One of the great aspects of travel in Italy is how accessible the many wonderful towns and cities are--both geographically, and financially due to the relatively cheap cost of train tickets. We appreciated these factors several times during our honeymoon, and the morning of July 30th was one of them. We awoke in Vernazza, ate brioche and coffee for breakfast, then packed for the day with plans to see the world-famous Leaning Tower of Pisa!
At the train station we purchased tickets for Pisa Centrale, via the city of La Spezia to the south of us. We departed Vernazza at 12:45pm, and arrived in Pisa at 2:30--what an easy trip!
ABOVE: Niccola Pisano, namesake of the city of Pisa
At the Pisa station, we lingered just long enough for me to glance at a city map. The route to the Leaning Tower was direct straight through Pisa from the station, so we set out through the city.
After crossing a muddy-looking river that ran through the center of town, we stopped only to buy some pizza for lunch on our trek, carrying it with us on the go. Our jaunt took maybe fifteen minutes from the station before we found ourselves at the Piazza del Duomo, where the Tower was located.
ABOVE: The muddy river
(aka The Arno, or "The most important river of central Italy beside the Tiber")
There it was! The Tower was almost surreal to behold after seeing only photos or drawings of it throughout our lives, but it was amazing to see it standing there, sunken into the ground with its too-extreme-to-still-be-standing lean.
ABOVE: The gated entrance to the Piazza, with the Leaning Tower, and Cathedral behind it.
Tourists of course were everywhere gawking in similar fashion to us, and we were objectively annoyed by nearly EVERYONE’S insistence on capturing the cliché “holding up the Tower” pose. We opted instead for a more original—but still goofy—photo op: Eating pizza in front of Pisa. Get it?
ABOVE: Visual pun. Get it? GET IT?!
The Tower is actually what’s called the campanile, or bell tower, of the Piazza del Duomo. The Piazza itself was quite a large area, comprised of a giant town square with the Cathedral, Tower, and Baptistry.
ABOVE: Cathedral & Tower
ABOVE: Baptistry
The Tower is 184 feet high, and the lean we saw was actually improved from its worst state a couple decades ago. The lean used to be 5.5 degrees, though it’s now only 4. Still, that means that the tip of the Tower is displaced nearly 13 FEET from where it should be if the structure were perfectly vertical. Wowsers.
ABOVE: The sunken base of the Tower. Crazy.
Annie and I also thought the Baptistry had a slight sinking angle to it, but there were no signs indicating such and a later hunt online for validation proved fruitless. We didn’t enter the Tower, Cathedral or Baptistry, because all three structures charged for tickets separately. We appreciated their beauty and uniqueness plenty from the outside, and enjoyed the sun in the Piazza for a while before we set out to retrace our path to the train station—of course stopping on the way to buy Annie some more gelato.
The train rides back to Vernazza were hot with little air circulation in the cabins, so I in particular was craving a cold beer upon our return. We bought some Brie and bread at the local market, broke out a couple beers, and enjoyed our late-afternoon repast along the waterfront.
ABOVE: Italy also boasts beautiful fields of sunflowers, viewed easily from your train window.
Returning “home,” we grabbed relaxing showers before descending waterside again to scope out a dinner location. Annie chose gnocchi al pesto, and I went with lasagna alla bolognese. A delicious carafe of Cinque Terre wine washed it all down.
In the main plaza of town a band began playing, so we bought gelato for Annie and a beer for me before gathering with the crowd to listen. We enjoyed several numbers, finished off our respective desserts, then traipsed home with another satisfying day of Italian adventure under our belts.
On our first morning in Vernazza, we enjoyed a lovely round of instant coffee in the room--our hosts really shouldn’t have spoiled us like that. There was nothing in-room for food unless you like sugar packets, so we ventured out to find a market. We bought a big loaf of bread, chunk of brie, and layers of prosciutto from a nearby vendor, then ate on another boulder along the jetty so we could people-watch.
After breakfast, we decided to tackle the hiking routes. “Cinque Terre” means “five lands” in Italian, and refers to five fishing villages within (relative) walking distance along the Ligurian coastline. The area has long since been discovered as great for hikers--in fact, I hiked these trails as one of many college spring-breakers back in 2003--so the Italian government moved to turn the area into a protected national park. The upside to this is that the trails would be maintained and safer; the downside is that the “park” could now charge people to walk through it.
ABOVE: Our dear Vernazza viewed from the path to Monterosso.
We thus started our hiking day by purchasing two Cinque Terre Treno cards(10€ each, or about $30 total), which allowed us unlimited access to trails and trains for one day in the park. We then ventured toward Monterosso, the northernmost village of the Cinque Terre.
The hike was maybe an hour long, with sporadic shade from the hot sun. We quickly grew glad that we’d brought water bottles with us. The trail wove around the hills along the coastline, offering many scenic overlooks. We encountered several dozen other tourists making the hike, and at least one woman wearing makeup and shoes that had no business on a hiking trail. You know you’re in Italy when the park warnings advise against high heels on the path.
ABOVE: I am noticeably NOT wearing high heels.
When we reached Monterosso, we descended into the village and explored its immediate environs. The beach was loaded with umbrellas and tourists (this was the only village of the Cinque Terre that had a legitimate beach), so we only glanced their way before walking inland. Annie enjoyed her first look at the local churches, which had black & white candy-striped columns, inside and out.
After refilling our water bottles at a conveniently-located fountain, we boarded a train bound for Riomaggiore, the southernmost village of the Cinque Terre. Unfortunately, we encountered some type of park enforcement official on the train, who hassled and ticketed us because we didn’t stamp our train card as well as our park card. It was only a 5€ fine, but it sat ill with us on principle more than anything.
ABOVE: Riomaggiore's narrow harbor, beautiful buildings, and colorful boats.
Upon our arrival in Riomaggiore, we explored a couple streets and then found our way to this village’s beach--if you could call it that. The “beach” was reached by narrow walkway around the bend from the village’s harbor, and it was covered with rocks and boulders of various sizes. These rocks, in turn, were covered with Italians and tourists, so we balked at the opportunity to fight through the crowds for water access.
ABOVE: Beach?
Instead, we found the park trail out of Riomaggiore: this section that led toward Manarola was the most tourist-friendly, and was dubbed the “Via del Amore” (Lover’s Lane). It was easy going, and we stopped along the way when we found steps leading down to the water at an area that wasn’t crowded. This was our first time swimming in the ocean since Greece, and it was great! We were burning up, and the Ligurian Sea was cold, so it felt very refreshing.
ABOVE: Annie, graceful and elegant.
After drying out for a short while, we climbed back up to the Lover's Lane and hiked to Manarola, which was a pretty, if somewhat narrow, fishing village. The village offered lots of rocky areas for sunbathing and cliff jumping. The hiking path from here to Corniglia was blocked, and we learned why when we walked around the bend and saw a landslide that had taken out the path.
ABOVE: The "Lovers" Bench along the Lane--where Annie & I obscure our disgust for PDA.
With the hiking option nixed by Mother Nature, we took a train from Manarola to Corniglia, and ascended the 380+ steps to the small town at the highest altitude of the five villages.
ABOVE: Lots of steps. Anyone have a Sherpa?
There was not too much to explore aside from a few narrow streets and a lovely view of the other villages, so we spent maybe twenty minutes in Corniglia, then retraced our route back down to the train station. We were blistered from our sandals, overheated from the day, and hungry, so we caught a train back to Vernazza rather than make the hike.
ABOVE: View of Manarola from our perch atop Corniglia.
We showered off the sea grime and dirt, dressed, then set out for a harbor side restaurant. Annie ordered for us: marinated mussels appetizer, prawn macaroni for her, trofie de pesto (the local specialty) for me, and a bottle of house wine to wash it down: 60€ total. We agreed, though, that with the cost came the quality. It was the best meal we'd eaten since Germany.
After dining, we walked back up through town, where a band was cranking up some tunes in a small nook along the main path. Their chosen venue was a small courtyard, and we pitied any families or tourists in the rooms above who were hoping for an early night's sleep. We bought gelato to enjoy along with the music: limone for Annie, mint chocolate for me. We watched the band play a few numbers, savored our dessert, then retired for the night.
We rose early, packed, ate our last express breakfast, and checked out (the night we mistakenly neglected to show for was the most expensive of the three). It seems like no matter how early we rise, and how much we prep to get places with plenty of time, we still have to rush. Case in point: With our heavy packs, we had to race-walk the fifteen minutes back to the Nice Ville station so we could catch our first of four trains to our ultimate destination of Vernazza, Italy. I should also mention that here, on our travel day, we finally had clear, sunny weather with which to enjoy the beach. Figured.
After our bag-laden rush/waddle, we made the first train with just over a minute to spare. This one took us to Ventimiglia on the French/Italian border, where we boarded a second train to Genova, the large port city on the NW coast of Italy. From there, we had to negotiate the Trenitalia kiosks in order to purchase connections to Vernazza via Levanto, a small village just north of the Cinque Terre National Park.
We caught our remaining two trains without incident, and arrived in Vernazza at 3:30pm. I called our lodging owner, and she sent her husband to meet us at the train platform and escort us to our room. It was private and off the main drag in Vernazza, which greatly limited the noise from passing trains. I mean that as a compliment: Vernazza is so small that the entire village hears when a train passes--you can even hear one from the water’s edge on a quiet day.
Above: PRECISELY the comforter I would've picked for this room.
We dropped off our luggage and quickly changed into swimsuits, then walked down the main drag toward the tiny harbor. The village was PACKED with tourists and day-trippers laying out on the sand, the rocks, the jetty walls--wherever they could find space.
Above: View of harbor & jetty from main plaza in town. Dozens of sunbathers in background.
We walked along the jetty wall, then scaled over some rocks to find a boulder large and flat enough for us to lay on. We had an unobstructed view of the Ligurian Sea, of a few yachts moored off shore, and of the ferry that occasionally arrived to pick up or drop off the day-trippers.
By around 5pm we were starving, so I moseyed back into town for some bread, Brie and beer--our staple afternoon snack. We ate it on our trusty boulder, using Mr. Hale's Swiss Army knife to cut the cheese, and using the boulder edge to open the beer.
Above: The SERIOUSLY wind-blown look.
We lazed away the afternoon, until after 7pm when it was time for dinner. We were craving seafood, so we found a place in town where we got a calamari appetizer, then we split two entrees of trofie de pesto (Cinque Terre is revered for its pesto dishes, I'm told) and seafood pasta. The former dish was composed of noodles about the length and thickness of earthworms--though they tasted MUCH better. The latter dish was spaghetti with mussels, clams, and a prawn in olive oil and basil. Good stuff.
We topped dinner off with some nearby gelato: limone for Annie, pistachio for me. Cones in hand, we wandered back to the edge of town to admire the last bit of sunset, though the wind off the ocean was too chilling for Annie. We shortly returned home to crash early, enjoying our first evening in Cinque Terre.
On our first morning in Nice, we traipsed downstairs for a 3€/person "Express Breakfast.” It consisted of a cup of coffee and two croissants. While dining on our expansive repast, we discussed our plan for the day. I was mostly certain that trains ran frequently from Nice to Monte Carlo (the capital city of Monaco), which was less than an hour away from us. We planned to spend the day there, exploring what we could. The skies were still very overcast, but we hoped the rain would hold out for our venture.
The trains indeed ran frequently to and from Monte Carlo, so we didn’t have to wait long at the station. The train’s route took us along the famous Cote d’Azur (Azure Coast), and the tracks mainly paralleled the coastline. The view would have been much more beautiful in sunny weather, but it was still a pleasant ride despite the occasional rain showers we’d begun to travel through.
When we arrived at Monte Carlo, the skies had fully opened up. We debated powering through the downpour, but there was nowhere specific we wanted to be and we didn’t know if there would be much shelter once we arrived at our unknown destination, so we killed some time exploring the--very nice--train station.
The entire principality of Monaco is only ¾ of a square mile in area, making it the second smallest country in the world behind the Vatican. The train station at Monte Carlo serves the entire country, per se, so it was understandably well tended. We actually discovered two or three underground pathways with moving sidewalks that transported commuters from the station to one of three different wards in the country.
We chose tunnel number one, which transported us southwest in the general direction of La Condamine, where I vaguely remembered from a trip I took here with my college friends Andrew and Rob back in Spring 2003. The rain let up as Annie and I exited the tunnel, so we quickly hunted a café for lunch. We ordered pizza and a plate of cheeses, with a Heineken and panaché (beer & lemonade, what we saw as a "Radler" in Germany) to wash it down.
After lunch, we ascended a long staircase that topped a rock promontory overlooking the harbor. Somewhere at the top was the Palace Princier(Prince’s Palace). I’d been up those very steps with my friends, so began to feel comfortable with my bearings of the city.
The top afforded great views over the harbors of Monte Carlo, and the Prince’s Palace was very easy to find: There were two guards marching back and forth in front of the gate.
We walked around this small hill with its narrow streets, and everything was noticeably very clean. Around a bend we found the city’s Oceanographic Museum, then looped back and descended to the harbor level. Navigating our way through the circuitous streets, we found the water and gawked at yachts of many different sizes moored there.
Above: "I'll take one of each, please."
A boardwalk led us around the harbor to the other side, where I knew a casino stood. We made our way back uphill on this other side, past many high-end designer stores, to the main casino that shared space with an opera house.
We would've had to pay 10€ each just to enter the casino, so we turned around and found a cheaper place two doors down that had every manner of slot and poker machine you could imagine. I encouraged Annie to try her luck on a slot machine. We spent 5€, and she actually made back 6€ before I encouraged her to keep spinning and we lost it all. No matter--we have dozens of dollars more where that came from.
Exiting into a slight drizzle, we navigated our way through the streets as best as possible toward the closest train station entrance, then caught a train back to Nice. There may really be more to Monte Carlo, but unless you’ve got major cash to blow or arrive on a Formula-One race weekend, your options are limited.
Above: Speed Racer posing with kids.
On our arrival back in Nice, the sky still threatened rain, but it was our last day in Nice and Annie hadn't seen any of it. We walked from the station southeast along the main drag where the Carnival parade floats drive, until we hit a pedestrian promenade that led into the Old Town district. This area was comprised of narrow, mostly pedestrian alleys, shops and apartments, each building a different color, with slatted shutters and clothes hanging from lines outside the windows.
We followed the occasional sign directing us to the Chateau, which was the old castle atop Nice's main hilltop, majestically overlooking the city. I had several flashbacks to my college trip with Drew and Rob, particularly as we located a small waterfall on the hilltop, and then at the main "Panorama"--the postcard view from the top where the chateau once stood.
Above: 2003 versions of Andrew and me. So many moons ago.
Annie and I admired the clear blue water, the rooftops of Nice, and a multi-colored church dome in the near distance, then tried to find a more direct way down on the path to our hotel.
Above: I have MUCH prettier company this time!
On the way we found the Tour Belladonna (Tour means Tower in Italian), which had a staircase descending to street level.
Deciding to try a different path home from the beach boardwalk we’d walked yesterday, we turned down the first inland block onto a pedestrian-only promenade lined with bars, cafés, restaurants, and street vendors. Despite all odds, I found myself shocked to find Les 3 Diables (The Three Devils), a bar that we’d haunted on one great night back in 2003. I felt obligated to stop for a beer, for old time's sake, and Annie humored me (what a doll!). I drank a blonde ale and ordered a hefeweissen for Annie, then we walked home to do laundry.
We moved quickly because the laundromat closed at 9, but we were excited to get our last round of laundry done in Europe! We returned to the hotel to quickly hang/fold, then jetted back out for a late dinner. A low-key pasta joint attracted us, so Annie satisfied her jones for gnocchi and cheese. I had penne arrabiata, and we split a 1/3 liter of red wine. After dining, we walked home to do cursory packing for our morning departure to Cinque Terre, Italy. Alas! Our last night in France…
We woke at 7am, packed, checked out, and took the metro to Gare de Lyon expecting to make the 8:45am train to Nice. Having had to sprint multiple times on our honeymoon in order to make trains and flights, we figured the extra time allowed would be plenty.
We figured wrong. Poorly marked signage at the station and short-staffed ticket offices made us miss our train (by maybe five minutes), so we got tickets for the 9:45. For a mere 240€ (~$360…holy crap), we secured our six-hour train trip to Nice. We then grabbed some breakfast and waited.
The train trip was uneventful, and the views of the French countryside, while pretty, weren’t overwhelming. I’d allowed myself to believe we’d pass through vineyards, lavender fields, and picture-perfect villages on our way south, but my expectations exceeded the reality.
We arrived at Nice to overcast skies, and walked ~15 minutes to the Hotel de la Fontaine, which was just one block's walk from the beach. We checked in, dropped our luggage, and then went out in search of food and the beach.
Above: View from our window.
Our hotel was one block off the beach boardwalk, so we quickly got our bearings and found some paninis for lunch, then descended onto Nice’s rocky beach to eat.
We watched a few parasailers, then sat for a while catnapping, though the wind and mild overcast made the beach pretty cold.
Above: "BRRrrrr! I love the beach!"
The beach outing was short-lived, so we walked back to the hotel after stopping for snacks. This became our early dinner, because we both got so tired that we crashed before heading out for a proper meal. We slept over 12 hours, and apparently needed it. I reckon all the traveling is catching up to us.
After breakfast, we rode the metro to the Cité stop on the island to start our last day in Paris off with a bang. We intended to knock out three big sights today: the Sainte Chapelle, the Pantheon, and the towers of Notre Dame. Our handy Museum Passes got us “free” access to all three, though I was disappointed to learn that we still had to wait in line, despite the Pass advertisements claiming we could avoid all queues. Fiddlesticks!
Le Sainte-Chapelle, or “The Holy Chapel,” was commissioned by King Louis IX of France to house his collection of relics from the Passion of Christ, including (allegedly) the Crown of Thorns. It contains, as we read, one of the most extensive “in-situ” collections of 13th century stained glass in the world.
The building’s exterior definitely looked Gothic: several spires stabbed up into the sky, and the chapel’s primary tower could be seen from both sides of the river. As we approached, we could tell that the stained glass windows would be really impressive.
We entered through a lower floor, which was cozy with smaller stained glass—and a gift shop, of course. We quickly found the stairs to the main chapel, and found ourselves in awe of the windows. The whole room felt alive with color, as the fifteen windows (approximately 30 feet high) depicted major events in the Old and New Testaments in beautiful primary colors.
A placard indicated that the windows were meant to be read counter-clockwise, so we spent some time trying to decipher each window’s events. This was a way medieval Christians learned the Bible, being illiterate. I tell you what: I’m grateful for my literacy, because I could barely understand a single scene on those windows. They sure were lovely, though.
Our primary reason for visiting, however, resulted in disappointment. We were under the impression that the relics of the Passion were still housed in the chapel, in a beautiful silver reliquary. I’d read that, in addition to the Crown of Thorns, the reliquary housed a piece of the Cross, and the Holy Lance.
Above: Empty altar where the silver Passion Relics reliquary once stood.
Unfortunately, the French Revolution screwed everything. The reliquary was melted down, the steeple and baldachin removed, and the relics “dispersed,” whatever that means. What few survived (including, we read, the Crown) are now kept in the Treasury at Notre Dame, unavailable for view.
From the Sainte Chapelle, we crossed to the left bank of the river, and walked south to the Pantheon in the Latin Quarter. Originally dedicated as a church to St. Genevieve, the Pantheon now functions as a mausoleum for distinguished French citizens.
It was a deceptively large building, which we realized upon entering. The main floor contained various statues, as well as a cool instrument/monument to physicist Leon Foucault, who somehow demonstrated Earth’s rotation with a 67-meter pendulum hanging from the dome.
Above: Foucault's Pendulum
We descended into the Crypt of the Pantheon, which first boasted--on opposite sides of the main aisle--the tombs of philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and writer Voltaire(aka Francois-Marie Arouet).
Further back in the necropolis, we located small rooms that were built to hold 6-8 tombs each. In one of these, we located famous authors Victor Hugo (Les Miserables, The Hunchback of Notre Dame), Alexander Dumas (The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers), and Emile Zola (The Masterpiece, Germinal).
In another, we saw the tomb for Nobel winner Marie Curie, and patron of the blind Louis Braille (and yes, his tomb was also identified in Braille).
After ascending and exiting, we snacked on some baguette on the Pantheon steps, then walked back across the river to Notre Dame and got in line for the Tower. We were told to expect over an hour wait, so while Annie stood in line I scoped out a hot dog and coke for us to split while we stood.
Above: Notre Dame drain spouts, viewed from line.
We are veteran line waiters, so having food, drink, and shade darn near spoiled us. We gained entrance around one hour later, and began our climb to the top. The employees had visits down to a near science; twenty or so people were allowed admission every fifteen minutes, and upon entry your time at various stages of the climb and view was managed.
Regardless, once we reached the tower terrace, we were afforded GREAT views of Paris. We could see Sacre Coeur off to our right, the river trailing off into the distance from the foot of the cathedral, and the Eiffel Tower off to the west.
The main reason people climb the tower, I think, is for the postcard view of the gargoyles. I didn’t know they were all different shapes and sizes. Each one was unique, and quite photogenic. A couple reminded me of girls I once dated.
Above: Check out the curves of that hot one on the left!
Lastly, we climbed into one of the bell towers to see its medieval bell. It was huge--but we caught no sign of Quasimodo, unfortunately.
After ogling the killer view long enough, we took the metro home to our hotel, and were quickly informed by our concierge that WE WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE CHECKED OUT TODAY. That’s right; I somehow completely overlooked the fact that we were scheduled to depart Paris today, and were booked in Nice tonight.
Despite the major screw up, we salvaged it as best as possible: our Paris hotel was okay with us staying over, so we just had to eat the cost of this night in Nice.
Since this last night in Paris was proving expensive, we decided to just blow it out: We went to Louis Vuitton. Now, anyone who knows me, knows how much I hate malls and shopping, so I hope it’s a testament to how much I love my wife that I not only went to this fashion palace, but even waited in line to do so. That marked the first time either of us EVER waited in line to enter a store; the fifteen-minute wait was embarrassing, but was (somewhat) explained by the fact this was the “original” Louis Vuitton store. There were passing women--and effeminate men--snapping photos of the store or posing in front of it, so I guess this was a tourist site on the fashionista’s itinerary.
Anyway, we originally went with the intention of finding a new purse for my mom, but she balked once she heard the new style didn’t match her preference, and the price had risen considerably since her last purchase. Such rising prices didn’t deter Annie, though! We couldn’t possibly leave LV without buying SOMETHING.
We bought Annie a purse. Hooray!
From this expensive, heartbreaking store on the Champs, we returned Annie’s new bag to our room, buying me a beer en route--which was MUCH needed! We then made our way south to the Eiffel Tower, which lit up at 9:30. FYI, the tower also bursts with “sparkling” lights for five minutes on each hour, so we wanted to see/photograph the sparkling on our last night in Paris.
We just missed the 10pm sparkling, having turned the corner just in time to watch the lights go out. The 55-minute wait gave us the opportunity to scope out the best vantage point for a comfortable view of the 11pm sparkling. I prepared our primary camera, while Annie prepared to capture some video footage on the waterproof camera Christy gave us.
When the sparkling recommenced, the Tower looked wonderful. We both agreed that it was a beautiful addition to an already-photogenic attraction, and became a great way for us to spend our last night in Paris.
As we watched the Tower, and its reflection in a fountain pool beneath us, we overheard a woman nearby (also, presumably, on her last night in town) begin crying and saying goodbye to the tower. “Adios, Eiffel Tower,” she cried, “I will miss you! Adios!”
Check out the video Annie artfully shot (albeit sideways; I'll try to fix later):
On our way home, we bought a chocolate crêpe, and bought me another beer. Ah, Paris!
