Jessica, Sept. 12 2010: Woke at 3:00 am. So brutal to be exhausted by 10, but nice to be in Nice before everyone wakes up. Hopped on the train at 9:23 am, after a full breakfast and checking out of our hotel. I vowed not to eat cheese, after feeling sick from too much rich food the night before! Ah! That carbonara! Heaven!
Anyway, on to the train and fast asleep. Change at Ventimiglia, then change again at Genova, then disembark at Monterosso around 3:00 pm. The train station was so crowded - alarmingly so.
Yancy, the American woman who owns our B&B says the weekends are always like that, because Italians come here to get away for a few days. What a beautiful way to enter Italy - by train from France.
Our room in Monterosso at Camere Sirene is basic, clean and well located.
So by 3:00 pm we are fighting waves of exhaustion, barely able to change into swimsuits and force ourselves in the direction of the beach. We promise each other to make the meals longer - like an event in themselves - with no cheese, and to stay awake until midnight. Seems humble enough.
We ate at a beach-side cafe: lasagne al pesto, bruscetta, stuffed mussels and insalata caprese. Ok, so we had some cheese. All the food was amazing.
I regret not bringing my snorkel gear. We bought some on the beach and it makes a world of difference. Fish! Jelly fish! Nothing large or scary, it seems, at least not by the coast. Today we are renting a kayak and paddling to a waterfall where there is supposed to be a reef.
After our late, late lunch and a swim, we changed, showered and headed into the village proper. Magical. Narrow cobblestone streets between tall, Venetian-style shops, apartments and churches. Their facades are painted gold, pink and blues, weathered by generations, perhaps centuries, of life on this rocky coastline. The streets are filled with cafes and restaurants.
Found a restaurant in an alley, charming and discrete. Ordered a bottle of Chianti, gnocci with pesto, spaghetti with clams, veal with lemon (JK) and swordfish Monterosso-style for me (drenched in capers, olives and tomato).
I hate being mistaken for an American.
Anyway, on to the train and fast asleep. Change at Ventimiglia, then change again at Genova, then disembark at Monterosso around 3:00 pm. The train station was so crowded - alarmingly so.
Yancy, the American woman who owns our B&B says the weekends are always like that, because Italians come here to get away for a few days. What a beautiful way to enter Italy - by train from France.
Our room in Monterosso at Camere Sirene is basic, clean and well located.
So by 3:00 pm we are fighting waves of exhaustion, barely able to change into swimsuits and force ourselves in the direction of the beach. We promise each other to make the meals longer - like an event in themselves - with no cheese, and to stay awake until midnight. Seems humble enough.
We ate at a beach-side cafe: lasagne al pesto, bruscetta, stuffed mussels and insalata caprese. Ok, so we had some cheese. All the food was amazing.
I regret not bringing my snorkel gear. We bought some on the beach and it makes a world of difference. Fish! Jelly fish! Nothing large or scary, it seems, at least not by the coast. Today we are renting a kayak and paddling to a waterfall where there is supposed to be a reef.
After our late, late lunch and a swim, we changed, showered and headed into the village proper. Magical. Narrow cobblestone streets between tall, Venetian-style shops, apartments and churches. Their facades are painted gold, pink and blues, weathered by generations, perhaps centuries, of life on this rocky coastline. The streets are filled with cafes and restaurants.
It feels strange to be without language after doing so well in French. So far we know "Mi Piace" (I want), "Prego" and "Grazie" (please/thanks) and "Bonjounro" and "Bonna Serra" (good day / good evening).
We wandered around town, enjoying the sound of people walking, laughing, eating, talking, all on a gentle background of waves. This is the sound of life! We miss it at home. It's lost among traffic and catchy jingles and people talking too loud just to be overheard.
Found a restaurant in an alley, charming and discrete. Ordered a bottle of Chianti, gnocci with pesto, spaghetti with clams, veal with lemon (JK) and swordfish Monterosso-style for me (drenched in capers, olives and tomato).
I hate being mistaken for an American.
I hate being taken for an American when I am abroad as well. I hate just as much individual responses to my question, "why do you think I am an American?". The near universal response? "you guys all look the same from here..." Meaning, I guess, that the US isn't the centre of the universe for most of the world, which is a good thing, but lumping Canadians in with them is the worst.
ReplyDeleteCongrats on the blog!
We asked a waiter in Nice that, and he said ... "Well, you Canadians are just as loud as Americans but much more sensitive. You always want to make sure people know you're not American .... it's like, 'We're loud but we're really nice people! Really!'"
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