Cinque Terre in the Rain

Cinque Terre under steady rain. Hm, hm.

It actually doesn't matter much to me, because I've been working half days while I'm here, so I just sit in the cafe/bar beneath our rented rooms, work and drink espresso and watch the locals come and go. It's not a bad life!

("The world is my office," latest version)

It's funny how clearly this falls out: My impression coming here was that pretty much all Americans have at least heard of Cinque Terre (a string of five picturesque villages along the Ligurian coast) but next to no Germans have. This, I have to tell you, is entirely because of travel guide writer Rick Steves. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say the man single-handedly turned a set of sleepy villages into a top tourist destination for the entirety of a certain segment of the American middle class.

Then, confirming my impression, indeed all the tourists we've seen here except for one French couple have been Americans. It cracked me up to sit in the bar, working but also listening to the various American couples exchange their stories, telling each other how they'd "done" Milan and "done" Rome.

What can I say, especially without offending the Americans among you, and most especially since I am one too?

It's just that Americans are so noticeably ...American. That's not a bad thing, it's just a thing.

It's hard to describe, until you've been outside it for a while. Actually, it's hard to describe even now, but here's how far I've gotten so far: There's a certain kind of brash self-confidence and well-meant oblivious that mark Americans tourist to me. Or maybe I should just say a certain way Americans talk that's both eager and a little naive... ("done" Milan, "done" Rome)

It's just a little bit strange to me to watch all these busy, time-pressed American tourists approaching these towns as if they were more personal playground than actual, living towns, exchanging tips about exactly how to get to that certain spot where you can replicate exactly that photograph you saw in that one travel guide. But at the same time, they're also respectful and eager (and the towns live from their business), so I'm not gonna complain.

Besides, I believe firmly that it's terrible form to complain about the tourists when you yourself are one!

(And don't worry, Americans, if anyone else had heard about this place, they would also be here enacting their own national cliches. For example, I believe the Germans would be over in one corner, muttering and complaining to each other and acting as if they're not allowed to make eye contact with anyone else. Then they would strap on their extremely sensible hiking boots and go climb a mountain!)

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Thoughts about Italy so far...

Oh, the cold, cold marble floors. I remember this from my visit to Venice, the American couchsurfer we met up with saying that the floors in Italy are always cold, and his Italian friend countering, But beautiful.

I love sitting in the bar, working and watching people come and go. Yesterday they was a very good-humored older guy sitting at the table next to me for a bit; when an acquaintance of his came in, the man greated him with an enthusiastic, "Ciao, Lucca, ciao, ciao!"

When the guy left, it was exactly the same, just as enthusiastic, "Ciao, Lucca, ciao, ciao!"

The Italian espresso culture fascinates me endlessly. In Germany, going for coffee is an excuse to sit and linger over it, chatting, for hours. In Italy, people pop in and have their espresso served to them right at the bar, standing. It's just as social a ritual - half the point seems to be chatting with the guy behind the bar, who of course is a friend, because everyone knows each other - but it's simply a shorter one, a brief espresso break before heading back out to whatever it is they do.

Also, at noon folks were already coming in for a glass of wine.

Also, the array of small nibbles set out at the bar (again, wine is often drunk standing at the bar, not at a table), the same as in Venice with its cicchetti, the same as in Spain with its tapas.

Cinque Terre is a string of villages set into the steep hill along the coast; we'd meant to stay in the first of the five, Riomaggiore, just the first night and then move on to Vernazza, which several people had recommended. (First impressions of Vernazza: vineyards and cactuses! Intriguing. And an old church that felt more like a stone grotto, with a heavy weight of history in the air.)

But after hunting down and viewing the few rooms available in Vernazza right now (still the low season, with many places not open yet) we realized just how cozy and friendly our current place actually is.

So Riomaggiore it is for four nights, which is fine with me. In addition to the convenience of the friendly bar downstairs (a good place to work despite the constant blaring of Italian MTV), Riomaggiore itself is charming, a steep main street (the street is actually a covered river) with little stone stairways that branch off and lead to interesting nooks and crannies, or even open out on piazzas when you least expect it.

(Riomaggiore at dusk)

(In another cafe where I worked here, the guy running the place spoke very good English and asked  me about my accent. "Not American?" he asked, and when I said yes, but I've lived in Germany for a number of years he said, "That explains it." Yes, folks, at this point I apparently have a noticeable accent, some sort of  international and hard-to-place mixture of North American and Continental. "It's nice," the guy said. "You could be from Sweden, Germany...")

Today, no work, so I'm off to explore other towns. In the rain. Wish me luck!

And the sea here, the sea, crashing waves against craggy rocks, a stormy sea. Good for song-writing!