After five amazing days in Tuscany, we drove to the seaside, fishing town of Manarola, also one of five supposed towns along this stretch of the Mediterranean. Our epic day ended with us sitting in our room, drinking prosecco, eating cheese and looking out at the sundown over this cute pastel town.

The following day was to be the only planned outdoorsy one for the entire honeymoon, we were to hike between all five towns, tasting the local fermented delights along the way of course. But either our mockery of both pagan and Christian gods, or the universe telling us to slow down resulted in a much different day. The rain caused mudslides to close the tracks between the towns, wind created seas unfit for the ferries and the Italian work ethic led to a strike on the trains (probably the only strike that you’d notice in this country)…all on the same day. After toying with the idea of disregarding the advice of the national park (they did advise another couple that everything was closed, but there were no gates so “if you don’t mind to die, you can try”) and just giving it a go, Lea rightly didn’t want to be those Aussie tourists who had to be rescued….and the rescue service may have been on strike anyway. So, Lea, being a little under the weather (pun intended this time) took the chance to get a bit of a rest and James was relegated to drinking prosecco and looking out at the lightning over this cute pastel town….which felt very familiar and was actually quite special.

So in true Stewart fashion we bypassed the quick death option and opted for the slower one via a long boozy lunch looking out over the water.  Then after a short nap the trains started to run on time.*

*by on time of course we mean whenever then can be stuffed.  Never let a good strike get in the way of a siesta or 24 smokos per diem (that might have been Italian…or at least Latin, which we’re better at (canis est in via…etcetera….etc….)

We FINALLY took the train to Vernazza, making it to our second of the five towns, and by all reports the second prettiest apart from Manarola.  We watched the glimpses of sun poke through the clouds from a much nicer waterfront than Manarola.  We were then quick to get back to the train.   After it became clear the trains were still not running on schedule, Lea made it clear more wine was needed for the wait, so we ran into town to invest in some “trainies” before making friends with a lovely American who was fascinated to see us bottle in hand (although I’m sure nobody reading has gone into shock) and eventually headed back to Manarola.

Certainly not the stopped we’d planned, but it was lovely in it’s own way and just means we’ll have to come back to get the last tre terre.  We’re certainly glad we picked one of the cutest towns from which to “hike”.  Driving out of Due Terre was another character building experience. Where the hangover had left some clarity, the fog took care of the rest. Driving blind (at least you can’t see the shear drops off the side of the road), on the windy, wet, barely one lane roads up and down the mountains, the Panda stayed firmly in first gear, narrowly avoiding Lea getting out to push or discard the dirty undies to save weight.  A final stop in Genoa, where we gladly handed back the Panda, had gnocchi Genovese and somehow avoided being mugged in the charming side streets of this surely once beautiful city (it seems to have gone downhill a bit since the glory days of the Pesto Rush) and our Italian adventure came to an end.

Arriverderci Italia!