea, tiredness headaches, restless legs, claustrophobia (woman in front of me immediately stuck her seat all the way back and my seat was broken so I had to sit up straight), and dirty, smelly, dandruffy teenage boy hair from the kid sitting next to me who kept falling asleep and lying all over me.  No matter how many times I shoved him back up with my elbow, he’d apologise, fall asleep again and then loll over onto me within a few seconds.  For FIVE FUCKING HOURS.  I could have cried when we touched down.  I seriously wanted to kiss the tarmac.

Portland (not my pic)

In Portland I am staying with some friends of my dad (and now of mine I suppose!) Chris and Susan, who from now shall be referred to as The Nicest People In The World.  TNPITW picked me up from the airport and basically haven’t stopped taking care of me since.  Having been self sufficient for so long (and not just for this trip!) I am having difficulty accepting any kind of assistance, let alone such lavish and solicitous kindness, but no doubt by the end of my time here I shall be completely spoilt rotten and have trouble adjusting back to being on my own.

Portland is just gorgeous.  It’s not a huge city, but it’s modern and clean, cleverly set out and easy to navigate.  It is incredibly green, with the sheer profusion of trees turning even rather ordinary suburban streets into dreamy avenues.  The shabbiest house on the street would still have the most beautiful front garden, full of daisies and a variety of brightly coloured roses and other blooms that smell heavenly.  There are millions of fabulous two storey timber homes which are a soothing and pleasant sight to my concrete-sore eyes, big yards, plenty of dogs and big wide and flat footpaths for easy walking.  I am constantly amazed by the lack of people around. I went for a one and a half hour walk this morning and saw two people.  Two!  

Susan feeding Max his broccoli

On my first day here, TNPITW took me for an orienting drive and a bit of a shop and a walk, on which I discovered Whole Foods, which has to be the best grocery store I’ve ever seen and is my new favourite place.  I also had my first TexMex meal and tried mole sauce, a really interesting smoky, spicy dark sauce which I ate on fish, a mistake I think as it certainly seems to be for meat (which of course I no longer eat).  Still, it was good and I was glad I tried it.  Our dishes were a decent size, but no bigger than a plate you would get at say, Montezumas in Australia.  I don’t know what all that American portion size hysteria is about.  On our drive through one of the loveliest neighbourhoods I think I’ve ever seen, we just stopped and just dropped in on a couple of houses belonging to friends of TNPITW, who came a very close second in the Nicest People award category and invited us in for a drink and a chat.  No texting or calling first to arrange the visit, just turning up and knocking on the door, and then instant warmth and hospitality.  It felt really old fashioned and friendly, and I began to look for the cameras mounted on street signs because it honestly felt like someone had plucked me out of Europe and plonked me straight down in some Hollywood film about this eerily ideal American suburbia.  They don’t even lock their front door when they walk their schnauzer, Max, an almost human character who sits there begging for my breakfast fruit and goes mad over broccoli.  It’s like the fifties here!  I don’t have any pics of Portland yet but soon I will have more than I know what to do with.

Tomorrow is my last “free” day before the barbershop convention starts, and I have to get some more clothes, as everything I own is either travel stained, ripped, too casual or too big, some shoes, cosmetics, a pedicure, a wax and an American cell phone as this is the country where I am staying for the next two and a half months before I come home and I need to feel human again.  When you travel who become this wholly practical creature, wearing the same shorts and t-shirts and hiking sandals over and over, chucking your hair back into a ponytail, not wearing a scrap of makeup or perfume or worrying about your appearance in the slightest.  I am very much looking forward to feeling like a woman again!  Now I just need the Commonwealth Bank to stop stopping my damn credit card.  How many times do you think I have to tell them I’m overseas for a year?  I bet it’s run by Italians.

Til Next We Speak

*LOVE*

N