In my mind I had just darted through platform nine and three-quarters, secured my owl in his cage and boarded the Hogwarts Express.  It was my first time riding a train, and as we pulled away from the station, the initial screech of metal on metal brought me back to reality. I was not headed to a magical land of wizards and castles, but I was on the way to a different kind of paradise with four of my wonderful girl friends.

Through small towns and countryside we travelled in search of scenic views, fresh air, and the peaceful chirping of birds that could only be found far away from the honking mopeds and brash street vendors of Florence. A few hours and one quick train change later we entered a tunnel so dim that I could hardly make out the crumbling bricks flitting by just inches from the Plexiglas window. Just as I glanced away from the uninteresting view to form disembarkation plans with the other girls, they released a unified “Oooooh!”at something behind my back. Wheeling around, I at first saw the same expanse of darkness, but then a snapshot of a colorful little community nestled into a jagged cliff imposed upon a brilliant blue sky broke through an archway in the tunnel.

The Cinque Terre is a rugged portion of coast on the Italian Riviera composed of five villages: Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. All of the surrounding, terraced hills that overlook the sea belong to Cinque Terre National Park, where there has been a significant effort to combat torrential rains and associated mudslides in recent years. A series of paths, trains and boats connect the villages, and cars cannot reach them from the outside. This quiet coastal utopia was the perfect location to relax on our day off from classes.

After arriving, at Corniglia, the central of the five townships, we began our exploration. Unlike the other cities of the Cinque Terre, Corniglia is not directly adjacent to the sea. Instead, it is on the top of a rocky outcrop about one hundred meters high, surrounded on three sides by vineyards and terraces and enclosed on the fourth side by a steep and rocky descent to the sea. To reach Corniglia, it is necessary to climb the Lardarina, a long brick flight of steps composed of thirty-three flights with three hundred and eighty-two steps. Our party was famished from the journey, so we immediately sought the chief form Italian sustenance -pizza! Undeterred by the looming staircase we trekked upward, arriving at the top in just a matter of minutes. We snapped a few photographs in front of the breathtaking view as the cool sea breeze cooled our exerted bodies, then continued to a nearby pizzeria.

Under a red and white striped awning surrounded by mounds of petunias, violets, and honeysuckles we marveled at the view; Homes with laundry precariously flapping from windows clung to the steep outcrop of rocks only meters to our right.  After savoring our classic Italian dishes, we made a move back down the mountain with the intent of hiking to the next city south, Manarola, only to find a sign at the bottom of the Lardarina informing us that the normal hiking passage was closed. We again boarded a train, somewhat glad that we would be able to enjoy a day sans five plus miles of walking.

Just before the train doors were sealed, the relaxed state I had been lulled into was obliterated. “Thief, thief! Give me my wallet back you dirty thief!” a plump man with a heavy British accent began to scream not even an arm’s length from my face. Petrified and confused, I stood stone cold as I witnessed my first public theft since beginning my time abroad. After a stern shove from the Britt, the short, tanned man to my right bolted down the length of the car, and a brown leather billfold plopped directly onto my foot. Now acutely aware of my surroundings and the situation, I simply stepped away, not wanting to implicate myself in the disaster. For the remainder of the voyage our formerly subdued clique became an uncontrollably chatty gaggle of girls as we replayed the exciting event again and again.

Once the train halted in Manarola, we ventured away from the train station and into a nearby piazza, where we encountered a similar group of American girls from none other than the University of Georgia – small world! After a quick meeting with our fellow Georgians we headed down a flight of stairs and around a corner toward the unmistakable taste of salty air. To our delight, a smooth ramp provided safe passage over the treacherous black rocks and straight to the Ligurian Sea.

Just as we were shimmying of our shorts to test the waters in our bathing suits, Meghan Green proposed to the group “Wow guys, that man sure looks a lot like Dr. Ulrich,” gesturing in the direction of the high overlook from which we had just come. Laughing we all agreed that the tourist strangely resembled our music teacher with his classic denim on denim apparel and black sling over bag hanging in front of his stomach. Upon further inspection, we noted that the man to the right of “Dr. Ulrich” was practically identical to Dr. Cheijka, our art teacher and that two other figures resembling our two group leaders had approached from behind to observe the view.

“Dr. U, Dr. U, Dr. U!” All five of us began to squeal at the top of our lungs. Dr. Ulrich has a hearing aid in each ear and is still very hard of hearing even when they are functioning at full capacity. For an embarrassing thirty seconds our screams were not substantial enough to snag his attention, though they were loud enough to catch the glaze of all the quiet-seeking sunbathers scattered about the rocky crag. Just as we were about to throw in the towel, we received a goofy, reassuring smile and a friendly wave from our friends atop the rocks. After exchanging distant hellos, we continued with our swimming preparations.  I curled my toes up against the crisp water lapping against my calves as I struggled not to slip down the algae covered ramp. We spent about half an hour enjoying the cool ocean water and contrasting summer heat before unwillingly retreating up the hill toward our final Cinque Terre city of the day, Riomaggiore.

The path to Riomaggiore is known as “Via dell’Amore” or “The Lover’s Walk.” People from across the globe come to this serene trail overlooking the Ligurian to forever engrave sentiments of their love in stone. Some lovers also choose to “lock in their love” by securing combination locks onto the various banisters that protect walkers from the steep drop-off. With a group of five girls, this stretch of our journey was certainly the most romantic and emotional. After studying the sweet records that would forever stand the test of time, and after leaving a few notes of our own, we departed the tranquil Cinque Terre coast and returned to the train bound for Florence, fulfilled with a day well spent.