Leaving behind the polished marble and refined elegance of Milan, I boarded a train bound for the Ligurian coast. In just about two hours, the landscape transformed—from urban sophistication to rugged cliffs and shimmering sea. The transition felt almost theatrical, as though Italy had changed costumes between acts.
Arrival in Cinque Terre is like stepping into a painting.
The five villages—Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore—cling precariously to steep hillsides above the Ligurian Sea. Multicolored homes—peach, coral, saffron, rose, and ochre—appear stacked upon one another with improbable precision. From a distance, they resemble deliberate brushstrokes against the green terraces and the deep blue of the Mediterranean. It is almost impossible to believe that such harmony emerged not from an artist’s imagination but from generations of fishermen and farmers shaping life along unforgiving cliffs.
The sea itself commands attention. A brilliant, almost hypnotic blue, it stretches endlessly toward the horizon, punctuated by gently floating boats that rock in patient rhythm. The harbors are intimate, framed by stone walls and pastel facades that seem to lean toward the water as if engaged in quiet conversation.
As sunset approaches, the sky softens into hues of gold, lavender, and muted pink. The sea mirrors those colors, shimmering like molten glass. For a brief moment, everything glows—the houses, the cliffs, the anchored boats—bathed in a gentle Mediterranean radiance that feels both fragile and eternal.
Then darkness descends slowly, almost tenderly. One by one, lights flicker on inside the hillside homes. What had been vibrant splashes of color in daylight transforms into something even more magical at night. The illuminated windows resemble tiny lanterns suspended above the sea. The villages become constellations clinging to the cliffs—human stars scattered against the vastness of water and sky.
If Milan dazzles with marble and measured elegance, Cinque Terre whispers with color and intimacy. One is a symphony of structure; the other, a poem written in light and sea breeze. And it is in experiencing both—the urban sophistication and the coastal dreamscape—that one begins to understand the many faces of Italy.
(The writer is professor emeritus at Loyola Marymount University, Los Angeles.)