Genoa, Italy - The Journey to Cinque Terre

The feeling of grey dreariness fades as the miles from London increase, and it is not long before my mother and I are taking our first steps back in our beloved Italy, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Davo; a partial family trip together abroad, and a long overdue reunion.

Genoa is a city that has grown around a very old town. As is expected the old town is beautiful, containing both tourists and many establishments relating to tourists. It’s easy to walk around this part of the town and there’s no shortage of adequate restaurants, cafes and wine bars to relax at. A few of the alleyways on the outskirts become less savoury, but this was easily mitigable with a simple u-turn to go somewhere nicer. There is an indescribable magic in getting lost amongst the sprawling, twisting, narrow alleys, guiding yourself by slits of sky visible high above the angled stone buildings.

Incredibly there is a pirate ship docked here - built in 1985 for a movie, Pirates (1986) - which invokes a bizarre nostalgic charm; after all, I am a child of Hook (1991) and Pirates of the Caribbean (the OG Disney Ride, more so than the legendary film franchise that should have stopped at one)...a nostalgic charm which has obsessed me to create a video game based on piracy set in the Caribbean... But, I digress, there's obviously real places here steeped in centuries of culture that must be explored.

What to do

A meander along the Via Garibaldi is memorable. This street contains a number of significant buildings, some public, some presumably private. I would encourage you to walk into each that you can just to observe any courtyards, chandeliers, or art pieces which are visible in their lobbies.

Seeking out the numerous cathedrals is definitely worth while, as they are all absolutely stunning, inside and out.

Ultimately just walking the old town and just soaking in the atmosphere is incredibly special.

Piazza Raffaele de Ferrari is absolutely stunning and well worth checking out too.

Getting there

There are plenty of fairly-priced flights from major airports going this way, and at tolerable times too. I checked Barcelona and London, and all seemed nice and easy. In a pinch you could fly to Milan and then catch public transport down, but this definitely involves effort.

Getting around 

Taxis are a fixed 25€ between the airport and the city. 

There is also an airport bus. 6€, tickets purchased beforehand or on board (card accepted)

Finally there is possibly also a public bus or train, but I did not explore these options. 

Where to stay

In the old town has a cool vibe. There is a main highway that runs along next to the port which is incredibly noisy, so be mindful of this with any accommodation close to the water. I would recommend staying in the heart of the old town. 

North west corner of the old town starts to get a bit dodgy though, and I did not feel safe down these alleyways by myself. 

Where to drink

Cantine di Colombo

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This was my favourite here. We enjoyed numerous wines here. The staff are all excellent value, capable of suggesting delicious and exciting bottles. While their local wine was a treat, we also enjoyed a phenomenal bottle from grapes grown at the base of a volcano in Sicily; I’m always a sucker for an origin story more cultured than myself. The relaxed and friendly vibe from the staff was a highlight, as well as the snacks available.

On our last day in Italy, 9 days later, my mother and I returned here. “Oh I recognise you!” beams the waitress, and our final bill was very kindly discounted.

Enoclub 

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A more traditional feeling wine bar experience, with delicious wines, ample knowledge, and a formidable meat+cheese board, which included lard. Memorable for all the right reasons. 

Where to eat lunch

Il Panino Italiano

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A hustling lunch spot. Food is inexpensive sandwiches, served swiftly by locals for locals. The ingredients are stunning cheeses and brilliantly cured meats (think procutto in a pistachio crumb). There was no English menu available (kudos!) which meant I went for some of the few ingredients I could recognise (think truffle mushroom cheese). This is a brief but sattisfying lunch experience, no longer than 20 minutes all up. 

Ten out of ten. I’ll eat there again. I already miss this place.

Where to eat dinner

My evenings were hampered with what felt like a surprise Italian monsoon. I was forced to eat hurriedly and near my digs, and sadly no dinner was outstanding. If you have recommendations I would love to hear them. 

Where to drink coffee

Firstly, my advice to flat white drinkers (as at 2023) is do not try and get a flat white anywhere. I settled into caffè macchiatos (perhaps that is macchiati?) very happily.

88 Bar

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Out of the way, and aesthetically shocking, but my favourite coffee came from here.

Caffetteria San Giorgio Luccoli

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Ambience is superb, and the location rocks. This is a perfect place to relax and recover your strength before continuing on your journey.

Tazze Pazze Specialty Coffee

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Seems cool, but I only had a butchered flat white from there so I'm not really sure whether or not to recommend going. I'll try something else on their menu next year.

Delicious food and a gift for Yoshi IV

I awake early at the classy San Lucca Palace and, after attending to my beard, make my way down to the restaurant for breakfast. 

This is a truly amazing breakfast. Smoked salmon, salami, ham, beef carpaccio, two melon varieties, yoghurts, foccacia, tomatos, balsamic and olive oil. Oh, and four AMAZING cheeses. Wow. Hotels don't nornally meet expectations. 

Lunch was amazing too. A seafood/clam-esk pasta followed by seared tuna. Restaurant name to be confirmed. Watch this space. We had a wine recommendation (or three) (admittedly I did not sample these)

Coffees mix well with booze here. 

Dinner was back within the city walls and was perfect on every level. The company present was on form, and the host and hostess - they wore many the hats of owners, chefs, service - made the evening truly special. The service was second to none and the food and wine was perfect. 

Note the home made bread. And home made sauces. And home made pasta. And home made gnocci. And I wouldn't be surprised it was home made cuttlery. 

I'll confirm the restaurant names tomorrow. 

To top off the day I walk along the old city walls to visit a Piaggio scooter shop and managed to get a quote for two (of the six) panels I want to replace on Yoshi IV (my Vespa GTS 250 ie), and actually purchase a much needed handle-bar terminatori; this was a 30 minute conversation where retail-staff and customer did not share a common language. It was amusing, and was incredibly effecient. It was an amasingly fruitful chat. I learned about where my scooter serial number resides on the chassis, and am explained and shown the document all scooters in Italy must carry. In return I expound English translations for various scooter components and random words. I get quotes for parts and learn the Italian names for parts I never knew the names of, like terminatori, and:

I also learn my scooter is 'Classico Rossi'. 

Despite the language barrier I feel I communicated better with Serchio Motori (Lucca, Italy) than I do with Motorad on Vivian St (Wellington, New Zealand) back home (sorry guys, I want to like you but you guys took four weeks to charge me $600 for a repair, and as soon as I exited the shop it was obvious you had not worked on her - I want to like you, but screw you too). 

Cassino - a once great town

There's nothing here. 

When we arrived at the train station and hopped in a cab the driver asked "what are you doing here," - without pausing - "visiting the monestary?". That should be a satisfactory indication of the total quantity of attractions in this town; one. There is a catholic monestary. Fantastic in its history, destruction, reconstruction and museum. Grand. 

I'm actually here because my great-uncle half-inched the chalice as he was departing at the end of world war two. Cheeky sod. 

The long walk (1-2 hr based on pace, one way) between Cassino and Monestary is breathtaking. It is an ancient Roman road in terrible condition. Still, one is walking anoungst ancient history, on the same road - potentially some of the same stones - as many people have for the last one to two centuries. Crazy. 

Side note, apparently this hill is riddled with vipers. :/

I was fortunate enough to, whilst relieving myself along this ancient pathway, spy the cross of St Benedict, the patron saint of Europe, a mere 15 meters away. For what it's worth he has the coolest job title I've ever heard. (Way cooler than my job title at least). 

Having formed a strong friendship with Roberto, our taxi driver, we enjoy a tikki tour of the surrounding towns. Along streams, through windy villages, and finally climbing through windy cobbled house-crowded streets to reach the mountain side of olive groves. These spread everywhere. Up there the view was magnificient and the air was sweet; the smell reminded me of sweet, juicy oranges. 

Back home now. Incredible meal en route. Dined at only restaurant in entire town which is decent. More than decent. Incredible. The owner, upon my third request for a glass of wine, politely plonked the entire bottle down and said "now it is yours". 

Atina Cabernet (local-ish), 2006. 

Snow Much

There is more snow. Snowing snowy snow. All tracks are constantly being covered. 

A storm kicked in last night. High winds through the village, shifting and depositing yet more snow. Heading out for dinner last night we crossed the frozen barren pistes alone, blinded by the freezing blasts. 

Today the top of the Olympic was hurricane force. And open. So when in Rome... 

Heading down towards La Daille the pistes/valleys begin to shield the onslaught. By half way down it is calm enough to relax and enjoy the barely skied on terrain. Peaks of trees poke through, giving an indication of just how much snow is up here. 

Everything has delightful amounts of powder. Every difficult to see turn is hilarious, especially as I can hardly handle powder at the best of times. 

Further down while navigating through the trees it's perfectly calm. Impossible to believe that the winds are raging above. The shelter of the trees is actually comforting. Still, with so much snow it's hard to get a single sharp turn in and numerous tumbles in marsmellow soft powder did ensue. 

As an aside, buff's can be difficult with beards. If turns out that beards and buff's can melt and freeze together!

It's not long before the winds at the top become unbearable, and make it undesirible to tackle to reach the quiet peaceful trees ahead. Freezing, blinding, loud, disorienting. Le sigh. 

End of a great half day at Val D'Isere. Now on to board games and mulled wine!

Val D'isere, all the magic of Disney, Marvel and Winter Wonderland, cubed

Our alarm goes at 2:50am to venture to Gatwick. We've been awake all night though, and we merely meakly utter vows to never catch morning flights ever again; a mantra that we echo for the next nine hours as we begin our journey to Val D'Isere. 

At four am the check in area is a buzz with sleepy travellers bumbling aimlessly in circles. Shortly after we arrive at Grenoble, greeted by an army of highly organised tour employees. Asha and I have signed up for one of those package deals; ski, sleep and eat for a week. We're using Ski World, a UK operator, who have a fairly solid gig going here, and I have to say that they have been incredible in making this lazy trip magical. And easy. 

We arrive in to Val d'Isere on a bus, passing a classic bond-looking scene: meters of snow everywhere, a dam nestled in the alps and ragged peaks towering on all sides. Patches of evergreens and desiduous trees commingle across the valleys and hills. And then finally the town. A wooden/rock styled chalet town where every building is proudly donning a white cap two to three feet deep. The snow-crusted roads have up to six feet piled up on each side, and all the while there is more and more falling every minute. For hours. And hours.

Well fed, well wined, we pass out early, before the other chalet guests even arrive. 

Another foot of snow falls overnight. 

The next morning we awake to delicious food, and meet our new house-mates for the upcoming week. All interesting and humourous individuals; this will be an easy week for us all.

More snow falls. 

The ski fields are vast. It has literally taken  days to explore each side. We might be being blessed with magnificant quantities of fluffy stuff, but the trade off is near-zero visibility at times. 

When the skies are clear then the views across the towns and valleys are incredible. Each morning we seem to have an opening of breathtaking visibility. Each afternoon we loose this as the clouds settle in. Clouds which bring yet more snow. 

We are here with a group of over a dozen others, and are scattered across four different chalets. We have had some interesting runs together. The perfect visibility runs have included a long descent through trees and over bridges in to the picturesque La Daille 1785. The less-visibility runs include getting relatively lost up beyond the glacier, visibility so limited we were unable to see the next piste marker, and then occasionally getting stranded in plateaus. All good fun though. 

There's an amazibg atmosphere here. Cocorico is an outside club that's cranking between 5-8. Pm that is. While there yesterday we were fortunate to witness two fireworks displays. The first atop (or part way up) The Face; a black run. Over 50 skiiers descended carrying fire torches, while sparodic fireworks lit the mountain in bright momentary flashes of colour. We enjoyed this while drinking vin chau (sp?) and listening to 90s dance tracks. 

This place has magic in the air. It's an incredible place to visit, to see the town, imerse yourself in French culture, and have a great time. The skiing is pretty darn incredible too. 

Ciao from the get-go

I've didn't know it was allowed. I still suspect it was illegal. My plane taxis out - over an hour late - with the last twenty poorly-balanced travellers struggling to find room for their awkwardly large 'carry ons', filling the aisles with rushed tension. Like a heavy Ferrari, every corner is hit with maximum speed, and each jolt sets the herd in to faster motions. The air hostess braces herself mid-turn and mid-safety-demonstration, pausing only to shut the poltergeist-overhead luggage door from its fifth attempt at asserting itself. I am off to Roma. And blessed I feel, as Roma has started on board. 

The flight is uneventful. That is aside from the chap next to me who needs a diet (or two) and a larger seat. And aside from regularly being engaged by the Czech Hedgehog-like seat in front which my knees keep digging in to. The woman within it jostles. My book falls. I retaliate with a couple of knee jerks in to the seat. I keep this up for the whole flight, mostly out of boredom. 

Taxi-touts were waiting at the airport. They significantly outnumbered (and out-douched) the actual taxis. One tout has one misaligned button done up on his shirt, asking for €60 for a journey worth a quarter that. No thanks. Please get dressed. 

I stubbornly wait. And eventually get taken for a ride. 

Late. Over budget already. But beach side in Ostia. London and worries, far far away. 

(d4) Mui Ne, Scooters and Sand Dunes

Finally, a day where we managed to sleep in til 7:30. After room service we haggled our way around town and hired four scooters for two days, 900.000 d.

I was initially terrified driving on the roads, as the road rules governing traffic is a bit ad hoc. My fears proved irrational as you realize the key to being seen is to be heard - the horn is the most useful ally in navigating the roads.

We initially shot up the coast from Mui Ne up to the other end of the beach where we went for a wander amongst the fishing village. Here we saw many fishing boats, cool round wicker boats used for going between fishing boat and shore, and a number of people shelling scallops. There was a bit of a stench filling the air in the noon sun, but not too bad considering the scale of the fishing going on.

Driving along our next stop was at the peninsular where we drove down to the beach for a quick blat. Tom kept getting stuck in the sand which was pretty amusing. Getting the scooters back on to the road again proved to be a sweat-inducing challenge.

Moving on again we drove along a breathtaking coastal road which was wide, straight and empty, the hot Vietnamese winds providing a cooling effect as we flew by. This is undoubtedly the best scooter ride I have ever had.

Our next stop was at the Red sand dunes, which we did not end up seeing/doing. Driving in to this attraction though triggered the local kids to sprint over. Before we knew it we were all surrounded by adorable[1] Vietnamese kids who are probably repeating their parents smoothest lines to try and sell us 'sliding' down the dunes. [1] one girl we spoke with had her iPod stolen by them yesterday. They were cheeky though, in between smiles they were playing with our scooters and maybe subtly checking our pockets..

The coastal road was ace. Eventually we were starving, took a random turn somewhere. Overtook some cows. Found a shack. No one spoke any English. With pointing we conveyed we were hungry, and we were fed with instant noodles, sauces and an egg. Delicious.