Roaming Cinque Terre

The five villages of Cinque Terre are the eternal Instagram fever dream. Everyone has seen the picturesque photos from the cliff view at restaurant Nessun Dorma in Manarola. A perfectly arranged plate of cheese carefully balancing on a balcony table. Selfies of women with wide hats holding even wider glasses of Prosecco. The lazy cat stretched out on a sun-warmed stone wall as if it signed a contract with the tourism board.

There’s nothing wrong with any of it, of course. We all want our beautiful moments. But instead of chasing an Instagram déjà vu, I find myself more interested in what hides beneath the glossy surface, in the forgotten corners where the vloggers rarely go because the lighting is terrible and the food isn’t photogenic enough.

I walk through the damp dark tunnel near the railway in Riomaggiore. I’ve been here before. The dirty stone walls and flickering lights seem almost designed to discourage selfie sticks and romantic expectations. But anyone willing to navigate questionable toilets, unmarked passages and general confusion is rewarded in the end. Suddenly the tunnel releases its grip and there it is again. Colorful houses stacked on the cliffs like someone built them after a few glasses too many of local wine.

The water’s edge in Riomaggiore.

After a swift walk I arrive in the neighboring town of Manarola. I make my way uphill, where a line of young girls outside Nessun Dorma patiently take turns photographing each other. Entire production teams consisting of one boyfriend holding a phone and one person saying “no, from this angle” over and over. So I keep walking. I continue along the northern path, where I quickly discover why nobody else is there. My options become wonderfully simple: hug the cliff wall or get hit by cold seawater crashing against the rocks. Yes, the path is empty for a good reason, but for a few glorious minutes I’m free from the selfie hordes and can hear something increasingly rare in Cinque Terre: almost nothing at all.

Close to nature in Manarola.

The peace lasts until I reach the village of Vernazza. For some reason it’s called mini-Portofino, though I struggle to understand why. Instead of expensive designer stores there is a tired focaccia vendor in every nook and cranny. While everyone else queues for sun-drenched tables by the harbor, I quickly grab a gelato at Gelateria Stalin (yes, actual name) and once again once again head in the opposite direction.

Worn steep stairs lead the way towards Corniglia, and soon I am rewarded with a magnificent view of the ruin of Castello Doria, towering high above the busy port.The entire village appears to balance delicately on the cliffs, like somebody placed it there and hoped gravity would simply cooperate. Everything in Cinque Terre is all about the water’s edge.

“And all you young lovers where do you hide
Down by the water, and the restless tide”
— Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Water’s Edge (2013)

The ruin of Castello Doria above Vernazza.

The final village Monterosso is the largest of them all. Suddenly I can walk freely without the constant threat of losing an eye to an aggressively deployed selfie stick. To celebrate this rare freedom, I sit down for a focaccia overloaded with pesto. Because after all the cliffs, crowds, tunnels and postcard views, some things are still wonderfully simple. Bread, olive oil and basil have solved more problems than we give them credit for.