Video #1

The first video from my trip to Cinque Terre has been released! If you'd like to see me eating lots of food and drinking wine, check it out on the World Nomads YouTube site.

La Fine e Il Vino

The most perfect week of my life has come to a close and there’s a train ticket on my table with tomorrow’s date on it. I’m telling myself to get excited for Parma, my next travel destination and the beginning of my first ever solo backpacking trip, but leaving Cinque Terre feels like leaving home. In fact, departing from Manarola feels harder than leaving home because I don’t know when I’ll be back.

I’m afraid I’ll forget the little things. The way it smells here, like the sea, citrus, sun, soil – the same fragrances of California but a different perfume. The way people park their boats in front of their houses and hang their laundry out to dry. The way parents call their children amore, love, like a second name. The way gardeners leave the blossoms on the zucchini to sell at the market. The weight of the big, old-fashioned keys that open the wine cellar doors. The names of the wildflowers. The specific shade of pink paint on the houses.

Part of me wanted to wallow in my preemptive nostalgia and spend the day sitting on my balcony, staring out at my stunning view of Manarola until it was seared into my eyes, but luckily I had reason to be pleasantly distracted – a trip to Riomaggiore and a hike to the sanctuary of the Madonna of Montenero with a new guide, Chiara.

I’d seen Riomaggiore from atop the mountains while hiking and out in the ocean while boating, but this was my first trip into the center of the town. I found it was similar in size to Manarola and the community seemed just as tight-knit. Everyone smiled and stopped their work to talk with Chiara as we walked by. One woman even handed me a soft, fresh apricot she’d just picked.

Because everyone in Cinque Terre has known one another for decades, it can be easy to feel like an outsider here, but if you know one person, the entire town becomes your friend.

As a native of Riomaggiore and a guide by profession, Chiara is simultaneously rooted in the Cinque Terre tradition, while being subject daily to the tourism culture here. From this unique perspective, she had a lot to say about striking the right balance between the two.

We should all strive to leave a place better when we leave it – or at least to support the authentic heritage rather than just the tourist culture. Repeatedly throughout my time here, I’d been told the best way to support Cinque Terre is to drink Cinque Terre wine. Look for bottles of white wine made in one of the five towns, or perhaps La Coopertiva, a wine made with grapes from the entire Cinque Terre vintage each year. I highly recommend buying a bottle of the dry white wine called Costa da Posa. (If you happened to buy two and want to share… I’ll be there.)

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With my time in Cinque Terre already changing from the clarity of the present into a rosy pink and sparkling blue mosaic of memories, I'd like to once again thank World Nomads, Parco Natzionale delle Cinque Terre and Can't Forget Italy for the incredible experience they've given me. I plan to take everything that I have learned along with me as a traveler, a writer and a cook. I can only hope that my life will continue to be filled with as much adventure and good food as it has been this past week. 

How to Spend a Day in Paradise

I’d been gazing at the beautiful vineyards across from my hotel balcony all week, so when I woke up this morning to a wonderfully wide open blank on the schedule, I took my opportunity to go for a hike. After climbing the countless, jagged stone steps up and down several times and the day grew hotter, there seemed to be only one obvious choice for how to spend my next free hour: a swim in the Mediterranean Ocean. Though I’d seen it every day for a week and even skidded across it on small boats, I hadn’t had the chance to go for a dip.

With my swimsuit on, I walked down past the gathering of tourists at the water’s edge by the picturesque center of town and turned around the corner to a more secluded location I’d found earlier. From there, I dove straight into the water, which was so cold it stole my breath for a few moments. I swam until I warmed up and then floated on my back for a while, trying to believe this is my life.

In the afternoon, I headed to a local cafe, Aristide, to prepare a traditional Cinque Terre meal with three generations of female cooks: Grazia, the grandmother who had been at the restaurant from the start, her daughter Monica, and the youngest, Elena. When we realized we shared a name, we got to talking and I asked if she’d always known she wanted to work at her family’s restaurant. Yes, she responded, laughing. Her mother had tried to get her interested in other careers and sent her away for college to make sure she knew her options, but Elena had realized at a young age that she always wanted to be in the kitchen with her family. I can understand the feeling.

Focaccia and Cookies: A Day in the Kitchen

At 5:00 this morning another of my culinary dreams came true – I baked my first real focaccia. Though it was still dark out and I hadn’t quite yet rubbed the sleep from my eyes, the sight of several loaves baking already assured me that there was no place I’d rather be (not even my bed).

With the guidance of a local baker, I combined the traditional ingredients to make the dough, substituting olive oil where I would have used butter in my usual bread recipe and kneading it by hand rather than throwing it in my KitchenAid. Once the dough was prepared, I slathered on a layer of a creamy Italian cheese called Stracchino to make a simple pizza and popped it in the oven. After several long minutes of waiting as delicious smells emanated from the oven, the timer finally rang; while the foccacia was still hot, we took it down to enjoy by the ocean for a sunrise breakfast.

Keeping with the baking theme, I spent the late afternoon in another kitchen, this time baking lemon cookies. With a little lemon juice, some zest, flour and sugar, a batch of cookies was in the oven in a matter of minutes. I was having so much fun cooking with the baker (a delightful man named Fausto who whistled while he worked) that we decided to make some lattice-topped pies while the cookies baked.

When they came out of the oven, Fausto immediately handed me one to taste, which I was all too eager to do. The outside of the cookie was coated in sugar and lemon zest, forming a crisping exterior that crunched before giving way to a soft, warm center, pale yellow with bright specks of lemon zest. The flavor was subtle, the aroma fresh. It was one of the best things I’d ever eaten.

Apparently my feelings were obvious and moments later I was sent away with a white paper bag filled with a dozen of them. I took them with me to snack on by the water. Sitting there with the warm bag of cookies on my lap and the sound of the ocean hitting the rocks nearby, I realized I was in one of life’s perfect moments. It’s a memory I will hold on to forever.

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It is impossible not to fall in love with Cinque Terre, but as a tourist, this sort of love is often one-sided. I am eternally grateful to the Parco Natzionale for enabling me to meet the people of Cinque Terre on this trip, especially to enter into their kitchens, where the heart of the culture lies. With the warmth of the oven, the comforting smell of yeast, the familiarity of forming dough with my hands, I’ve felt at home here making the ravioli, the focaccia and the cookies.

The kitchen is governed by a universal language and a desire to share. That these people have allowed me, a perfect stranger, to come into their homes and bakeries to cook with them and to taste the recipes that have been in their families for generations means more than any words can express. I can’t wait to bring these recipes home with me to share with my family.

Over the Mountain, Through the Garden and Off to a Wine Tasting

A trip to Cinque Terre isn’t complete without hiking from one town to another at some point. At home in California, I hike almost every month, sometimes every weekend if I can. I’d heard about the trails in Cinque Terre and had been eagerly looking forward to making the trek between villages. Today I hiked from Manarola to Corniglia and it was, without a doubt, the most beautiful hike I’ve ever experienced. In fact, it was not so much a hike as it was an afternoon of taking a few steps, stopping to stare in awe, taking a few more steps, stopping to take some photos, and so on for several hours in the same direction.

First the trail led us past Manarola’s gardens. It was still morning and we saw many people taking advantage of the beautiful weather to weed and water their land. I was surprised by the old age of the gardeners – they all seemed in perfect health and worked as though they’d tended to these lands for decades, which they probably had. It may be the wine, sunshine and seashore air, or maybe just their tenacity of spirit, but for the people of Cinque Terre, old age is no reason to stay at home and give up working.

Higher up, beyond the gardens, we came to olive groves and crumbling stone homes. Here the path was somewhat overgrown, with wildflowers sprouting up around the steps and wild asparagus at the edges. My guide, Daniel, picked a few and gave me one to try. It was skinny, bitter and unlike the ones back home, but it tasted fresh and green and I wished I could claim a small plot of land nearby to grow some of my own.

When the hill leveled out, we took a turn into a dense, verdant forest, which opened up moments later to a view of the ocean and a path between rows of vineyards. My coordination faltered due to my distraction – I was constantly turning my head to the right to inspect the curling green vines and miniature green beads of the plants, then outward to the sparkling blue water. (It’s a miracle I never fell off a cliff during my trip.)

Although I wasn’t ready for the hike to end, we finally came to the quaintly charming town called Corniglia. It seemed even smaller than Manarola, with fewer tourists, most likely because, at the top of a mountain, it is the only of the Cinque Terre towns not directly next to the ocean. We walked around a while before taking the train to Vernazza, Daniel’s home, where we visited his garden. I was happy to be let in through the gate of a local garden, but even more so to have a hand in tending it. We watered his basil and tied the tomato plants to their poles. Even though it was one afternoon, I like to think of Daniel eating a salad in Italy soon with the vegetables I played a small part in growing.

Although it seemed to me that everyone in Cinque Terre has their own plot of land for grapes, olives, citrus or vegetables, Daniel told me that he is perhaps the youngest man to continue gardening in the traditional way. It is heartbreaking to think of the old ways of living and the connection to nature being lost on the younger generation in Cinque Terre. I dream of one day having a garden like his, maybe a small vineyard, too.

Speaking of grapes… As the sun began to set, Daniel locked the gate to his garden and we headed back into the heart of Vernazza for a wine tasting. My interest in wine as an aspect of the culinary world and my Italian heritage has always been strong, but unquenched because I am (at twenty years old) still underage in the United States. This being my first opportunity to have a professional explain wine to me, I was very excited.

As we tasted – first two white wines, then a red – the sommelier guided us through the process of properly appreciating a wine. He instructed us to examine the color – was it pale yellow, a profound red? There were several steps, including smelling and swirling the liquid, before we tasted each wine. The last glass to be poured in front of me was a Cinque Terre specialty, a white dessert wine called Sciachettra. It is particular to the region, made with varying amounts of Bosco, Vermentino and Albarola varietals. The process differs from that of regular wine because it is made with dry grapes. It’s so sweet that when the glass is swirled clear droplets drip slowly like honey down the sides. When the locals speak of it, they adopt a reverent tone. Sciaccetra is too sweet for my taste, but I enjoy the fanfare and the passionate conversation that takes place whenever a bottle is presented.

I look forward to understanding more about the art of wine tasting, but of all that I learned so far, it’s the process – the building of anticipation and the mindful enjoyment – that seems most important. It is something I will always remember and try to recreate.