Walking along the tracks cut into the hillsides of Cinque Terre, on the Mediterranean coast of Italy, could hardly be called bushwalking, and there were quite a few Aussie accents to be heard on the track as we walked: but what staggeringly beautiful views of the ocean, the hillsides terraced in olive trees and grapevines, the pink buildings clinging for dear life to the rock. The walk goes from Riomaggiore on the Southern end, up to Monterosso to the North. At Vernazza you can fall into the blue, blue Med if you were smart enough to bring your bathers. (I wasn't).We also rode bikes in the hills above Cinque Terre. The weather was a bit on the wet and foggy side. The young Italian who rented the bikes to us looked doubtfully at the sky, and said, "Be careful. The weather can change very suddenly here." We found he was quite right. The fog rolled in, the rain came down, and to add a further element of drama, the track we rode on was littered thickly with big round seed-cases, and there were frequent mud puddles. Not quite picking my way through these hazards I cannoned into an electric fence at one point, and my daughter watched me catapult over the fence and down the forested side of the hill. She was just adjusting to her new status as an orphan when I clambered back up, sustaining lots of electric shocks as I dragged the bike free of the electric wire. I'm afraid it was never the same again, and nor was I. I did wish that someone had a camera handy though. Photo by Camille Nurka, 2005.
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