We're in Portovenere now--the port of Venus--playground of the Romantic poets (Byron and Shelley at least) back in the day. Wi-fi here is limited to the lobby and, to be honest, it's hard to tear myself away from the views over the Mediterranean and the Golfo di Poeti to do some posting. I'll make this quick.
Philip did manage to secure the rental car, but only after he was abused (for nothing, of course) in French by the manager who didn't realize he knew the language (particularly the unsavory parts of it) very well. Anyway, after leaving Nice, we lunched in Monaco, a Disneyland for the uberwealthy and a strange, anomalous place that makes Easthampton look a little bourgeois. Lots of hairy-chested dudes on cells with skinny blondes in heels both smoking and in sunglasses that cost more than private school tuition in Brooklyn. It was fascinating--the palace on the hill benevolently overlooks things as if to ensure that all below is suitably spit polished.
We drove from there to Portovenere (through Genoa and La Spezia) across some stunning landscape with occasional glimpses of the sea and through dozens of mountain tunnels. Portovenere (the port of Venus) is aptly named--its beauty is extraordinary and its position on the peninsula protected by three little islands gives it a cozy atmosphere. You can see why the Romantic poets loved the area (and in fact Shelley drowned not far from here)--it must have stretched their already considerable abilities to describe beauty. But it's also easy to see how Shelley drowned--the sea can rage a bit, and Isabella and I suffered a bit of mal de mer (again!) today on the boat trip to the Cinque Terre. We considered ourselves lucky given that others had their heads in bags.
The view is calling me back now, so I'll leave the Cinque Terre to Philip to describe.
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