Carcassonne (Is that where we were?) and beyond! (Namely, Marseilles, Nice, Rapallo, Portofino, and the Cinque Terre. Phew!)

Alright, people. We want to know you’re a) still out there and b) enjoying the pictures. Otherwise, no more summer travel pics. It’s exhausting.

The public fountain at Carcassonne castle. Imagine the lineups on Saturday mornings. It actually snowed a little while we were there, which was very strange.

The outer wall. It really does look like this: German medieval, though in France. The Ethingtons are Carcassonne (the board game) nuts, so they were in a little bit of heaven.

Yeah. The castle proper. There is a (now dry) moat and a bridge (not drawn) and everything. Cool beans.

While we were here a visiting performer was warming up her vocals: quite lovely. The organ was impressive, too, and the church very rustic stone–homespun, except the windows.

A medieval ring road, not traveled.

No, we didn’t. But we wanted to. Awesome animals.

Marseilles was a bust: the ferry to Chateau d’If was running, but the Chateau itself was closed for bad weather. Huh. But this swordfish being prepped for market was educational. We breezed on through.

The harbour, looking west. Quiet, quaint.

More (of the same). Nice little spot. Was to have checked out the Pont Vieux, but it was a veritable ghost town this Saturday morning. Must have heard we were coming.

Jonah had to pee. So I shot this while he did his business.

Nice (the city in France, not the adjective), looking out over the Med and back to the west. Pretty nice.

La plage de Nice: quite lovely. Smooth pebbles and stones rather than sand and I think we liked it better. Wasn’t too bad barefoot, and it was nice (ahem) not to have sand up one’s nethers for the rest of the day.

Jealous?

More jealous?

One sees its charms. The place we stayed in Italy two nights later was also like this: very Club Med. But Nice was different somehow: it’s the one place on that particular trail we’d like to return and stay a little.

Even nicer, only this time in Portofino (back in Italy). We’d live there, opportunity arising.

Though it’s more likely we’d end up there, money being an object and all.

Love the Mediterranean sun, which is actually the same sun as one sees everywhere else. So let’s say it this way: love the quality of light in the Mediterranean: golden, gorgeous, and generous.

Their downtown is better than your downtown. (And they know it!) Plllssspplllsplllsslsppppssslllttts!

Boaters, take your places!

One can understand the pastoral modes in Greek and Latin poetry…

City living, nice view. (We got a million of them!)

Not Beverly–the original article. Marvelous.

Just couldn’t get enough of these buildings: never a boring one in Europe. Keep your cookie-cutter neighborhoods, suburbs-boy! We’ll order this and a side of sea.

Every week’s a pilgrimage.

Our digs in Rapallo, summed up. Price was low, but it was interesting. Called a “camping,” or “in campeggio,” this is a little site sandwiched in between a rugged hill and a super highway. We had a small trailer, and the Ethingtons were in a “caravan,” gypsy style. At least there was a washing machine–something we hadn’t seen in Paris or Barcelona, which required doing laundry a’ la vineyard in the bathtub, and hoping against hope it would all be dry (barely, sort of).

We had our moments here, too, where we were skeptical…

From Rapallo, we took a train all the way through the Cinque Terre (Chink-weh Teh-r-reh: “five earths” or “lands”) to the last: Riomaggiore, and walked and/or rode all the way back to the beginning. These are UNESCO protected townships built onto the cliffs, with no vehicular access from the oceanside (though it is possible to get into them from above by car). They are steep, picturesque, and full of character. The terraced olive gardens are the age-old source of income, and boy are they something. Enjoy (with occasional commentary).

And if the lift is out of order, the old folks can be out of sorts, whether or not the weather is bad.

It was still early in the day. We took the “Passegiata dell-amore”–a sometimes perilous walkway between Riomaggiore and the second stop at Manarola, and it was a leisurely if sun-drenched walk. Lots of views, good company. From Manarola we took the train back to Corniglia, and from there we hiked to Vernazza. The hike was supposed to be leisurely, but turned out very rough indeed. Jonah was a soldier for most of it, until he fell and scraped his knee something fierce. From then on, Jon carried him, and that was unpleasant. By the time we arrived in Vernazza, his old knees were quivering and his shirt smelled like Mumbai. Ick.

Not long ago, the system of locomotion for planting, tending, and harvesting involved hand-cranked trucks on cables and rails, or pulley systems. Now the machines are generally electric, which must be a bit of a relief for the hands, but perhaps not the wallet. Vehicle in the next shot.

Vernazza, after a long, hot, dusty, obnoxious, sweaty, interminable, and dangerous hike. Whew! The next few shots are also Vernazza, the last of the picturesque Cinque Terre, but not the very last period. We took a train (Hallelujah!) to Monterosso, where Jon and Chris (predictably) took a dip in the ocean, the elder to stop offending the world by wringing out his shirt, the younger simply because it was an opportunity to get wet). Should note that we were chased away from two spots because we didn’t want to rent a “lettino,” a sunbathing bed. Wendy was hot under the linen collar, to say the least. Jon was just plain hot.

Yeah, he got an A in that class. But it wasn’t under water. Wuss.