May 13, 2010
This morning the balcony bore witness to the downpour that had taken
place overnight, but the sky was relatively clear.
We had breakfast in the hotel's restaurant and planned out our day
over yogurt and tea. If the day turned out like yesterday, we would spend it on the beach. If it remained cool, we would visit Il Gigante - a giant statue of Neptune on the west end of the town - and play at the little park by the main square and visit a bit of the town.
The sun never materialized, at least not for more than five minutes at a time. So after dropping off our bagful of laundry at the wash and fold, we walked through the tunnel to the other part of town and the girls played in the park for what was left of the morning. They looked like giants, towering over the toddlers; all the local children their ages were surely at school. Luckily, they have each other and had a fine time.
For lunch we found a focaccia spot and bought a huge piece which the merchant kindly divided into four for us. It turns out that focaccia is a local creation, and we are glad to have tasted the original thing now.
The wind at the piazza where we were eating our lunch picked up, and soon the temperature had dropped a few degrees. Sweaters and windbreakers were now a necessity, so we headed back to our hotel to pick them up before taking a walk up a path I had spotted.
Cinqueterre is known for its hiking paths. Unfortunately, because of all the rain the area has seen recently, the main path that connects the string of five towns to one another has been closed off. Some
tougher, much steeper paths straight up the hillside are still open, but they are not appropriate for small children. We had planned, when we were putting this holiday together, to perhaps walk one or two of the trails between the towns. Now that this was impossible, we looked for any walking paths that might be interesting to us and the kids.
The path I spotted was more of a gentle, paved path. We were going to return as soon as we got our sweaters, but the rain began a moment before we set foot into our hotel. And then it poured. And then it thundered.
The afternoon felt like it was a wash, if you can pardon the pun. So the kids played some imaginary game about war that they had to escape, and Derek and I dozed a bit to the sound of the rain.
It felt like hours, but the rain finally stopped. We geared up and headed out for our trek. No one was more enthusiastic than Solanne about climbing the hills and endless steps, going ever and ever higher.
The first thing we saw was a beautiful view of the sea below. Next we saw a small shrine of Mary and Jesus in the Pieta pose; the little shrine was carved into the hillside and a narrow set of stairs led up to it. There, pilgrims had left flowers, rosaries and silent prayers.
The girls debated over which of the flowers were real and which were fake. And they were off again, skipping up the path to discover more.
A large statue of St Francis of Assisi overlooks the town and the sea. A little farther up the path lies a tiny Capucin church, unnoteworthy except for its welcomed silence and a beautiful van Dyck painting of the crucifixion. Above the church lies the most important shrine of all: the town's mausoleum. Here, ancestors long buried look over the town reminding its inhabitants of their forefathers and foremothers and their hard work on this once remote land. It's interesting that the most arresting view of the town and the sea it's built upon should be reserved for the dead and those who come to mourn them.
From the silent vertical graveyard, all paths led downward, much to Solanne's disappointment. She was ready to climb up more. I'm sure Derek was excited to hear that, since we'll be doing a fair bit of hiking in the Alps when we visit Aosta on the last leg of our trip. Let's hope her enthusiasm for such upward adventures holds until then.
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