Sea Shells

Friday February 28
2020

Monterossa, Cinque
Terre, Italy

I was about to get a
cup of coffee, come back to my room and book the first train back to
Florence when I got up this morning. Last night’s forced march in a
driving downpour had me sure of it. It was so bad that I almost
didn’t go out to eat. Luckily there is a pizza joint on he other
side of the wall. Since this is a summer tourist destination most of
the restaurants are still shuttered.

I stepped outside
and was hit with blue skies and blinding sun. I never would have
believed it possible. That canceled my internet search for fast
trains. After coffee and croissant I went a wandering. At the top of
my hill was the city information office. I asked her for an area map
and she gave me one and explained things. You see that blue line?
That is the easy trail overlooking the water. It’s closed for
landslide repair. The next easiest? It’s pretty much closed too. –
Where would you suggest for someone old and fat, bit mostly fat? –
Two towns away on the train. Thank you.

I walked back
downhill and came to a church and walked it. Pretty great little
church with a pretty great ceiling. Down to the seaside and a few
pictures and mostly enjoying the sun. Through the tunnel, there is an
actual 100 yard long tunnel connecting one part of the village with
the other. Down to the train station. After some cursing at the
ticket machine I got my paper and then had to learn to validate the
darned thing. I don’t quite understand, but once you buy the
ticket, you have to get it stamped my a machine. If you don’t and
the conductor checks your ticket, you are subject to a several
hundred Euro fine.

I had thought the
trains between he towns was a special little train. No you get on a
regular train and get off a couple miles later. I got off at the
station and there is nothing there except station. The town is
perched atop a crag of a mountain. I followed the crowd to the base
and expected to find an elevator that you could pay for and ride up.
That was an unmet dream. I looked up at the stairway, full of
switchbacks and decided I’d need a burro or a llama to get me up
that. I turned back t the station for the next train going my way. At
the station there was a little bus, I asked about a ride and he said
for 2.50 I had a seat. Narrow roads and switchbacks and horn honking
we got to the top. The top of what exactly? The top of what looked
like the village I had just come from, only steeper. I killed and
hour and went back to the train.

Back on my home turf
I went searching for an ice cream shop. Oh, right. It’s winter and
none are open. There was this attractive restaurant on the seaside.
It was after 3pm, let’s get an early dinner and watch a movie on
the computer. The waiter ushered me to a great seat, and looking at
the menu I saw they had a tomato based seafood soup. I don’t know
if it is the same name here, but back home it is called Chopino. I’ve
had it a few times in restaurants back home and have even made it. A
nice thickened tomato and garlic base, in a fish stock. Simmered with
fish and shell fish. Simple and good.

It came in this
kettle and looked great. It wasted wonderful. I was surprised how
much olive oil they used in the dish, but it is their recipe, not
mine. Mussels, clams, shrimp and octopus. Soak some of the broth up
with hearty bead and you have the perfect meal. All is good in the
world … well there was that Mussel that had the cracked shell …..
and then the clam that one of it shell halves was broken and gone.
Whoa Filter feeders with broken shells? Did they toss in maybe an
opened shell as well? I think now would be a good point to stop
eating this. I pointed out the broken shells to the waiter and he
said – oh you know? They sometimes break when stirring the soup. –
All the recipes I read and followed said, make the broth, let it
reduce then a few minutes before serving add the seafood. The
shellfish goes in last because they cook the fastest. 2 to 4 minutes.
No heavy stirring. I tell the waiter to take it away, he offered to
make a new one and I tell him that is not necessary. Then some suave
guy comes over and asks what is going on. I explain that the shells
were cracked and the waiter said them got cracked in the cooking
process. I said I couldn’t be sure and was stopping on the safe
side. He explained how I didn’t know anything, he was the owner and
was listed in the Michelin book and on and on and on .. I could see
that nothing I said mattered to him, nor would it shut him up. This
is not a quiet table side chat, this is a full on baby stomp your
feet rant. Finally I had enough and said “Just give me the fucking
check” – Did you say to me to give you the fucking check?!?! Did
you really say to give you the fucking check?!? How dare you say to
give you the fucking check?!? There are children in this restaurant a
who don’t want to hear you say fucking in here. – Err… I said
it once, and you have just yelled it how many times four? Five? –
You are a crazy lady! .. on and on. The waiter gave me the check, I
tipped him 2 Euros, the service was good, and told him the Euros were
for him, and left. The owner was still ranting as I walked down the
street.

The TripAdvisor
review will be fun.

I sat b the beach
the rest of the afternoon watching the tide come in and the sun set
over the hilltops. Yikes, as soon a the sun drops so does the
temperature. Now all snug in my room with train reservations and a
hotel in Florence tomorrow.

Good fucking night.