Riomaggiorie
In total confidence, I can tell you Cinque Terre is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. For those 48 hours, I kept pinching myself, half-convinced it was a fantasy. After five weeks of studying the grit of neorealism and standing in the very neighborhoods where those films were made, Cinque felt like the deliberate opposite—my very much planned time of rest. Not much to report in terms of activities, but endless photos to prove that the place really exists.
I packed up my things and, not reluctantly, said goodbye to my Florence hostel before catching an early train. We stopped briefly in Pisa (and no, I didn’t see the tower), then pressed on toward La Spezia Centrale—the bustling gateway to the five coastal towns of Cinque Terre: Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. The train was impossibly crowded, packed with impatient travelers craning for their first glimpse of the sea—myself included. Being from the lovely coastal state of California, I’ve grown up spoiled by the ocean, in and around it more than most. But after more than a month inland, seeing that endless expanse of blue caught me off guard. It was something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
When I finally spilled out onto the platform at Riomaggiore, it legitimately felt like stepping into a painting. The station itself is tucked into a cliffside tunnel, and as I wrestled my bags up the stairs and out into daylight, the scene opened up before me: stacked pastel houses clinging to the rock face, green shutters thrown open to the salt air, laundry swaying like flags of color above narrow alleys. Tourists funneled toward the marina, where fishing boats bobbed on turquoise water so vivid it looked unreal.
By the time I approached my AirBnb, I was dragging my suitcase across cobblestones and shoving my way through the crowds. Inside, I collapsed onto the bed in total exhaustion. Yet even through the fatigue, I felt it instantly: Riomaggiore wasn’t just another stop. It was a fantastical reality—the Italy Hollywood had sold to the world.
Come September (1961)
One Neorealist film I came across is La Terra Trema (1948), though it is set on the coast of Sicily rather than Cinque Terre. Directed by Luchino Visconti, the film follows a family of fishermen who attempt to free themselves from the exploitation of wealthy wholesalers who dictate the price of fish. The eldest son, ’Ntoni, mortgages his family’s home to buy their own boat in hopes of gaining independence. At first it seems promising, but storms, bad luck, and the hostility of neighbors quickly bring ruin. Shot entirely with local villagers in the Sicilian dialect, the film is less a conventional drama than a stark portrait of working-class struggle.
The morning I was supposed to leave Riomaggiore, I woke up at five to watch the fishermen haul their boats up onto shore and capture a bit of film myself. The town was completely deserted, which felt incredible given how overrun it became during the day, especially with Americans. In that quiet dawn, with the fishermen laboring against the tide, Cinque Terre briefly resembled the world Visconti had captured in La terra trema. Beneath the glossy postcard beauty lies a history of hard work and endurance. I really love this photo to the right.
Cinque was truly a dream come true. Not many words come to mind other than gratitude.
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A Further Gallery of Cinque Terre
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My AirBnb was situated right above a small bay where I could wander straight down to the water. It wasn’t exactly a beach, but rather a collection of wide stones sloping outward into the sea. The place was very casual and unassuming. In Cinque, I picked up The Secret History again which was also very exciting. This is how I spent the majority of both my days here: reading, soaking up the sun, letting the water lap at my feet. It was truly splendid, and in a way, it helped me make sense of why this part of the world is so celebrated on screen, even now.
In the immediate aftermath of the war, when much of Italy was defined by rubble and scarcity, this region offered something entirely different. Here was a landscape that promised escape. It created an image of Italy that Hollywood was eager to sell to international audiences. It was not the Italy of truth or hardship but of reprieve, a vision that contrasted sharply with the canon’s commitment to social and political reality.
