Cinque Terre, before the trains unload
Cinque Terre has two populations: the five villages, and the trains that empty into them at ten. I worked around the second. At dawn Vernazza is fishermen, a woman sweeping steps, and pastel houses stacked like someone dropped a box of crayons down a cliff. Manarola at first light was the same, only steeper.
Breakfast was focaccia in Monterosso, oily and salted, eaten facing the sea. I walked part of the Sentiero Azzurro in the morning and swam in Riomaggiore before anyone was awake enough to judge. Evenings were fresh pesto, local white wine, and a small glass of Sciacchetrà on a terrace at blue hour. It is sweet and serious. So is the coastline.

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