Sometimes, my curiosity about cemeteries pays off. Tourists may jockey to pose in front of Cinque Terre’s picture-perfect scenes, but in Manarola the best view belongs to the locals who built it.
After a sun-drenched day of hiking Italy’s Cinque Terre from Corniglia through Vernazza to the beachfront finale at Monterosso al Mare, we opted for the train the next day. The trail between Riomaggiore, where we rented a room, and Manarola was closed due to landslide—a common occurrence. Since we had to skip the Via dell’Amore (or Lover’s Lane), we doubled-back to Manarola the next day.
We wound through the hilltop town admiring the pastel buildings and colorful fonts. On a tip, we headed for lunch at Trattoria dal Billy. Perched on a balcony overlooking the terraced vineyards and Ligurian Sea, we ate the freshest anchovies who were probably swimming there that morning.
Maybe we were inspired by the romantic view or the bottle of house white wine that we split, but we trekked up the hill. Between the direct sunlight and steep climb, I gained a new appreciation for the locals who tend the vineyards. The views of enchanting Manarola were our reward.
We continued our climb further around the hill where a cemetery was perched above the sea. Like many cities and towns in the early 19th century, having the cemetery near the residential area was deemed a health risk and it was moved further from town. I couldn’t help but wonder about the locals laid to rest in this heavenly spot.
No one joined us on a Wednesday afternoon, but the cemetery was clearly cared for. Inside, tidy columbarium rows gleamed white in the sun dotted with colorful flowers. Coffins were inserted into a loculo, or burial niche, with room for five high.
Each loculo featured the name and dates carved in marble, an attached vase, and a small electric light. Most moving though, are the oval portraits mounted to each loculo. They offer more than a name like Assunta or Orenzo—their smile, their style of dress, the wrinkles in their forehead. I wondered about the mischievous smile hidden behind a moustache or the warm eyes of an all-knowing nonna. Did they live their whole lives in these villages or did they arrive here from afar? The portraits give you a sense of the community over time.
I read that when someone in the village dies, the family is legally required to host visitors for a viewing for 24-28 hours to verify they are really dead. Some even call an ambulance when the end is near to send their loved one to the hospital and avoid hosting duties. I wouldn’t want the bother of having company at such a heartbreaking time, but this practice speaks to the strength of community in these villages by the sea.
I’d love to know who decided to honor their relatives and neighbors with a resting place on an outcropping over the sea. From here, the buildings look like colorful Chicklets, sunbathers lounge on the rocks below, and boats dart in from where the sky meets the turquoise sea. The dead rest. There are no bad views in Manarola, but the vista here is breathtaking. Perhaps it was meant as a comfort to those visiting the dearly departed. Catch your breath. Take this in. You are still here.
Cemetery of Manarola
Via di Corniglia, 30
19017 Manarola SP, Italy
Sources
- Steves, Rick. “In Italy’s Cinque Terre, Views to Die For.” Rick Steves’ Europe.
Jessica Mlinaric founded Urban Explorer in 2010 to inspire curious travelers by highlighting history, culture, and hidden gems in Chicago and beyond. She is the author of ‘Secret Chicago’ and ‘Chicago Scavenger.’ Jessica has visited 20+ countries and 30+ U.S. states. She has more than 16 years of experience as a marketing strategist and works as a freelance writer and photographer.
