An unexpected detour
The next morning we took the train to Manarola, from which we planned to walk to Riomaggiore, so that we would have seen all of the 'Cinque Terre' (five towns). All the restaurants were packed, but finally we found a place to have some breakfast, which consisted of bruschetta and coffee. Then we began what we had been told was a rather easy walk. There was some significant confusion as to which pathway to take, but having asked an Italian man, we took one that headed up a steep green cliff. Up and up we went, passing small cottages and large expanses of vines and olive trees. We stopped often to turn around and view the expansive ocean behind us (and to catch our breath from the steep hike). Huffing and puffing and all red-faced, I finally declared that we must have gone the wrong way as my guidebook had said it would be only a twenty minute walk. But, we had come this far, so everyone wanted to keep going. We reached the top of the cliff, thighs burning, and stopped to appreciate how high we had walked. The steep hill seemed to go on forever below us. Turning back to our path, we found two signs pointing in opposite directions, none of which said Riomaggiore. Not wanting to go back the way we had come out of both stubbornness and terror at the pain our thighs would endure going down the cliff, we picked a direction and began walking on the tree-shaded, dark pathway. It had a deserted and creepy feel, and we started to collect large sticks for protection as we talked about wild boar and bears while we walked. We'd now been walking for over an hour. I sincerely regretted not bringing any water and wearing thongs rather than the Vans I had brought for our serious hiking days. We finally emerged into an open clearing and could see a town in the distance. It may not be Riomaggiore, but surely it would have water and maybe even ice cream. Our spirits lightened, we stopped to marvel at a cool little contraption used to travel between the villages which looked like a single school chair on a roller coaster track with a basket behind, presumably for grapes and olives. After two hours of walking, our unexpectedly long journey came to a halt at Volastra. We were starving so we set about looking for a restaurant. Well, I hadn't thought that the villages could get any smaller, but it seemed this one didn't even have a restaurant. It was just a collection of houses on a hill. Disappointed, we looked for a way to get to Riomaggiore from there. We asked a local who told us that there would be a bus to Manarola arriving soon. We all jumped on and made the embarrassingly short bus trip down to Manarola. Back where we started. Determined not to miss out on the last town, we got the train there. We found a little restaurant for lunch and ate there. Then we wandered down to the water and discovered that we could get a 'ferry' (which was more like a small boat) back to Monterosso. I had been itching to get in a boat the whole trip so I was very excited that we had made it just in time for the last ferry. At just 8 Euros each, it was not much more than the train ride and we got a stunning and unique view of each of the five villages from the water, just as the sun was setting. On our way back to our apartment we picked up some wine, prosciutto and cheese. After some much-needed showers, we settled on our little balcony for nibbles. A few glasses of red later, we wandered down to a bar in the town for some cocktails. Again, everything closed pretty early and we hit the hay at a reasonable hour. Despite that though, we didn't manage to get up early enough to have a leisurely breakfast the next day before our return to London and instead had to say a rushed goodbye to Sarah and Chris, who were staying another night, at the train station.