BATH, CINQUE TERRE AND SARDINIA DAY 4 – THE FIVE (WET) LANDS

Cinque Terre, which translates to Five Lands, is a series of 5 villages along Italy’s mountainous western coast which are connected by hiking trails and a modern Trenitalia rail line which alternates from surface to tunnel as it winds its way along the rocky coast.  The iconic yellow houses precariously clinging to the waterside cliffs have become some of the most photographed in Italy as this area has become the darling of internet travel reviews and the subsequent explosion in popularity.  It’s a rainy day, so we have a leisurely breakfast in our flat with some local eggs, fresh fruit and Italian rocket fuel made stovetop in the iconic Bialetti espresso pot.  The towns are crowded despite the weather because it’s also Liberation day here, a national holiday celebrating the freeing of Italy from Nazism and Fascism in 1946.    Hiking is out for the day, so we’re going exploring.

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From north to south, the villages of Cinque Terre are Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore.  We hop the train to Monterosso with the plan on working our way back home over the course of the day.  We done some very chic blue ponchos at the station and set on our stylish way.  Climbing the seaside walking path, we pass the pillbox, a German gunner’s nest and a vestige of life before the Liberation.    At the top of the hill is Cappuccini Monastary, home to one of the town’s two most famous statues, Monumento a San Francesco d’Assisi, the saint and his dog overlooking the sea. 

We continue on to explore the steep narrow streets, churches and shops throughout the town for an hour or two.  In one tiny shop, Mandy is greeted by a woman about our age who we presume is the owner.  The woman starts the hard press, “how beautiful”, “how finely made”, as she foists one piece after the next onto Mandy.  As Mandy starts to feel trapped, out of nowhere an elderly woman we’ll call Nona, stout, well under 5’ tall and with the deep lines of 80 years in the seaside sun, starts ranting in Italian.  She pushes Mandy aside and starts refolding scarves that previous patrons had disheveled, blaming Mandy for the perceived mess.  Mandy sees her out, ducks around Nono and daughter and breaks for the door.  We roll out laughing, Nona having unwittingly saved Mandy from being sentenced to 10 minutes of polite disinterest.  We stop for lunch at a build your own panini joint, where we create The ManSquale, a sandwich with mortadella, pesto, arugula, sun dried tomatoes and stracciatella cheese, an even yummier version of ricotta where only in Italy such a thing exists. 

We hop the train to Vernazza and notice what a different personality this place has.  Our wandering leads us to the pier and we get some nice pix of the sweep of the architecture as it rises into the hills.  Then it’s up the hill (everything is uphill here, both directions) to the modest church on the cliffs overlooking the sea.  The second half of lunch is Misto Frito, a dish of mixed fried seafood served in virtually every restaurant here in some form or another, but most popularly in a big paper cone.  This tiny café seats 8 people max at tables most suitable to kindergarten classrooms.  The fish is great, hot, crispy with just a touch a sea salt and a squish of the lemon wedge.  Back on the train platform, we’re directed wait in the tunnel.  Out of nowhere a massive gust kicks up and the entire group of us is taken aghast by the ferocity of the wind, then the subsequent rush as the express train blasts past at full tilt.  I now understand the last thing soda thinks as it’s sucked up the straw. 

Back in the Airbnb, we have a nice predinner chill then head back to Monterossa for dinner.  It’s still raining like mad, but we take a chance to walk along the sea a bit before we head into the restaurant.  First we pass the beach, the only one among the 5 villages, but rocky and narrow and nothing like a proper east coast shore.  Next we come across Il Giganto, the massive statue carved into the rocks and supporting the lookout walk above.  Then very unexpectantly, Mandy finds out how to pronounce Brigantine, the location of our summer home in New Jersey, in Italian.

I walk into Miky like the big wet dog that I am, so I shake out in the anteroom and we ditch the ponchos before we enter the posh space.  We sit for a few minutes, the pretty décor and wafting jazz changing our gears into ahhh mode.  The waiter recommends a nice bottle of Cinque Terre white wine, Liguria di Levante a Scia, and our transformazioni is complete.  We order, and a few minutes later an unexpected and very beautiful amuse bouchée is delivered.  The waiter explains that it’s a representation of all the beauty and foods of this place.  A pair of savory, walnut sized crab eclairs set atop forks suggest the flowers of the mountain and the prominence of shellfish.  The fish shaped biscuit was topped with gossamer ricotta and a touch of caviar representing the bountiful fish and fine cheese tradition here.  Last, he blows out the tea light and explains that it’s made of bees wax and is to be used atop the fermented black garlic on the little toast points.  It’s rare to find a dish this beautiful and creative that tastes this good, so they set the bar high right out of the gate.  Next is our order of the signature appetizer, anchovies 4 ways.  Three dishes are delivered, one better than the next, and they’re so good that neither Mandy or I bring up the lack of the fourth preparation.  Just as we finish the third, the waiter ceremoniously brings three additional plates of the little fishys, and these three trump the first three.  Wow, a chef with a sense of humor and timing… well done, sir.  The kitchen splits our order of spaghetti with clams, and we’re too food drunk (and maybe wine buzzy) to take a pick of the well plated dish.  Our final course of mixed grilled fish is simply fantastic and a fitting end to the evening.

BATH, CINQUE TERRE AND SARDINIA DAY 3 – SPEEDHENGE

One last very civilized breakfast at The Bird and we’re on our way.  Once we’re out of Bath proper, it’s another beautiful drive through the British countryside on our way to Stonehenge, one of the 10 ancient wonders of the world.  Normally, we would leave several hours to see such a magnificent sight, to learn about its history and soak in all we can about this fascinating achievement that I have dreamt of seeing my entire life.  But not today folks.

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We’re this close, so there’s no way we’re not going to see it.  After all, who knows if we will ever be in the area again?  But we have an early afternoon flight out of Gatwick, which is 2 hours away.  So here’s the Speedhenge plan.  Mandy books the first timed tickets when the gate opens at 9:30.  We’ll get there early so we’re literally first through the gate and onto the first shuttle from the gate to the Stones.  That’ll give us about 30 minutes to hang out at the main event itself and hop on the shuttle back.

Plan goes off without a hitch and here we are, way ahead of the crowds, with only a few other earlybirds.  Stonehenge, built in we-didn’t-have-time-to-find-out-when by we-don’t-know-who stands some-number-of-feet high and, despite our complete lack of backstory, is still freaking amazing.  We have fun taking pictures and marveling at the engineering feat and it’s durability.

Back on the road and we make the airport without too much stress.  Security, however is another issue.  We’re traveling with only roll-aboard bags, and, unbeknownst to us, absolutely all liquid must come out to go through the screening machines, something we’ve never encountered in any country before.  Wholly unprepared, we need to rip open our cases and root through to find everything like complete amateurs.  Ugg. 

Once you’re in Europe, flights are simple and cheap.  The flight from London to Pisa, with front seats and bags, was about $150 total for both of us.  The easyJet flight goes smoothly and it seems our new strategy of “get to Europe as cheaply as possible in business class then launch from there” is paying off.  We land in Pisa and walk 500m to the car rental counter where we pick up our Fiat Panda, the ubiquitous, utilitarian clown car of Europe and we’re on our way to LaSpezia.  Normally, we would just train from here, but because of some odd timing, we’re going to Leave the Panda in the parking lot under the train station for a few days.  Hand gesturing and pseudo-Italianing, we navigate the rail station counter and hop the train for the 12 minute ride to Riomaggiore, the southernmost village of the Cinque Terre (“5 Lands”) and our home base for the next 3-1/2 days.  Stefano, the affable Airbnb host greets us warmly as we step off the train and walks us a block to our apartment, a two bedroom, two bath flat on the top floor of a 6 story, 20 unit building.  Stephano proudly shows us about the place and has generously stocked it with everything we need for breakfast for the entire stay, plus enough beer, wine, champaign and coffee for week.   

We say our goodbyes and head into RIO-ma-joor-ah Centro for some dinner.  We pick Il Grottino because it’s adorable, a tiny space with a few tables out front, and has a nice local menu.  Anchovies are a local staple, and we dive right in with Mandy bravely ordering the fried version as an appy.  Unlike what we’re used to in the States, these are mild and delicious and go especially well with the carafe of the minerally local house white wine.  Pesto is another regional favorite, and our next course, tossed with some fresh pasta, EVOO and pinoli.  The main event is the grilled mixed fish platter with seabass, langostino, cuddlefish, octopus and whatever else was in the net today.  It’s been a long day, but we stretch our legs a bit with a walk past the marina on our way to dreamland.

 

BATH, CINQUE TERRE & SARDINIA DAY 2 - CHEDDAR, MULTIPLE WAYS

 

We wake early and are treated to a nice breakfast in Plate, the funky café in the Bird Hotel.  This morning we’re setting off to Cheddar Gorge, one of the most scenic drives in England.  It’s about 45 minutes to get there, and one of the main reasons we stayed in Bath… I wanted to take Mandy driving in the British countryside.  It’s pretty much as romantic as we hoped, rolling fields of green dotted with sheep and oddly furry cattle, with great splashes of bright yellow canola fields, with the terribly quaint village thrown in every 10 minutes or so for good measure.  It all so… English. 

We get to Cheddar Gorge itself and the landscape changes dramatically.  Craggy mountains crisscrossed with hiking trails and speckled with cave openings are inhabited by herds of compact mountain goats (or is it flocks? or packs?) who are unfazed by our presence.  The road is crazy fun (for me at least), 22 steep, tight switchbacks over just few miles.  We stop for pictures along the way, then head into the town of Cheddar.  Despite my belief that cheddar cheese is an American creation, it actually was created, shockingly, here in Cheddar.  That also goes a long way into explaining the excellent piece at dinner last night.  We stop in the Original Cheddar Cheese Company (not to be confused with the Cheddar Gorge Cheese Company just up the block), and start chatting with the chap at the counter.  He recommends the cave aged cheddar by handing us a big chunky sample, and he’s right.  Tangy, with a bit of crystals and a rich finish, sharp without being sour, best we have ever tasted, and a bargain at just 6 pounds for a big wedge.  Sorry Vermont.  And Wisconsin. 

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Back on the road we wind the other way through the gorge, then follow the route to Ashwick, the roads getting progressively smaller, rougher and narrower by the mile.  I tell ya, Ashwick is small… (crowd chears “how small is it?) It’s so small that they had to widen the street to paint a center stripe down it!  And if the village is tiny, the paths are teenier,  less then a Vauxhall wide in some points, although we prevailed in passing, mostly cause this is a rental car and the stereo is so good we barely heard the branches scratching down both sides.  When we see a very random but very scenic bench, at a very random but very scenic crossroads, Mandy very randomly decides that is where the aforementioned cheddar wedge shall be very randomly and very scenically opened.  Damn shame this country doesn’t make its own wine.

Back in Bath we stop to see The Circus, a large circular park lined with equally circular townhouses.  From there, it’s just a few blocks to Royal Crescent, a Palladian style semi-circular row of 30 townhouses from the late 1700s on a high bluff overlooking the park in the foreground and the rest of Bath in the background, that are even more upscale then The Circus. 

We drop the car at the hotel and head to The Scallop Shell for lunch.  We’re going to see it the internet is right and this is the home to the best Fish and Chips in Bath.  It’s a no frills, off the beaten path kinda place, whose owner decided to put all of his investment right there on your plate.  I feel bad not ordering a big hunk of the fresh Monkfish, or sampling the mussels, but we’re on a mission.   We do start with a few of the Orkney Isle Scallops, very well chosen and executed, served seared in their shell with a dram of pea pesto and a few micro pea greens.  While we wait between courses two nice mugs of Yorkshire tea are served, you know, because we’re in England.  The main event is delivered and includes caught-today north Atlantic cod which is hand battered to order, hot and salty and chunky chips, traditional English mushy peas and an herbed tarter sauce.  Very, very nice.  We (and when I say we, I mostly mean me, mostly) can’t resist an order of Sticky Toffee Pudding, a dense, spongy, gingerbready cake island in a sea of caramel toffee topped with a cloud of vanilla ice cream and a salty tropical breeze of cinnamon and cloves (yea, I got overly excited when it came and took a big spoonful before Mandy could take a photo, so you’re just gonna have to make due with my word picture…)

After lunch we walk to Royal Victoria Park and check out the Botanical Garden (isn’t every garden “botanical”?) then continue on to the Thermae Spa.  The idea of the Thermae Spa is a modern take on the ancient Roman Baths just a few blocks away.  There are two pools, one on the rooftop and one on the ground level, both fed by the same hot springs that bathed the Romans back in the day, plus a spa level with various hot and cold therapy rooms and saunas.  It’s a nice facility, but very overused.  Plus, we both thought the water should be warmer (they temper the hot springs to lower the temp). 

All this recreating takes a lot out of a guy, so hotel, chill, nap.  Dinner is pub style at Salamander.  It’s Monday night, so not real busy.  Thankfully we have a reservation as the friendly bartender lets us know they’re only serving food to bookings tonight.  We don’t quite understand why, but our table is ready and the bartender and the server couldn’t be nicer and more friendly to us.  Whoever writes their menu can definitely work for me, as the descriptions of even the most basic dishes make them sound unmissable.  We settle on the glazed pork belly and traditional sausage roll as starters, and both crush it.  We split the seafood chowder and are glad we did.  We strike up a conversation with the couple at the next table, 30-somethings from Manchester on a driving holiday with their dog.  We talk travel and sports and family and work and generally enjoy the entire short arc of our relationship.

Mandy surprises me by suggesting one more stop tonight, and who am I to say no to a pretty girl who wants a drink?  We make our way to a speakeasy called the Hideout, walking past the Bath Abbey along the way.  Well, mostly there, as the Hideout is pretty well hidden and it takes a few minutes wandering around the abandoned streets and alleys before we find the door to the tiny drinkery.  A good craft bartender is a thing of beauty, so we let this one just create some drinks for us instead of ordering.  He delivers two different cocktails, both whiskey based, and both delish.  We’re sure we don’t need these, so we sip them slowly, enjoying the place and some nice time together.