Cinque Terre

When the moon hits your…

It’s my birthday today lovely readers and I’ve treated myself to a little water fun! !Let me tell you about it…

Come on in the water’s lovely’! calls one of my fellow guests. We’ve just moored beneath a majestic waterfall, the Prosecco’s flowing, Dean Martin’s crooning and the water is more than lovely, it’s delicious! Cool, crystal clear and the perfect salve to recent deck basking. Kids are playing on the green mossy rocks below the fall and we are floating over gentle waves on a batch of pool noodles singing ‘like a big pizza pie…that’s amore’. Yes and ‘questa è la vita‘ – this is the life!

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And so began an idyllic viewing of the Cinque Terre – the ‘five lands’ via a sparkling ocean dotted with Yachts, pleasure craft and our very own quaint little fishing boat.

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The cooling swim beneath the waterfall has our temperatures under control in time for a leisurely onshore feast in Vernazza. Pizza pie? Heck no! Delicate little freshly marinated sardines and squid, rich black tapenade and olive infused tomato bruschetta, paper-thin prosciutto and rockmelon and spaghetti laden with seafood, Genovese pesto Trofe pasta; and all washed down with a crisp white or two followed by a searing espresso guaranteed to keep you awake ’till Wednesday.

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20130721-170414.jpgAnother dip and back on deck for a lazy float on down past Corniglia and Manarola to Riomaggiore and back to Monterosso al Mere, admiring tiny little beaches along the way that mountain goats would find challenging yet the locals have conquered…and some of them are nude.

Eight assorted Aussies, two Canadians and one very lusty Italian – Angelo our Skipper – saw Prosecco glasses flying, olives bouncing, little kids tipping over, the boat precariously too, in the rush for binoculars. Our fabulously fun host Linda whispered that the Adonis standing on a rock with his back to us was ‘excited’. Oh yes? She chuckled – ‘An audience for a woodie?’

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Our second skipper hails from Adelaide, owns a business with 35 ‘yes sirs’ and can think of nothing better than his annual stint doing exactly this…ferrying excited tourists hungry for just one more glance at the colourful little gems nestled within impossibly narrow crevices, the lush green mountains protecting their backs, the deep blue ocean lapping their shores…ah the mighty Cinque Terre.

Now that’s Amore!

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Angelo’s Boat Tours

Pink Dinosaurs and Grappa…

20130716-141042.jpgHave I told you about my little nest? My abode? The one I sacrificed my first born to rent? Eh! eh! And you thought Port Macquarie Holiday Inn was a tad on the dodgy?

First up, shan’t be inviting ‘y’all over for Spag Bol and Grappa as you simply wont fit. Heck even I don’t fit! You’d likely refuse my offer anyway in fear of premature heart attack from climbing the 179 steps to get here, ‘specially with the carton of wine you’d be obliged to bring. Heck even I’m exhausted by the time I get to the 9th.

 

If per chan20130716-141059.jpgce you persevered you’d be sleeping in the bathtub for there’s only one bed, a permanently folded out sofa protruding from under thewardrobe cupboards. And it’s mine. I’ve grown quite fond of my bed…and the bedspread. It closely resembles a green and orange checked picnic blanket and is complimented with matching lime sheets the texture of table cloths. Thread count? Let’s just say, exfoliation while you sleep.

Certainly can’t hang your cloths sport because you wouldn’t reach. Even Harlem Globe Trotters wouldn’t reach. That’s what the peach pincher’s for. To hook stuff down and back up.

I might let you admire my shower curtain though.The cartoon pink, green and blue dinosaurs frolicking on beaches, some scarfing watermelon, others supping tequila sunrises, the babies building wonky sand sand castles. Heck even I’ve grown fond of it. Specially when it sticks to my butt. Makes me temporarily forget the dank odor emanating from under the sink. And the conniving bidet.20130716-141143.jpg

And you’re definitely not borrowing my splendid lime green waffle weave hoodie bath robe. Yes Hoodie! The piece de resistance and on which I grade all hotels. No robe? Zero stars.

I give this place 4 though. You know why? ‘Cos its terrace has the most breathtaking view down over the village and across the ocean…infinity and beyond. Plus a free supply of lemons to keep the G&T topped up. Oh! That’s right you won’t fit. Shame. Pour another will you Jeeves? (He lives next door you understand)

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Toothpaste and testicle crushers…

Dear diary…


Will my toothpaste for 7 to 13 year olds maintain my pearly whites through an excessive onslaught of cheap red wine these coming weeks? And will using fabric softener to wash my clothes cause long term damage? Just a tad of supermarket confusion, it will pass won’t it?

Does smirking while watching a tourist laboring to fork spaghetti into his mouth before resorting to sucking directly from the plate mean I’m not the nice person I thought I was? And why didn’t his wife offer to cut it up?

A local in the Village beckoned me over today, introduced his friends, poured glasses of Prosecco all round then launched into a rapid fire Italian conversation. It was really hard to keep up but do you think he might have been welcoming me into the fold? I’m pretty sure he meant me, not the bloke walking behind?

And would you 20130712-113148.jpgput the hot frothy milk and two sugars his crusty old friend, the one with the blood red eyes and shock of white hair, was drinking into the ‘baby-chino’ category? Or should I have kept my mouth shut?

Why are songs sung in languages other than English just not resonating yet that song coming from the fellow standing on top of the Colosseum video clip, who incidentally looks just like Dr Gregory House, sounds positively sexy?

Will finally getting the gist of an Italian soap plot because there’s Italian subtitles as well as voice mean I’m finally learning the language? And should I also get a trout pout, bright yellow tan and testicle crushing kick ass platform shoes too? No wait! It’s in Spanish!

Dear Diary…does this mean I’m finally a local?
Oh! And one more thing…do you think I will ever find a Limoncello I’ll like? How many bloody brands are there? Surely that would ‘complete’ my transition?

Meanwhile, some nice photos of Riomaggiore.

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