Vernazza’s strollable breakwater creates a little harbor, rare on this rugged Italian Riviera coastline. Grabbing a comfortable hollow in a boulder on the tip, I study the arrangement man and nature have carved out here over the last thousand years. Crumpled hills come with topographical lines: a terraced, green bouquet of cactus, grapevines, and olive trees.
With a closer look, I notice that the hills silently simmer with activity. Locals tend their vines and hikers work up a thirst for the white wine these hills produce. It’s autumn and the grape pickers’ tiny train — the trenino — is busy ferrying grapes down into town from the highest terraces. This single silver rail line runs perpendicular to the terraces, scaling the hillside like a rock climber’s rope.
