Whirled World, Part V: Cinque Terre

Librarian, Italian, and Attention-Whore

(The main street of Riomaggiore)

(Part I, Part II, Part III, & Part IV)

We made it to Athens. We caught our plane to Milan. We somehow found our way from the Milan airport to our Milan hostel. And when we got there (to a room that had a bidet about 3 feet from our bed) we ordered a pizza, and promptly passed out. As soon as we woke up, we began our trek to Cinque Terre.

I am ethnically Italian. I don't know how in touch with my Italian side I am, as that side of my family emigrated more recently than the other side. I'm around more "Italian-American" customs than "Italian" ones. My mother is full-blooded Italian (all four of her great-grandparents came over from Italy; her parents were born here). Her parents knew how to speak Italian (although I'm not sure how fluent they were), but they used it as a code language (you know how some parents spell words out so that their kids won't know what they're talking about? My grandparents used Italian for those purposes), so she never learned it. My father, who is not Italian, studied in Florence in undergrad and speaks more Italian pretty well. Yes that's right: ironically, my non-Italian father speaks the language that my Italian mother does not. (Did I just use the word "ironically" correctly? Because I think I may have, but I'm never quite confident on that matter.)

So yes. I'm Italian. And I took three semesters of Italian in undergrad. And I spent a semester abroad in Rome.

Despite this, my Italian is practically non-existent. And unlike most places in Italy, the people in the train stations on our route did not speak English (nor did most of the locals with whom we attempted to communicate). So I was incredibly proud of the fact that I managed to speak to people in my extremely-limited Italian, and figure things out just fine. Apparently, I understand a lot more of it than I thought I did. And I used some "creative language skills" that I learned from German classes in high school, meaning that I circled what I wanted to say until people understood it. When I didn't know the word for "pathetic", I used the word for "sad". Apparently it was completely grammatically incorrect, but they understood what I meant well enough to correct me.

(In one of my German classes, we could get extra-credit on a test if we explained something that we didn't have the vocabulary for. Example: The question asked us to explain the process of changing a tire. We didn't know the words for "tire", "jack", "flat", or "wrench", but we did know the words like "car", "bad", "road", "lift", and "circle". If you could fake it well enough that someone might be able to catch your drift, then you got extra credit. Really quite a brilliant method of teaching students to think on their feet in another language, in retrospect...)

Cinque Terre is a group of five small seaside towns. You can hike between them, and it's about 12km total. We ended up staying in Riomaggiore, which is referred to as the "last" of the five towns (although it seems to me that it could be the first if headed from the other direction... Whatever.)

It's gorgeous. The main part of the town is just a street. It leads down to a very small little dock, and giant rocks that people lay on to get sun. And there's a very small rock beach. It's quieter than some of the other towns, which I liked. It was my favorite of the towns (well, the four I saw... we never made it to Corniglia).

(The dock end of Riomaggiore.)

We were in a hostel room for 9, which was our first non-private hostel on the trip. There was a group of three Aussie girls: Kate, Katie, and Emma. There were a couple of Kiwis (from New Zealand, if you're not up on the lingo), who were traveling with some boys in a neighboring room. There were a couple of girls from Idaho who were also traveling with some boys in the neighboring room.

The first night, Two-Shots-Up and I got some pasta from a cute little shop. She also got focaccia, which is an Italian bread that I had introduced her to in the train station in Genoa. Then we went to the rocks and watched the sunset.

(Best sunset picture I've taken yet. Seriously, check that.)

We went out to a little bar. We got hit on by some horrifying men. And by the end of the night we were chatting with a very drunk Kiwi (who was traveling with our hostel-mates), a geeky young guy from the USA, and an older guy from Manchester, England who was there leading a cycling tour. When the bar was closing, someone suggested that we should get some wine and head down to the rocks at the pier. So we did.

(Two-Shots-Up and Ryan. I think you can tell what she thought of him. But you certainly can't tell just how WASTED he was.)

On our way there, Ryan the Drunken Kiwi pulled me aside and tried to hit on me. Now, if you'll remember my history, I don't have a great track record of knowing when people are hitting on me. So what tipped me off?

RYAN: Hey, you and I have some business to discuss.
ANGELA: We do?
RYAN: Yeah. You've been flirting with me all night.
ANGELA: No, I haven't.
RYAN: Yeah you have. Looking at me through those glasses of yours. You look like a naughty librarian.
ANGELA: I'm going down to the rocks.
RYAN: No, no, no. You can't go down. We have other plans.
ANGELA: What?
RYAN: Can you tell me I have books overdue, and that if I can't pay the fines then I'll have to make it up to you? You know, sexually?
ANGELA: No.
RYAN: I've been a very bad boy. I was too loud. And it's supposed to be silent.
ANGELA: I'm leaving.
RYAN: NO! I mean, I really like you. And I just want to take you home, cuddle with you, kiss you, and feel your boobies.


Most of that conversation is probably paraphrased (as it was a while ago, and also I was speaking with a drunk guy who had a thick dialect, and wasn't exactly easy to understand)... but that last line? Verbatim. (Two points for honesty?)

Eventually, I just gave up on trying to reason with him and started walking toward the rocks with the others.

On our way there, we passed a group of guys. Ryan ran up to them yelling in the worst fake Italian accent you've ever heard:

"ARE-A YOU-A ITALIAN-O?"

My immediate reaction was to use a good Italian accent (I'm Italian, and I study accents in grad school... so it was decent) to say, "Don't listen to him. He's not an Italian. He's drunk."

One of the guys from the group came up to me, speaking with a strong Irish dialect. "Are you Italian then?"

"Yes, I am," I replied, still using my fake accent. It wasn't a lie. I'm half Italian.

"That's great, isn't it. Are you from here, then?"

"Not exactly from here..."

"Well, I guess prob'ly no one's really from here, it bein' a tourist town and all. I'm from Ireland, myself."

And then, without thinking, I said, "Are you, now?"

... in an IRISH DIALECT.

The Irish dialect I'd studied in grad school last semester. The one that ISN'T VERY GOOD.

And in the millisecond after I did it, I was MORTIFIED. Not only because I'd blown my cover as an Italian, but also because the guy probably thought I was mocking him or something.

He said, "Wait, what did you just say? You sounded Irish there for a second."

I don't know what possessed me to do so, but I returned to my Italian accent, and said, "Oh, yes, well, I have a friend who is from Ireland, and sometimes it is easier for her to understand my English if I try to talk the way she does."

And the guy TOTALLY BOUGHT IT. No, seriously. TOTALLY BOUGHT IT.

And I saw that the Kiwi, the Brit, the Geek, and Two-Shots-Up were all conversing with his big group of compatriots, and therefore wouldn't call my bluff...

So I continued my ruse.

STEVE: My name's Steve. What's yours?
ANGELA: Angela. (Thank God I have an Italian name)
STEVE: So Angela, do you have any friends in other places?
ANGELA: (switching to RP British dialect) I have some friends in England, actually.
STEVE: That's AMAZING! Anywhere else?
ANGELA: (switching to general New York dialect) And I do have the one friend in Long Island...
STEVE: OH MY GOD. You sound like you're in a movie or something.
ANGELA: (switching to Tennessee dialect) And my one friend is from way back home in Tennessee...
STEVE: Wait... Wait... You're not really an Italian, are you?
ANGELA: (switching to a Midwestern dialect) Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not.
STEVE: Well, what are you?
ANGELA: (switching to my real dialect, which is a pretty standardized form of American, thanks to my theatrical training) You tell me.
STEVE: OH MY GOD, You're really feckin' with my head here.
ANGELA: (switching back to Irish dialect) Oh, am I now?
STEVE: That's seriously good! Oh my God.
ANGELA: (switching back to Italian)Thank you kindly.
STEVE: Well, I'm guessin' you're an American, because you know a lot of those...
ANGELA: (switching back to New York) But which American is it?

This went on for a few more minutes before Steve guessed correctly.

This story is so much better told in person, but I felt the need to share it with you, as it's easily one of the most entertaining pranks I've ever pulled.

It led to Steve trying to convincing me to pull the same trick on his friends, and then Two-Shots-Up not knowing what I was doing and calling me out on it. The group Steve was with? A bunch of guys who were traveling solo and had met each other in a hostel in Florence. They had gotten along so well that they decided to go to Cinque Terre together. They made me guess their accents one by one. I got Irish, Scottish, British, Australian, and New Zealand... but one stumped me. Spencer sounded like an American (a mix between Californian and Midwestern), but said he wasn't one. It turned out he was from the Bahamas, but his mother was born in Iowa, so he doesn't even sound like a normal Bahamian.

Steve the Irishman, Spencer the Bahamian, and Reece the Aussie decided to join our merry bandwagon to the rocks. It was most fortunate, as they unknowingly cock-blocked the randy Kiwi (who at that point was hitting on Two-Shots-Up and I interchangeably) and the middle-aged Manchester cyclist (who seemed quite keen on Two-Shots-Up). It was a beautiful night, and we just stayed out for awhile. More near each other than with each other. It was nice.

The next day, we ran into Steve, Spencer, and Reece randomly. Steve was about to go back to Ireland, and the others were waiting with him outside the main office of the hostel with his baggage until it was time for him to catch the train. So we sat on the cobblestone road and waited with them. After all, we had no other plans (it was most truly a vacation, in a way I don't think I've ever had a vacation before). And that was the beginning of our beautiful friendship.

(Steve the Irishman, Reece the Aussie, and Spencer the Bahamian)

We ended up going to the rocks with Spencer and Reece, eating fresh fruit that we'd purchased at a market in town. I bought a plum and a lemon (which I was told would be sweeter than an American lemon... It wasn't. But I ate it anyway.)

(Spencer titled this photo "Angela con Limon" on facebook)

I wore my polka dot bikini without being self-conscious whatsoever: after all, I'd never see any of the people in Cinque Terre again (with the exception of Two-Shots-Up, but I'd been sharing rooms -- and beds -- with her for 7 weeks at that point, so I didn't care).

(Spencer, Reece, and Two-Shots-Up climbed down the giant rocks to get to the water)

Reece convinced me to get in the water. It was terrifying at first, with all the rocks around, but it became fun. We found slimy rocks to touch down on so that we weren't treading water the whole time. It was... nice. I don't know. Calm. And it was nice to not want to flirt or impress anyone. And my social anxiety didn't come out at all.

(self-portrait)

The boys told us about a photo they'd taken the day before that had an accidental photo-bomb in it. Eventually, they showed it to us. So now, I'll show it to you.

(It was supposed to just be a photo of how Spencer couldn't get his suntan lotion to blend in. But no. So much better and more awkward. They insist that they didn't notice the orange beach towel woman there until they were looking back at the photos later in the day.)

And then later, Two-Shots-Up and I had a fun little impromptu modeling session while Spencer took photos of us being as goofy as is humanly possible.





When we left the beach, we all went to a few grocery stores together and bought ingredients to cook our own dinner. I was in charge of the pasta (because, as an Italian, it's the one thing that I can cook... and I always make it perfectly. It's genetic). Two-Shots-Up made Sangria and sausages. We put mozzarella and antipasti in our pasta, along with some sauce the boys had made. And we had SO MUCH FOOD that we ended up sharing with all of our hostel-mates.

(I was REALLY excited about the Nutella glass with cartoon characters on it.)

(Two-Shots-Up's homemade Sangrias. They were potent.)

It's hard to explain how the town is set up, and where our hostel was... But basically, there was a narrow staircase from the town leading to the beach, and at one of the landings of the staircase where it took it's final turn, the door to our hostel room opened onto the landing. It wasn't the MAIN staircase to the beach... so we all sat on the stairs. And ate our food. And talked, joked, laughed, and sang. And the food was DELICIOUS! And people were going nuts over the Sangria. And every time someone started coming our way on the stairs, one of the Aussies yelled "CAR!", and we all picked up our dishes and stood against the wall so that the walkers could pass. I can't tell you how much fun it was. One of my favorite things that happened on my whole trip.

(Two-Shots Up, Reece, and Spencer in the narrow stairs. Kate, whose knees you see, was sitting in our doorway.)

I remember going out for drinks. The Aussies told us that they had gotten Nutella Daiquiris the night before (I was never able to obtain one, but doesn't it sound awesome?). So we decided to find another local drink... And we did. The Gelato Cocktail. Mine was mint and chocolate, making it more of a Grasshopper Milkshake than a cocktail. It was still a lot of fun. :)

(Spencer, Em, Two-Shots-Up, Reece, & Katie walking through a piazza over the road)

At one point, everyone started giving each other back-rubs. I don't remember how it started. Because of my back problems, I spent many years of my life not letting people touch my back. I even had to be careful when hugging people. During my first year of graduate school, my body became so knotted and warped that my Movement Professor said I was banned from participating in class until I got a full-body deep-tissue massage (no joke), so that was the first time I let someone massage me. It was terrifying, but ultimately a good experience. And grad school in general has both healed my back and also made me a lot less fearful than I used to be... so I've let people touch me more.

Anyway. Spencer the Bahamian was getting a reputation amongst the girls as being terrible at back-rubs. So he came over to me, where he could get a back-rub without giving one in return. One of my best friends from college (Greg) was a baseball pitcher, and taught me how to manipulate his upper back and shoulders, so I just do that on everyone now. Spencer not only seemed to love it, but he wanted to try. So I let go of my fear and said he could try on me. And, shockingly, he was doing great. It felt good. And I commented as such.

And then Two-Shots-Up shoved me out of the way and demanded that he work on her back instead. I was taken aback, of course. She said, "He owes me." It was weird. But whatever.

I believe that was the night we watched the World Cup game between the USA and Ghana. Two-Shots-Up had lived in Ghana for a year in undergrad, so she was rooting for them. And plenty of the people we were with were happy to root against the USA (mostly the Aussies, for some reason). But the majority of the people at the bar were American, and we're too pleased when Two-Shots-Up led the cheering section (in a clearly American dialect) whenever Ghana did something right. (Ghana won the game, in case you're as out of the sports loop as I normally am).

I walked up a hill with my laptop during the game to try to Skype with Phil. I found wifi. I didn't find Phil. I was a little grumpy as a result. The whole gang ended up in my hostel room trying to figure out what to do next, but I ended up passing out on top of my covers while they talked. Two of the Aussie girls tucked me in, and they all headed out to a beach (where they apparently all cuddled for warmth until they fell asleep). I'm glad I finally caught up on a little sleep. I think I needed it.

The next day, Two-Shots-Up and I decided to attempt the hike between the five towns. We took the train to Monterosso (the 1st town). We shopped around the old town and new town (Monterosso seems to be the biggest of the towns, and is divided in two parts). Then we started the hike to Vernazza.

What we didn't know: the hike from Monterosso to Vernazza is the hardest of the four hikes. OH. MY. GOD. It felt like we were going uphill forever. There was a staircase that felt never-ending (I kept thinking I could see the top... I was wrong at least 4 times. No joke). It was gorgeous, of course. But I'm not an athletic person, and it was VERY hot. I ended up stripping down to my bikini after the first 1/4 of that trail, and I was STILL hot (and I'm the sort of person who normally runs cold). I've never sweat so much in my life. And some of the trail was narrow and really quite treacherous. I almost fell down the mountain about 4 times.

(The never-ending staircase. This was about half-way up it. And no, that thing that you think is the top is NOT the top.)

In the end, it was worthwhile. We were surrounded by so much beauty. The vineyards. The ocean. The towns. It was a lovely little adventure.

(The vineyards we walked through)

(A waterfall next to one of the safer -- yet still narrow -- parts of the path)

(Vernazza, from the trail)

When we got to Vernazza, we randomly ran into Spencer and Reece. We ended up getting dinner with them at a seafood restaurant (I don't eat seafood... I can't remember what my compromise was) that had a television so that Two-Shots-Up could watch whatever World Cup game was on that night. The conversation wasn't quite as free-flowing as it had been. Something seemed a little off, and I didn't know why.

We ended up getting gelato cocktails and gelato sandwiches (it's like an ice-cream sandwich, except instead of cookies it's in a croissant, and instead of ice cream it's gelato... and it's delicious) and sitting on the cobblestone road with all the Aussie and Kiwi girls. Two-Shots-Up had gone off drinking wine with one of the Kiwis and a couple of native Cinque Terre men. We were laughing, joking, talking... And eventually giving each other back-rubs. Actually, that's not entirely true... It was mostly just me giving other people back-rubs. (I like doing it. I don't know why. Just do.)

Eventually, other people joined in, and we had a little rotation going. I wasn't getting back-rubs, but Spencer the Bahamian insisted on giving me one, as he hadn't gotten to "repay" me from before. So I agreed. He was doing quite well. And about 30 seconds into it, Two-Shots-Up showed up, out of nowhere, and once again shoved me away from him and took my place.

"Seriously?"

"What?" She seemed oblivious to the fact that she had just knocked me onto the cobblestone paved.

"Did you seriously just do that AGAIN?"

"He owes me."

"For what?"

"I need this," she said. "Besides, you don't even like back-rubs."

"Don't tell me what I like."

"You wouldn't be able to tell Phil about it anyway."

"What? Why not?"

"Just stop making such a big deal out of it."

So I dropped it. She was drunk, if rude. I didn't understand her comment about Phil. It wouldn't have been any sort of betrayal, as it meant nothing.

Eventually the one cop in town told us to get off of the street, so we headed down to the rock beach. Two-Shots-Up came with us, but quickly disappeared with the Kiwi girl, apparently in search of some hot Italian she'd seen that night. So I ended up laying on some hugely uncomfortable rocks with Reece the Aussie, Spencer the Bahamian, and Kate the Aussie. Kate's from Melbourne and Reece is from Sydney, so they had this huge rivalry, and just kept doing that weird flirt-fighting thing that people do that I've never really understood or felt compelled to participate in. I moved over next to Spencer and just looked at the stars in the dark, clear night.

The next thing I remember was waking up in the dark, cuddling with Spencer. The others had left. I was in an incredibly uncomfortable position. I woke Spencer, but he was pretty out-of-it. We walked back to our respective hostel rooms.

In the morning we said goodbye to Reece and Spencer, and we decided to head back to Monterosso. As we were waiting for the train, I tried to make small talk with Two-Shots-Up, but she was clearly in a bad mood. I tried to be positive and keep things light, as I always do, until she cut me off.

"I've been having a problem with you," she said, looking away from me.

So I decided to be open to whatever she was going to say. We had one more day together, and it seemed like the easiest course to take.

She proceeded to tell me many things. Some of them made more sense to me than others. But the gist of things is that she thinks sometimes I try too hard. And that I'm an attention whore. And that I flirt with everyone. And that I'm constantly trying to fight with her for other people's attention. And that I don't really listen when people speak to me.

To be honest, about 90% of the things that she was having "problems" with were things that I had mentally accused her of as well.

It's strange to be confronted with someone else's perception of you, particularly when it doesn't align with your own. In some ways, it wasn't much different from how strange I felt when Ryan the Kiwi wanted me to be a Naughty Librarian. It makes me want to correct the other person. But perhaps what I should be doing is trying to see why they came to that conclusion about me in the first place.

So I took all of her criticisms without flinching. I didn't get defensive. I tried not to get offended. I apologized. I thanked her for bringing things to my attention. I thanked her for her honesty, and her bravery (as I imagine it wasn't easy for her to raise all these points that had clearly bothered her... after all, I hadn't said anything to her about the things she did that bothered me). And I said I'd work on everything.

They say that you're likely to be bothered by things that others do if they're issues you have yourself. Maybe Two-Shots-Up and I are too alike.

But then, she wasn't the one who fell asleep on the beach cuddling with a stranger the night before. So maybe I am everything she said. I don't know.

The rest of the day was fine. Once she got everything off her chest, she returned to being the lovely, happy, caring person that she had been in Santorini. We shopped in Monterosso. We took the train to Manarola (town #4) for dinner, gelato, and the sunset. And it was great.

(a statue of a local goddess, with Manarola in the background)

The restaurant we stopped at for dinner was super-cute. And the waiter asked us if we wanted to hang out with him when he got off of his shift. It's not the sort of thing I would have normally agreed to, but Two-Shots-Up is a more spontaneous girl than I am... So we agreed. She and I walked from Manarola to Riomaggiore on the easiest part of the hike: "The Lover's Walk". It was easy to be friends.

(The Lover's Walk. It's built into the mountain. This was, unfortunately, the best picture I could get with my point-and-shoot at that hour of the night.)

We met our waiter at a bar there with some of his friends. They spoke varying amounts of English, all with thick Italian accents (and the guy who claimed to speak the most English -- and who told us he TAUGHT English -- was actually the most difficult to understand). I spoke in half-English, half-Italian with the waiter. Two-Shots-Up spoke in mostly-English with one of his friends, and occasionally threw out a few words of Spanish, hoping that he'd understand them. We all did splendidly, I thought.

I was somewhat self-conscious throughout the encounter. I went out of my way to not do anything that might be perceived as flirtation. I avoided it to the point that I stopped feeling like myself. But I felt as though I had something to prove to Two-Shots-Up.

As the guys left, I asked Two-Shots-Up how I had done. She said, "I can't tell you that. You have to learn what feels right to you."

That only served to confuse me. What feels right to me is exactly what she said was wrong to her. I didn't push the issue.

We climbed into our beds earlier than usual so that we could head out in the morning. And I counted the hours until I would be in London, with Phil once again. And suddenly nothing else mattered.

I don't always know who I am. I don't always know how what I'm doing looks to other people. I'm not always the person I think I am, or the one I wish I could be.

In Cinque Terre, I found a little piece of myself. I didn't care about the passage of time. I wasn't nervous in big groups of people, where most were strangers. I ate gelato twice a day without beating myself up over it. I finally learned how to take a vacation.

Maybe what I really did was get in touch with my Italian side.

I am, after all, a pretty convincing Italian.

Just ask Steve the Irishman.



To be continued...



No matter what people think you may be, may you always be exactly what you want to be.

~A~

P.S. "When we see men of a contrary character, we should turn inwards and examine ourselves." - Confucius