A Travelling Sprout

A Sprout Spends Time by the Ligurian Sea

By Shelley Banks

After spending a wonderful few days exploring the sights of Tuscany, it was time to continue our journey. We boarded a fast train from Santa Maria Novella in Florence to La Spezia Centrale, then transferred to a suburban train bound for Riomaggiore. The journey covered 155 kilometres and was straightforward, delivering us to the heart of the Cinque Terre.

Riomaggiore is the first of the five villages clinging to the rugged Ligurian coast that make up the Cinque Terre, each looking as though it belongs on a postcard. Our initial impression of Riomaggiore was of pastel-coloured houses stacked up the cliffs in a seemingly haphazard fashion, all connected by winding lanes and steep stone steps. The reality of those steps hit us immediately, as we had to lug our suitcases up four flights through a dimly lit passageway to reach our apartment. However, the effort was worth it—the apartment boasted sweeping views over the town and the Ligurian Sea.

That afternoon, we wandered through the narrow streets, discovering a variety of shops, restaurants and bars, as well as exploring the clifftops and admiring the brightly coloured fishing boats bobbing in the water. Sunset in Riomaggiore was particularly memorable. Both locals and visitors gathered on the rocks by the water to watch the sun dip beneath the horizon as waves crashed below. We were fortunate to enjoy the golden glow from the privacy of our rooftop terrace, away from the crowds.

During our stay in the Cinque Terre, we planned to try some of the renowned hikes. On our second day, we set out from Riomaggiore along Lovers Lane, a concrete path that hugs the coastline and leads to Manarola, the second village. From there, we began the first of the more substantial hikes, which would take us to Corniglia, the third village. Hiking the coastal paths between the villages was both challenging and rewarding, providing glimpses of grapevines, olive groves, and the endless blue of the ocean.

By the end of the day, tired from our walk, we caught the train back to Riomaggiore and enjoyed an early dinner at Dau Cila, a fantastic restaurant overlooking the harbour.

We still had two villages left to explore: Vernazza and Monterosso. The following day, we set out early, hopping on the regional train that winds its way along the dramatic coastline. The journey offered stunning views of sparkling water and terraced vineyards. On arriving in Vernazza, we stopped for a quick gelato in the main street, then climbed the narrow laneways higher until we reached a vantage point with a breathtaking view back towards Riomaggiore. Vernazza felt similar, though smaller, than the villages we had already seen, so we decided to continue on to Monterosso, the last and largest of the five villages.

Monterosso surprised us with its bustling beach and the lively atmosphere along the promenade. Having not yet swum in Italy, we decided this was the perfect opportunity to give it a go. The beach clubs lining the shore were crowded, their rows of striped umbrellas stretching across the sand. After searching for a while, we eventually found a club with a few spaces left and paid 38 Euro each for the use of an umbrella and two sunlounges.

Although paying for beach access was unfamiliar to us, we chose (eventually) not to worry about the exchange rate and simply enjoyed the experience. The water itself was beautiful and inviting, though the sharp pebbles leading into the sea were not particularly pleasant. Once in the water, we discovered rocks underfoot, which made paddling a bit uncomfortable. Regardless, we were keen to experience an Italian beach club, and this visit to Monterosso provided us with that chance.

As the day came to an end, we boarded the public ferry for a scenic journey back to Riomaggiore. This return trip offered spectacular views of all five villages from the water—a fitting finale to our time spent exploring the Cinque Terre region.

The following morning, we bid farewell to the coast and embarked on a multi-stage train journey. Our first train departed for La Spezia Centrale, where we transferred to another service bound for Parma. At Parma, we switched trains again, this time heading towards Milan Centrale. Navigating the vast and busy Milan Centrale station required some patience, but we eventually located our connection.

To our pleasant surprise, our final train leg was in first class. As the train departed Milan Centrale, we couldn’t help but feel that travelling in such comfort could easily become a habit. Our ultimate destination for the day was Lake Como, from where we planned to cross the lake and arrive at Bellagio.

Musings

Things We Take for Granted
By Shelley Banks

Last year, our Euro Summer adventure was filled with unforgettable sights, sounds, and smells—sensations that lingered long after our suitcases were tucked away back home. While we were awestruck by the grandeur of ancient cathedrals and temples and the energy of cosmopolitan cities, sometimes, it was the smallest things that stuck out.

Simple, everyday things that we overlook until we travel. Public toilets, for example: in Australia, they’re free and accessible, allowing us to dash in and out without a second thought. In Europe, however, public toilets come with a price tag. Each visit required us to rummage through our bags in search of coins before gaining entry.

Something else we missed was good coffee. Throughout our eight weeks abroad, not once did we encounter a brew that matched the rich, smooth flat whites from our local café. Every coffee we tried tasted disappointingly like weak, warm, flavoured milk. Despite repeated attempts to find a decent cup, we were continually let down.

But the beach—that’s really where it hit us. In Australia, all you need to do is grab a towel and togs, some sunscreen, thongs, sunglasses and a hat, and off you go. Want to set up a cabana on the soft, white sand? Go for it. Want to swim until you’re as wrinkled as a prune? No worries. It’s all free and open to everyone.

In Italy on the other hand, when we went to the beach, we had to pay. And almost fell over when we realised how much it cost—AU$150! For this, we got two sunlounges and an umbrella, wedged so close to our neighbours we could pass them a drink without moving. And the sand? More like pebbles, rough underfoot, making each step a careful negotiation.

Surrounded by the scent of coconut sunscreen and a chorus of accents—Italian, German, French, Spanish—the other beachgoers seemed unperturbed by the expense, unaffected by the exchange rate we had to deal with. The spectacle of countless multicoloured umbrellas lining the shore was impressive, but from our sunlounges in the back row, our view of the water was obscured by the crowds. A closer spot would have cost even more.

Swimming required us to gingerly step over sunbaked rocks, wincing with each movement, before reaching the water—only to find even more rocks waiting beneath the surface.

As often happens during travel, we chatted with other tourists, sharing stories about where we’re from, how long we were staying, and our impressions of the destination. Upon learning we were Australian, many asked, ‘Why are you here at the beach? Don’t you have great beaches at home?’ Our answer was always yes—and they’re free—which never failed to elicit surprise.

One of the joys of travelling is having new experiences so we were glad we spent the day at the beach. But only once. We much prefer the freedom to wander onto any beach we like without having to pay for something that nature provides for free.

Short Stories

Across the Balcony
By Shelley Banks

The balconies faced each other across a narrow slice of Lake Como, close enough that voices could travel if the night was still. During the day, boats drew white lines across the water and tourists leaned over railings with cameras. But at night, the pace changed and a sense of serenity floated across the water.

Mara discovered the voice by accident.

She had stepped onto her balcony after midnight, unable to sleep in the unfamiliar rented apartment. The lake below was dark glass. She exhaled, and somewhere across the water, she heard someone speaking.

‘Sorry,’ the voice said, when it realised that Mara was there. ‘Didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘You didn’t,’ Mara replied. ‘I was already awake.’

A pause. Then: ‘Me too. Jet lag?’

“Something like that.’

That was how it began. No names. No faces. Just voices floating between wrought-iron railings and the slow breath of the lake.

They talked about small things at first. The echo of the church bells. The way the mountains rose up, secluding this section of the lake from the outside world. How the water changed colour every hour of the day. Sometimes there were long silences, comfortable ones, broken only by the lap of waves against stone.

Mara learned he came every summer. He learned this was her first visit. A bucket list destination.

‘It’s time I go inside and try and sleep,’ she said.

‘I should do that too,’ he replied.

The next night, Mara found herself back on the balcony. And across the way, so did Jake.

Again, they talked for hours, but neither mentioned meeting.

It became a rule without being said. For the next two nights, they stayed in the dark, voices only. Mara imagined him leaning on his balcony rail and wondered what he looked like. Did he wonder the same thing?

On the fourth night, rain fell suddenly, drumming on the lake. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Mara wanted to feel the rain on her skin.

‘You’ll get soaked,’ his voice called out.

‘So will you.’

By the edge of the lake, they talked about their lives, their jobs, families and friends, hobbies, childhoods. About dreams and plans.

‘I leave in two days,’ he said quietly.

Mara sighed. ‘Me too.’

Silence stretched, heavier than before.

‘We could meet tomorrow,’ he said at last. ‘Just once. In daylight.’

But Mara didn’t want to. She liked things just the way they were. It felt like something that would never happen again.

The next evening was their last. Both knowing they were about to go back to their real lives and whatever this had been, would no longer exist except in their memories.

When the lights went out across the water, they said goodbye.

Mara left early the next morning. As the ferry pulled away, she looked back at the line of balconies, all identical now in the sun, pinpointing the one that had been his.

At home, weeks later, she found herself standing on her own balcony late at night, listening to traffic instead of water. Life had started again, busy, loud, ordinary.

Then one evening, her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

I found a balcony that reminds me of the lake, it read.

Mara stared at her phone. Some connections, she realised, didn’t need to be seen to be real.

Something Light

The Outdoor Type
By Shelley Banks

The Cinque Terre in Italy is renowned for its breathtaking scenery: terraced vineyards, tranquil cobalt waters, and the vibrant, colourful houses that seem to cling impossibly to the cliffs in each of the five villages—Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore. For those who enjoy the outdoors, the region offers a wealth of hiking tracks, ranging from gentle walks to more challenging treks.

Although I don’t usually consider myself an “outdoorsy” type, since my husband and I were staying in Riomaggiore for a few days, we decided that tackling at least some of the hiking trails was a must-do activity.

We started with the La via dell’Amore, or The Way of Love, which connects Riomaggiore and Manarola. The path is just over one kilometre long, paved and flat—a leisurely walk rather than a strenuous hike. Still, it offers spectacular views of the cliffs plunging into the sea and serves as a perfect warm-up before a more demanding trek. Once we reached Manarola, our plan was to begin the 5.4-kilometre hike to Corniglia, passing through Volastra on the way.

Before setting out, our accommodation manager advised us that the beginning of the trail was extremely steep and recommended we take the shuttle bus instead. The ride was only about ten minutes, but as we ascended, we became increasingly grateful for the suggestion. Had we attempted the climb on foot, we would have been exhausted before even reaching the main trail.

Arriving in Volastra, we found the small church of Madonna della Salute and located the trailhead just behind. The path offered stunning views of the Mediterranean and the Cinque Terre villages, winding through ancient, terraced hillsides, where grapes and olives are cultivated, descending steeply towards the sea.

At first, we were pleased with our decision to hike, but as we continued, the trail became increasingly steep and narrow, hugging the very edge of the cliff. A misplaced step could have been disastrous. Stone steps at various points along the path proved especially challenging, slippery and seemingly designed to test our knees to their limits.

We became more cautious with every step, keen to avoid falling or injuring ourselves and spending the rest of the holiday limping around. It soon became apparent that we were alone in our careful approach—other hikers seemed far more experienced, striding past us in their hiking boots as we pressed ourselves to the high side of the path to let them by.

As the temperature rose, we hoped we were nearing the end, only to discover at the next sign that we were only halfway there. With no alternative, we pressed on, sweating and tired, determined to reach our destination.

After two and a half hours, we finally stumbled into Corniglia. We sat and gulped down the rest of our water before heading straight to the gelato shop for a celebratory scoop or two.

Books

If you like my short stories I’ve published eleven books.