8/6: London to...(eventually)...Home

Today was our big day to “jump the pond” back home—that’s a shameless plug for AT & David’s blog about their time in Europe, found HERE. We awoke at 5am, deflated and packed up our hosts’ air mattress, then composed ourselves for the 5:30 car ride to Heathrow. We thought we’d successfully avoided any disturbing noise, but nevertheless both David and AT awoke to bid us goodbye. They were great hosts—if any of our mutual friends are reading this, know that you can totally mooch from them at any date and hour of the day.

ABOVE: How could you NOT take advantage of those faces?

Upon our arrival at Heathrow, the complications began. Passing through Customs proved slightly problematic, with us having to explain the purpose of our 12 hour layover at an unspecified location. After passing through security and checking in, we were singled out for another bag search (again, likely due to our layover). No matter—our 7:50 flight was delayed 50 minutes with no apology or explanation.

We were relieved once we finally boarded, taxied, and lifted off. We had an eight hour, fifteen minute flight with which to doze, to decompress, and to prepare ourselves for American life once more. Many of those moments, however, were undermined by surly stewardesses who’d apparently left their customer service back in London. One particularly ill-informed flight attendant improperly insisted that we fill out separate Customs Declaration forms. The short version is that we were married, but Annie hadn’t obviously changed her name before our honeymoon departure, so this stewardess said we couldn’t legally declare together. As a result, we declared our purchased belongings on separate forms—which was bad. More on that momentarily.

We landed very late in Chicago, which resulted in horribly long lines at Passport Control with other international flights that had arrived at the same time. I’d guess that line was at least an hour long, and by the time we reached the desk our connecting flight had already departed. From Passport Control we moved on to Customs, where our separate Declaration forms raised suspicion with the Customs official, who required us to show him receipts for all our purchases (the cuckoo clock, Annie’s purse and wallet, etc.) and explain why we’d declared so much when we had so little to show for it. Twenty minutes later, we finally helped him realize that the flight attendant instructing us was a mental lightweight, and we were allowed to pass after repacking all of our luggage.

ABOVE: The origins of madness.

At the first ticket desk we reached, we had another high-stress line to wait through, including a brief altercation where a woman behind us shoved Annie forward when she didn’t sprint ahead two steps. Have we mentioned that our patience with the rest of humanity was wearing thin at this point of our journey?

The ticket desk woman cleared us for the next available flight to Nashville at 1:15, assuring us that the bags we rechecked would arrive there with us. She, of course, was incorrect. We had to literally sprint from Terminal 5 (the international terminal) on one side of Chicago O’Hare to the United Airlines domestic hub located FOUR TERMINALS AWAY. Our gate was LITERALLY the last one in the terminal, and Annie had to breathlessly holler at me to sprint ahead and hold the gate for her when I got there. This may be a good time to inform you that we didn’t have the time to re-dress ourselves after passing through the security checkpoint, so my pants were falling down and I was holding both our IDs and belts when I arrived, sweat-soaked, wild-eyed, and breathless, at our gate as the door was closing.

Me: “Please! (gasp, gasp) Don’t close (gasp) the door! (gasp) We’re here!”
Official: “It’s okay, you made it. Are you James?”
Me: “Yes! (wheeze) Please-let-us-on! (gasp)”
Official: “Who are you with?”
Me: “My wife. (gasp) Annie. (gasp)”
Official: “And where is she?”
Me: “She’s coming. (wheeze) We had to sprint. (gasp) Look, here’s her belt.” [Places belt on counter]
Official: “Sir, okay, thank you, I see that. How long do you think she will—”
Me: “—Here she comes now!"
Official: "That woman running up the concourse?"
Me: "Yes, that's her. Here’s her ID. Please let us on. We want to go home.”
Official: “Okay, it’s fine. I see her. You’ve both made it."
Me: "Thank you!"
Official: "Have a safe flight home.”
Annie: “(Gasp, wheeze, gasp, wheeze)”

Upon boarding and being seated, an intercom announcement immediately terrified us: The flight was overbooked, and five people would be chosen at random and required to disembark. Not asked--required. We looked at each other, grasped each other's hand, and waited to be kicked off our plane...

...Fortunately, we were spared. As soon as we were airborne and drink service was offered, I ordered us two beers and would've paid a fortune for them. We deserved them!

We were both obviously miserable for most of the flight to Nashville, but at least we’d made it. We were seriously dehydrated, lightheaded, and angry, and my boxers were wedged in places that would require a miner’s helmet and the jaws of life to retrieve. But, we were headed home!

ABOVE: Sometimes cartoons are completely accurate.

We landed in Nashville in the mid- to late afternoon, and, due to our unreliable transportation issues, our family was not in Nashville awaiting us. That was no matter, really, because we soon learned the awful truth we’d dreaded: our bags hadn’t made the trip. For all we knew, the incompetent ticket woman in Chicago may have sent our luggage to Seattle. That got Annie to worrying about what could’ve potentially been lost forever. The cuckoo weights—all fifteen pounds of them, the very ones I’d lugged across Europe since mid-July—may have been irretrievable, which would have stung me bitterly with irony.

ABOVE: Eeny, meanie, miney, moe...

I spent maybe half an hour at the Lost Luggage desk with a (fortunately) kind and adept fellow who tried to trace our luggage, offered recompense for our inconvenience, and promised to personally get our bags to Chattanooga in the next two days. After our day’s travel hijinx, it was relieving to see someone express compassion and assistance.

When our families arrived, we had a wonderful reunion with them and our dogs, who’d made the cut for the ride to Nashville. Annie’s dad, sadly, had not—there wasn’t enough room for all of them, us, and our bags! Too bad we had no way of knowing our bags weren’t going home with us, as that left plenty of room in the vehicle.

Annie and I didn’t know what time zone our bodies were on, nor did we know where our belongings were, nor how badly we stank, but boy, it was great to be back! Our first stop on the way home was for some good old-fashioned American gutbombs at the closest Krystal. Ah, the taste of delectable greasy goodness!

We shared the misery of our travel obstacles on the ride home, then reunited with Annie’s dad back in Chattanooga. Then the six of us--Annie and me, Christy & Mary, Carolyn & Wayne--dined on a home-cooked meal under our roof.

If I told you we lost sleep over our misplaced luggage, I’d be lying. We slept like rocks.

Post Script: Our luggage arrived safely at the Chattanooga airport two nights later with only a couple notifications from the TSA that the bags had been searched. Good thing we’d left the Big Ben Bomb & Shot Glass keepsake back in London.

8/5: Layover in London

Today was the day! The beginning of the end—the first leg of our journey, first reunion with friends, first visit to London…and the list goes on.

We had a 1:30 appointment with our private car, so we slept well and packed leisurely. We traipsed around the corner to the internet café for breakfast and to check our flight status one last time, then returned for our luggage to meet the driver. Our departure to London was at 5:20, so we gave ourselves plenty of cushion to arrive at the airport and get through security. For once, we wouldn’t have to sprint anywhere!

The flight was much easier and more relaxing than our ventures with EasyJet…but then again that service wasn’t hard to top. Anyhow, we landed in London at 7:30pm, and then held an engaging conversation with Customs about the purpose of our 12-hour layover. Apparently “drinking and visiting friends” isn’t the most suitable answer to “What’s the nature of your visit?” and “A flat in Chelsea” does not sufficiently answer “What is the address where you’ll be staying?” Oops.

ABOVE: View from the Vogeleer flat. This photo would not have satisfied Customs.

AT & David were waiting for us with smiles on their faces when we cleared Customs at 8pm. After hugs and affectionate groping between David and me, we all hopped on the Tube (British for “Metro”) back to their place in Chelsea to drop off our carry-on bags.

ABOVE: This is their cat.

Where’s the first place we went, do you think? The local pub, of course! AT & David’s favorite local pub, the Cross Keys, rocked us with some delicious grub and tasty pints.

ABOVE: They served fries in a pail. I wonder if they'd serve tater tots in a top hat or something.

The place had great atmosphere, and we enjoyed lounging on a couple couches and catching up on each other’s lives. They were loving London and their proximity to the rest of Europe, so we were excited to hear about their various experiences abroad.

Above: Cheers!

After dinner and a couple pints, we took a cab to Parliament, located right alongside the River Thames.

ABOVE: View of The Palace from Westminster Bridge.

The cab presented our first encounter with riding on the opposite side of the street, and it was indeed weird. But the cabs in London are AWESOME, and David told me how tedious the studying and exam process is for attaining one’s cab license in London. Look it up, sometime—you’ll be impressed.

ABOVE: David is too lazy to take his cab licensing exam.

Many of the well-known attractions in London are all within a half-mile of each other. The Palace of Westminster hosts both the Houses of Parliament and the famous clock tower known as “Big Ben.” He’s a photogenic old chap.

ABOVE: Ben. He's Big.

Across the Thames from the Palace is the London Eye, a gigantic Ferris wheel entrenched right on the river bank. The wheel’s diameter is just shy of 400 feet, if that gives you some perspective. Wikipedia tells me the Eye is the largest Ferris wheel in Europe, and is frequented by over 3.5 million people annually.

ABOVE: Round Eye in the Sky.

The Eye was closed for the night when we arrived, but it was impressive to stand beneath the spokes and examine the engineering marvel. The passenger capsules are no mere swinging seats like on a typical Ferris wheel; rather, they’re air-conditioned oval-shaped pods that carry up to 25 people. Neat, huh?

ABOVE: Looks like part of Zeus's bicycle, doesn't it?

After a pit stop at a riverside McDonald’s, we crossed back to the north bank of the Thames, crossed the street from Parliament, and walked past Westminster Abbey. The gothic architecture on this old church was impressive; the Abbey has played host to the coronation of dozens of British monarchs over the centuries.

ABOVE: The Abbey's North entrance.

ABOVE: The recognizable western facade.

The Abbey was of course closed for the night, but the four of us squeezed together for an arm’s reach group photo. David and I are both aces at the arm’s reach self-shot, by the way.

ABOVE: Some of my best work.

For the ride home, our hosts treated us to a ride on a double-decker bus known everywhere as a uniquely British mode of transport. We climbed upstairs and enjoyed front row views of the empty streets and neighborhoods of Westminster and Chelsea.

ABOVE: Visual aid, in case you're the only person online who's never seen a double-decker.

Our gracious hosts had packed a ton of sight-seeing into just a few precious hours, and we were grateful to AT & David for playing tour guides into the late evening. When we returned to their flat just before midnight, we all pretty much just went straight to bed. The Vogeleers were headed to Scotland for a quick vacation the next morning, and we had to be up at 5am for our ride back to Heathrow. Whirlwind trip, indeed!

August 5 London Album:

London: August 5, 2011

8/4: Athenian Relaxation

We slept in after our late arrival—don’t judge us! We got our day started around the corner from the Divani at a quiet breakfast & coffee nook that had free Wi-Fi. The logistics of our trip back hadn’t been ironed out yet, and I wanted to make sure our London leg of the return home would work out.

Here’s the skinny: Two good friends of ours (Anne Taite & David Vogeleer) moved to London shortly after getting married back in October of…’09 I believe. We wanted to see them since we were already on the other side of the Atlantic, but at the time I was sketching out our travel plans, London just seemed off our path. Had I been thinking wisely—which is a seldom occasion—I would’ve booked our arrival flights into Athens and departure flight out of London, so we could casually work our way from East to West across Europe to the UK.

Above: Two wild and crazy kids in love

Instead, we were presently in Athens again, facing a taxi strike, and faced with a mere 12 hour (tops) layover to spend in London with AT & David. It was not the most ideal situation for a visit, but Annie and I were nevertheless excited to rendezvous with them, albeit briefly.

After firing off some emails and inquiries, we logged off and prepared for a recovery day of casual souvenir hunting and lounging. We sashayed around the “Lover’s Lane” pedestrian path encircling the Acropolis, stopping for a gyro lunch in Plaka, then returned to the Divani at 6pm to spend some time poolside. We splurged and bought some frappes(i.e. frappuccinos), which, in case you were wondering, are made with about 70 tablespoons of sugar, 20 tablespoons of Nescafe, and a splash of milk. I don’t know how that equals 12 ounces, but it tastes terrific, instantly rots your teeth, and wakes you up until the inevitable sugar crash an hour later.

ABOVE: The Devil's Ingredient

When the sun faded from view, we went up for showers before dinner. At the concierge desk, we inquired about the taxi strike and were informed that things looked doubtful for resolution by tomorrow. We were left with two choices: hike our bags ten minutes to the Metro and take that all the way out to the airport; or hire a private car. Annie was sick of carrying our heavy bags (I was too), and she was definitely burned out with the encroachment of personal space on public transportation. We thus selected the latter choice and hired a private car for the 45-minute drive at 60 Euros (roughly $90). I know--ouch, right?

ABOVE: This is what $90 looks like.

With our transportation booked, we sauntered out into the Athens night for our final dinner in Greece. It was bittersweet, and full of reminiscence. We were relieved and excited to be headed home soon, but we’d loved nearly every moment and experience we encountered. The Greek people, in particular, had been wonderful hosts. Their country was in economic turmoil, with protests and strikes every day, but they still welcomed new visitors and were excited to share their culture. And we were blessed to have shared it with them!

8/3: Milan to Athens

Our excitement at returning to Athens and nearing the end of our two-month sojourn was tempered by the day’s logistics. We had a noon checkout, which was relaxing, but pretty much everything from there went haywire.

We shouldered our heavy bags and walked to the metro, which we rode to Stazione Centrale. There, we had to figure out how to purchase bus tickets to the airport.

The 30-minute mildly air-conditioned bus shuttle to Milan Malpensa was uneventful, but we had to wait in long EasyJet lines in order to check our bags. We ate a mediocre lunch, then waited in our terminal for nearly two hours until our flight.

CLARIFICATION: There is NOTHING easy about EasyJet.

Let me illuminate this point right now: EasyJet sucks. We had an awful experience using their service from Athens to Rome, and on this day, they were equally terrible getting us from Milan to Athens. After being checked through the ticket counter, we were forced to wait in an August-hot jetway, presumably until the stewardesses remembered to open the plane door and let passengers embark. When we at last boarded the plane ourselves, we realized stewardesses were basically ineffectual. We were being ushered onboard and into seats like cattle, and we barely found seats next to one another.

In summary, DO NOT use EasyJet unless traveling alone, traveling light, or seeking masochism.

We touched down in Athens two and a half hours later (it was somewhere around 10pm local time), and rushed to board the metro into the city in hopes of finding a place open for dinner that late. That's not exaggeration: we had to sprint from the terminal to catch the last metro train into Athens, or risk trying to find a taxi at that late hour. We were angry and exhausted, but managed to--once more--haul our heavy luggage at a near-sprint across the concourses and down escalators to make the train.

With that bullet dodged, we thought we were in the clear, but had perhaps the worst near-mishap at a train exchange in the city. We switched trains beneath Syntagma Square (home of the early rioting and current protests against the Prime Minister), but I boarded the train immediately before the doors closed--leaving Annie standing shocked on the platform. I turned around to see her shut out...and we both panicked. Thank God someone elsewhere had tried boarding last-minute too, and the doors got jammed or malfunctioned because they opened up again briefly. I had just enough time to reach out for my still-stunned wife and yank her aboard, apologizing the entire time. We ignorantly had no "separation plan" for a case like this, so it could have been awful trying to rendezvous without any means of communicating a plan.

Debating whether to check in first on our arrival in downtown Athens, we decided instead to hike straight into Plaka--with our heavy bags still shouldered--to our favorite gyro place. Mercifully, they were still open for dinner at 11pm, and kindly let us store our bags in the back of the dining room while we feasted on meat, Greek salad, and cold beer.

NOT PICTURED: Delicious cold beer.

It was after midnight when we checked in at the Divani, but they had no qualms with our late arrival. We learned that the taxis were still striking, however, and that the strike probably would not conclude before we departed Athens--which meant we’d likely have to pay for a pricey private car.

Dismissing that as a worry for another day (albeit in the very immediate future), we retired to our room for much needed showers, then collapsed in bed, exhausted.

8/2: The Last Supper, and Heights of Milan

On our first and only full day in Milan, we’d developed a few key objectives:

1) See Da Vinci’s famous mural “The Last Supper.”
2) Let Annie shop in Prada and other Milanese fashion centers.
3) Tour the Duomo’s roof.

Our first objective had been scheduled nearly a month earlier; I had to book our tickets to see “The Last Supper” weeks prior, when we still weren’t sure what our travel itinerary would even be. Fortunately, everything had worked out--as long as we made it to the Piazza di Santa Maria delle Grazie by 12:30pm for our 12:45 reservation.

BOOM.

After dining on a mediocre breakfast in a hotel lobby under substantial and distracting renovation (with no announcements or apologies from the hotel staff), we found the closest metro and traveled to the stop nearest the church of Santa Maria delle Grazie. Da Vinci’s mural (aka “Cenacolo Vinciano”) rested inside the church, covering an entire end wall of what used to be a dining room for the monastery.

ABOVE: The front of the church, with (barely in view) the entrance to The Last Supper at left.

We arrived with plenty of time to scope out our surroundings, so we walked the gated perimeter of the church and enjoyed its multi-colored brick and plaster architecture, as well as its serene garden cloisters.

When we reconvened at the entrance for our 12:45 reservation, approximately 15-20 other people joined us. We learned this was because any more than a certain number of visitors would raise the temperature in the sealed-and-controlled room, risking damage to the already deteriorated mural.

Just calling the room “temperature controlled” doesn’t do our experience justice. When our appointed visit time arrived, a sliding glass door led us into one end of a small hallway. Gazing down the hallway, all we could see were two more sealed portals like the one that contained us. It felt like we were entering some Top Secret government facility, rather than an old room with a famous painting on its wall.

Three sliding doors later, we were invited into the large room that harbored Da Vinci’s work. If you consider a rectangle, “The Last Supper” covered the entire side of the short, right end. We were invited to sit on one of eight benches that let us take in the work from the proper distance.

ABOVE: The second forbidden picture I snapped during our entire trip.
I still feel guilty about it, but I didn't use flash...so am I THAT awful?

A tour guide launched into a ten-minute overview of the artwork. He explained that Da Vinci’s choice of tempera for his medium caused the rapid deterioration of the work. We learned how miraculous it was that “The Last Supper” existed at all in the present day. Completed by the end of the 15th century, the mural was considered ruined by 1556, and a doorway was cut through the base of the mural in the mid-17th century. Restoration efforts over the centuries often did more harm than good, and the monastery had even been bombed during World War II.

After our ten minutes in the viewing room we were asked to leave for the next group’s turn. It was a brief glimpse at Da Vinci’s masterpiece, but well worth the effort. We appreciated all the modern efforts to restore and conserve Da Vinci’s work, and highly recommend that you visit if you find yourself in Milan one of these days!

After exiting through the gift shop, we took the metro to our hotel, retrieved Annie’s credit card, then walked back to the Piazza del Duomo so she could complete objective two.

We parked me at an Italian version of Burger King with a couple beers, then Annie took off for Prada to complete her lifelong dream of shopping in Milan. I sat, drank, and people-watched.

Two beers later, Annie still hadn’t returned, so I searched out the ticket office for the Duomo’s roof. I bought our tickets, then returned to my rendezvous point and reunited with Annie, whereupon we ate a small lunch and she showed me her new Prada cosmetic bag, and Louis Vuitton wallet.

NOT PICTURED: Her new accessories, and my aching wallet.

After eating, we scaled the stairs to the Duomo roof, which was, in a word, AWESOME. The architecture up there was spectacular, and really had to be appreciated up close. You could imagine how painstaking the architects’ efforts were to hone the stone embellishments, statues, and gargoyle adornments.

Nearly every angle up there was a photo opportunity, and we spent way more time up there than the average tourist. We just had no idea it’d be that amazing in person.

After getting the requisite couple’s shot beneath the gold-flaked Madonna, we descended, walked home, and showered. Unable or unwilling to walk all the way back to the Piazza for dinner, we explored the streets near our hotel until we found a pub-like restaurant that served good sandwiches and chips. Our last night in Milan passed quietly. Tomorrow, we’d be returning “home” to Athens!
August 2 Milan Album:

Milan: August 2, 2011

8/1: Vernazza to Milan

No late sleeping this morning! We rose at 8:45, and I went for breakfast and coffee while Annie began packing. Both of us had some painful sensations on our feet where we’d been scraped by seawall barnacles yesterday. I don’t know if there was some toxin on the barnacles, or if our minor scrapes had become infected or what. Whatever the cause, it made us both limp slightly, and Annie had even had trouble sleeping last night as a result. Weird.

We checked out by 10am, walked the short distance to the train platform, and boarded our 10:22 train that didn’t arrive until 10:30—that’s Italian punctuality for you.

Arriving in Monterosso at 10:35, we had a mere twenty minutes to purchase tickets for Milan. This wouldn’t have been a problem if: a) Our train had arrived on time; and b) The ticket line wasn’t fifteen people deep. There was only one ticket window open, despite four employees clearly visible behind the booth. With only minutes to spare before our train arrived, an employee opened the second window and we scored our tickets, STILL having to rush to our proper train car to board in time. Whew!

ABOVE: The site of frantic, time-rushed horror.

The trip to Milano Centrale took three hours, but our train car was air conditioned--most of the way--so we could relax with hopes that our typical “mad travel rush” for the day was behind us.

Upon our arrival in Milan, we hailed an overpriced cab from the station to our lodging: Hotel Romana Residence. Being veteran tourists at this point, we hardly needed communication to check in, unload our bags, grab a map, and begin exploring.

ABOVE: Not pictured is the major interior renovation work that changed daily during our stay.

My guidebook had recommended the Piazza del Duomo as a good place to start in Milan, so we used the map to find our way there (about 10-15 minutes’ walk). The piazza was large and spacious, and the cathedral was quite impressive on the outside. The architecture was composed of white and pink marble, with gothic spires, statues, and gargoyles placed all over the building.

ABOVE: Annoying couple blocks your view of beautiful architecture.

On the highest spire was a golden statue of the Madonna, covered (we learned) with 3,900 pieces of gold leaf.

ABOVE: If you look closely along the skyline, you can spot the gold leaf Madonna.

On the far side of the Piazza was the famous Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, which looked like it should be a train station or aviary instead of a shopping mall.

ABOVE: Unfortunately, no food court within. Except McDonald's. You wish I were joking.

It was unlike any mall I’d ever seen back in America, with quite an elite list of vendors. We passed between Prada, Louis Vuitton, and Gucci, among others, so you can imagine how excited Annie was. Must have felt like home to the girl.

ABOVE: No big deal.

After pausing for some photos and window-shopping, we passed through the Galleria’s opposite entry into the Piazza Della Scala where Milan’s famous opera house is located. I checked the performance schedule but there were no options during our time there--plus I doubted I could score us tickets on a day’s notice.

ABOVE: This incomprehensible Italian signpost was the most photogenic aspect of the Teatro, sadly.

We walked a little further to find a small restaurant that served a late lunch. We split a pizza, then I ate lasagna because I was fat and starving.

After lunch we retraced our route back to the Duomo, and decided to enter the Cathedral since it was still open. Whereas Notre Dame was dark on the outside and well-lit inside, this Cathedral was the opposite--very dark on the inside, despite its plethora of stained glass.

ABOVE: An eyeful of awesome.

Beautiful vaulted ceilings, tapestries, and stained glass were everywhere. Also, unlike Notre Dame, the inside wasn’t a madhouse of worshipers and tourists. People were quiet and respectful, so Milan earned some points in my book for that.

ABOVE: The absent tourists just make me smile.

ABOVE: I just like this picture.

Returning home, we napped and showered, then walked back to the Piazza for dinner overlooking the Duomo and plaza. Annie won again: she had an amazing gnocchi with a creamy tomato/basil/greatness sauce. I had risotto Milanese, which was just risotto…which was hardly even satisfying. During our dinner we [read: Annie] suffered a major mosquito attack, so we ate quickly, paid even more quickly, then dashed home. Welcome to Milan!

August 1 Milan Album:

Milan: August 1, 2011

7/31: Nada in Vernazza

After our hiking adventures of the previous day, we [read: Annie] were tired out so we [read: Annie] slept in and decided to spend our last day in Cinque Terre being lazy on our home turf.

After I bought us more brioche and coffee for breakfast, we got dressed and packed for a day in the sun. We set out first for the train station to ensure we bought the right tickets and knew the right departure time for our trip to Milan. Our tickets only got us to Monterosso, unfortunately; we’d have to buy transfer tickets from there to Milano Centrale once we arrived tomorrow.

Ignoring this potential pitfall for the moment, we walked into town to find our hosts to settle up. We paid and also borrowed a couple beach towels so we could lay out on the boulders comfortably.

ABOVE: The boulder-strewn jetty that protects the Vernazza harbor & offers great sunbathing.

The only landmark in Vernazza that we hadn’t yet explored was the Castello Doria, otherwise known as “that tall stone lookout tower at the highest point of the village overlooking the ocean.”

ABOVE: Regal masonry.

When my friends and I toured Vernazza back in 2003, we could venture into the Castello unimpeded (and I’ve already mentioned how tourism affected hiking prices in Cinque Terre). Now entry to the Castello cost 3€ apiece, or $4.50 for access to a cottage-sized platform with a 30-step tower on top of it.

ABOVE: The village of Vernazza, viewed from the Castello.

Regardless, the view afforded us lovely bird’s eye views of our village, and we could see Monterosso to the northwest as well as maybe Manarola and a tip of Riomaggiore to the south.

ABOVE: Over our shoulders is the coastline south of us, where Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore sit.

The tower had a cool medieval looking spiral staircase within it, but my attempts at artsy dark staircase photography proved fruitless.

ABOVE: Stair photo fail.

After concluding our day’s exploration, we descended the Castello Doria, found a big flat boulder along the jetty, and made camp. The day was very hot and sunny, so we frequently dipped our legs in the water or dove into the ocean for a swim. Cooling off made it far easier to lay out, enjoy the vitamin D and people-watching, as well as read or catnap.

ABOVE: Annie & the Ligurian Sea

When hunger arose I waddled my lazy butt into town for some focaccia sandwiches and beer for lunch, but otherwise we merely lazed away the afternoon. When we tired of the view from our spot, we moved around the corner of the seawall and discovered some young folks cliff jumping. The bolder they leapt from was 25-30 feet up, and looked fun, so I joined in.

ABOVE: Prep for takeoff.

ABOVE: Splashdown.

As dusk neared, we walked home for showers, changed clothes, and returned to our favorite dinner spot of the three we’d tried in Vernazza. For our last night in Cinque Terre, we ate a marinated mussels appetizer (delicious, but the mussels were smaller than those we enjoyed in Greece), with prawn macaroni as Annie’s entrée and a mixed fried seafood dish for me. Annie’s food again bested mine in quality, but oh well.

Our final night concluded as many had before it: gelato for Annie, beer for me, and music in the street. A female tourist duo entertained a small crowd with some acoustic numbers, so we listened for a while, offered our euro donation to their cause, then meandered home through the quiet streets of Vernazza for our final night’s sleep in the gorgeous Cinque Terre.

July 31 Vernazza Album:

Vernazza: July 31, 2011