Oct 25 Stories
Valentino’s Story:
A Story of Courage and tragedy
Pino Giannoni of the gelateria “Porto Dody Gelateria Artiginale” in Vernazza disappeared in the flood that occurred in Vernazza on October 25, 2011. This is the personal account of what happened as told by his son Valentino Giannoni, who was with him on that day.
It was the morning of the October 25th, 2011. I did not sleep well the night before.
My family and I wake up hastily, make breakfast and rush our eight year-old daughter India up to school. We are running late. On the way I observe the fast moving clouds of the “scirocco” winds painting the sky against the backdrop of the tower at Mari’s. It was a surreal sight. Upon my return home the winds pick up and it starts to rain. Quickly, my wife Carly and I try to close the shutters, the wind making it almost impossible to do so, as we see that the water is entering under the windowpanes. People outside our window are struggling to walk down the road, the strong rain coming down by the bucket full. When the storm calms a bit I call Carly over to the window to show her the rising water level of the canal outside our building, telling her of a time when I was a boy and saw the canal waters rise to its’ maximum capacity.
After a while the rain subsides and we go out on the balcony to check on the ducks and geese that live in the canal below and see them struggling, trying to defend themselves from the force of the water. Right in front of our eyes, as if we are meant to see it, one of the geese is swallowed up in the current and to our horror and dismay the other dives in trying to save his mate.
Carly and I, along with our 3 year old son Zen, decide to go downstairs and follow the canal downstream hoping to find the geese again. Across the canal we see one that has found safety under the garage that houses the town’s ambulances. No sight of the other.
Saddened, we walk to our family gelateria to visit my father and tell him the story of the geese and discuss the weather. It’s raining lightly now so Carly and I decide to go to higher ground and see if we can find the other goose in the canal outlet at the bottom of town. Not a trace. We return to the gelateria where we all eat foccacia and Zen has Grandpa make him a strawberry ice cream cone.
While visiting with my father, the rain starts pouring down again, the electricity goes on and off and the wind is picking up to what seems like hurricane speeds. We begin to worry and I help my father mop the floor as water comes inside the gelateria. The water level quickly rises so much so that I grab a bucket to scoop up the water to no avail. We decide to put away the gelato so that we can close. I take off my shoes, which are wet, and my father puts one of the solid shutter doors inside the door frame to block the water which is now brown and quickly gushing into the gelateria. I run over to give him a hand, leaving the gelato in the case. We decide that we need to move the heavy potted plants out front to keep the water flow clear and away from the door. All of a sudden Dodi, our friend and business partner, arrives and moves the planters away from the sides of the door. It is a futile attempt considering that in a matter of minutes the water level increases from a few centimetres to a half meter torrent which now leaves us with no way to exit. Zen, who had fallen asleep in Carly’s arms after his gelato, awakens 30 minutes later only to see my father, Dodi and I fighting to keep the doors shut, the water level half-way up the door. We are all desperate and scared as the water continues to rise. Carly and Zen are terrorized and screaming, Carly repeatedly asks if we are going to die.
The ice cream refrigerator display case begins to float. It seems like a scene in a film. The water is now black, full of dirt, heavy and unforgiving. I am holding the door against the fury of the water, arm in arm with my father and praying for a miracle in order to escape. My wife and son are crying with fear and it seems impossible. Outside the sound of the rocks and debris is deafening. We see small trucks going by, large trash bins, car bumpers, tables, patio umbrellas and the roar grows and grows to a thundering level.
We tell Carly to go to take shelter in the back laboratory where she can’t see the destruction and to find a high place to climb to. HUGE MISTAKE. After a few minutes we hear a desperate scream from Carly as one of the freezes has been lifted up by the water and is now blocking the door to the laboratory. Total panic. I yell to Dodi to go help them while I fight with my father to keep the door closed. To my horror I see that Dodi is unable to free the doorway and yell to him to come back to hold the door with my father. I hurl myself into the water and swim with all my might to free my wife and child. I try in vain to push the freezer away from the dark laboratory door. I tell Carly to move out of the way and suddenly I am able to lift the freezer and throw it against the wall. I worry about the electric current in the water. I tell Carly to pass me Zen and then Carly is able to exit.
There is an overpowering odor of gas in the air and Carly is yelling that everything could explode. I remember that there is a full tank of gas in the shop. I shout to Dodi to close the valve of the tank floating near him. He grabs hold of it and the moment becomes dreamlike with Dodi floating, my father chest deep in water and Carly and Zen screaming. We hear an acute, indescribable whistling sound, which we later learn to be the towns’ main gas tank that had been ripped off the hillside high above Vernazza and down into the town while continually spewing gas. The refrigerators at the entrance of the store start to move and then capsize. I hear my father scream “Zen! Zen!” as he struggles to keep hold of the door at its weakest point. I see him for the last time at that door, with Dodi, in a final attempt to block the fury of the flood.
I turn to grab hold of Carly and Zen and put them on top of a big refrigerator that is floating. I hear Carly’s anguished yell, “My God Vale! Your father is gone! The water took him away!!!” I turn and can’t see him anymore. I see Dodi dive under and after a few seconds resurface covered in mud and dirt, gasping. I yell to him “Where is my father?!” Dodi, in shock, now finds strength in my son (as he later told me) to keep hold of the door. Carly continues to repeat that my father is gone, terrorized. I tell her that we don’t have time to think about it. I can’t even believe the words coming out of my mouth, but I know that I need to focus. My father just tried to save our lives and I couldn’t give way to desperation and panic. I make sure Carly and Zen are safe and lay on top of the white refrigerator. Dodi secures the doors as best he can with wood and the red Coca Cola refrigerator. The water level continues to rise and thoughts of drowning invade my head. I think, “my poor father… do we have to die like this…I beg you God please stop the water, please give us a miracle!” I move slightly and Carly slides off the refrigerator with Zen. I jump in and try to swim but sink instead, my feet not even touching the floor. The water level is almost to the ceiling now. I try to climb back on top of the refrigerator and Carly passes Zen to me but I don’t know why. I take him and raise him up high with my right foot on one refrigerator and my elbow on the second refrigerator. The refrigerator starts to move and I am losing hold. I see Dodi leaning against a wall I do not recognize. The dividing wall between the gelateria and neighboring cantina is crumbling and reveals a staircase goes up to the height of our ceiling. Dodi tells Carly to move to his side as he has made a step for her to keep her above water. I see a shelf above them that is sticking out of the ceiling and I ask Dodi if we can get out through the door would we be able to enter the stairwell of the building next to us and climb to higher ground. Dodi says it is not possible. Then miraculously, I see the water level subsiding. Within 10-15 minutes we are able to touch ground. The water level outside the store, is still high, but the force considerably less. Carly and I scream to Dodi to run for the door to our left. Dodi opens the door, looks out and tells me to pass Zen to him, and all together in a line we swim to the neighboring stairwell. I turn quickly to look down the street and the scene in front of me is terrible. I search in vain for my father and yell “Dad, where are you?” I hear a yell and turn back again towards the stairwell and see Gianluca helping Carly, Zen and Dodi climb to safety. For the first time in an hour and a half I feel safe. When I reach the others I hug Dodi and we share a moment of disbelief and for a moment begin to cry. We are taken further up the stairwell, assisted by Mauro who helps us get out to the higher back alleyway.
I no longer feel my feet but I run toward the piazza with the news that my father has been sucked away by the torrent, hoping that somehow someone had saved him. No one has seen him but the townspeople hurriedly begin to search for him. Zen is dried off by neighbors and Carly runs to the school to get India…it seems like it’s 7pm or 8 pm, but it’s only is 3:45pm. We are advised that all citizens and tourists are gathering at the City Hall because the situation is getting worse. We quickly go and are taken in by the warmth of the townspeople of Vernazza.. We receive blankets and dry clothing and Carly rests with Zen.
Little did we know that in 10 minutes time the second and strongest wave would arrive, bringing with it cars, rocks, trees and everything imaginable. Destroying all in its’ path and burying the town of Vernazza in over 4 meters (over 13 feet) of mud.
We are alive and we thank you Dad! Thank you for holding the door to give me the time to save my family and get them to safety atop the refrigerator. Thank you for calming the water giving us the opportunity to escape. I know it was you, your spirit, blocking the water and breaking the fury of the flood. I am thinking this as I realize that we have survived the impossible.
The phones do not work, the electricity comes and goes, and the first news of the tragedy begins to spread. Susie takes us in and makes us feel safe that night. We don’t sleep well and I keep thinking how strange it is that after my father was taken by the force of the flood waters, those very waters calmed.
When I hear the whistle of the train in the thick of the night it brings me hope and that hope brings me back to the morning before when the goose was sucked down by the water. I think of my father and I imagine the worst. I think of his sacrifice and find solace in hearing Zen’s breath while he sleeps. Thank you Dad. Thank you Dodi. Thank you all for having been able to maintain the calm in the moment of tragedy. Thank you Vernazza for your warmth and affection. I look into the emptiness of the dark and the images from that afternoon run through my head. I cry and I am angry for what happened to my father; for how he suffered and for how he was ripped from his family, from his grandchildren that loved him so much. Carly and I hold each others’ hands, the rain falls and we are alive.
Pino, sarai sempre nei nostri cuori
This story was written by Valentino, Pino’s son. It is published by Save Vernazza ONLUS at his request.
Vernazza Oct. 25th, 2011: My Experience By Joanne Archer (external link to Rick Steve’s website).
Tom and Julie’s story from Maple Valley
What will linger forever in my mind is that the only thing more beautiful than Vernazza is the soul of its brave and generous residents.
Our stay in Vernazza began late in the afternoon on Oct. 23rd. It was our first visit to Cinque Terre and like many had gone there on the advice of Rick Steves. My wife and I were celebrating our 30th anniversary with a 2 week trip to Italy. Our highly anticipated 4 day stay in Cinque Terre was to be our “vacation within a vacation”.
During the 24th, we hiked from Vernazza all the way to Riomaggiore, stopping at Corniglia and Manarola along the way. What a spectacularly beautiful area! Around every corner of the trail we were treated to new and enchanting views of the lovely Cinque Terre. The lower trail from Corniglia to Manarola was closed so we took the steep trail up from Corniglia to Volastra and rode the bus downhill to Manarola. At Riomaggiore, we enjoyed the best meal of our 2 week trip through Italy at Ristorante La Lampara. Caught the train back to Vernazza and hung out with the locals for a glass of wine at the Ananasso Bar. We felt so welcome there.
On the 25th we decided to stay put in Vernazza since it was raining so hard and most of the trails were closed. We walked the town in the morning and stopped for a most entertaining coffee and lunch at the Blue Marlin. What fun! (Later on we heard from other travelers that many people were trapped that afternoon in the Blue Marlin by the rising waters. The owners literally broke down a wall in the back to provide a safe escape.) In the afternoon we took refuge in the train station gift shop to wait out the increasingly strong rains. When it became unsafe to stay any longer, we were escorted to safety across the tracks and over a 12 foot wall by the station manager and a local resident. I think these 2 heroes literally saved our lives by providing a safe way to leave the flooding train station. There was no way we could reach the room we had rented in the upper part of town but eventually we were taken in by a kind lady named Margarita and given dry clothes, food and a place to stay. The next day we ventured out to see a devastated town. My god it still takes my breath away and puts a lump in my throat when I bring the images to mind of the damage done. I think it was around noon that we were taken by boat to La Spezia.
Tom and Julie
Maple Valley, WA USA
View Tom and Julie’s photo journal: Our Vernazza visit during the floods
We will return to Vernazza again and again. Our hearts are with all the people of Vernazza.
I was in Vernazza October 25 with my husband, brother and sister-in-law. They had never been to Vernazza and I wanted to share with them this beautiful village that I fell in love with 18 years ago and have returned to many times. We were enjoying a wonderful lunch of pesto pasta at Gianni Franzi’s on the harbor when the floods started, and we mistakenly thought the waters would recede so we stayed throughout the afternoon and then got trapped as the new river rushed past the restaurant with tremendous force. As the waters rose we moved from standing on the floor, to perching on the chairs, and then climbed up higher to the tops of the tables to try to get out of the muddy water. My husband and brother pushed with all their might to hold shut the door between the bar and restaurant to keep additional water from rushing into the restaurant. After about two hours, for one very brief moment, the water level decreased allowing the 50-60 restaurant guests and staff to rush out the front door to higher ground and safety. Moments later the river rushed even higher and the rains poured even harder- and we knew we had been extremely fortunate to escape when we did. After standing in the pouring rain for quite some time a kind family at the top of the hill allowed us into their home to escape the rain for about an hour (thank you so much for allowing 6 wet tourists escape the rain!). We were eventually taken to Al Castello restaurant where the kind owner Monica and her family provided us with shelter from the rain, along with about 150 other tourists and townspeople. They very generously prepared food and shared their wine with everyone and at about 10pm Monica connected us with Marisa from Gianni Franzi’s hotel. Marisa donated the Gianni Franzi hotel rooms to 20-30 of us who were cold and soaking wet. We never got a chance to pay Monica or Marisa and we will forever be indebted to them for providing us with shelter that night. I made a donation today to honor all the people of Vernazza with especially warm and greatful thanks thanks to Monica and Marisa for their kindness that evening. We will never forget it, and we will return to Vernazza again and again. Our hearts are with all the people of Vernazza.
Deanna
Seattle, WA USA
We left feeling deep respect for the people of Vernazza. We wish them Godspeed in their recovery. They radiate God’s grace already.
The rain grew heavier as we nibbled cheese to the sounds of Puccini arias and the ducks quacking in the stream below our ground floor apartment windows. We were relaxed; reading passages from The Elegance of the Hedgehog and fiddling with a miniature travel puzzle. The apartment was only three years old with walls of ancient rock framed with perfectly run white plaster; a cantilevered bathroom vanity surrounded with opaque glass; hardwood and marble flooring below the translucent glass tiles of the countertop backsplash in the up-to-date kitchen. We crossed a footbridge each time we left “our home” at the bottom of the four story building to get to the street running down through the village into the harbor. We were scheduled to leave in several days, after a languid sunny month in Vernazza, one of the five Cinque Terre villages on Italy’s Ligurian coast.
About an hour after we noticed rain accumulating outside our entryway, our host knocked on the door, asking us to quickly pack a small bag and move to a room on the floor above. From our heightened vantage point we watched as the babbling brook became a raging river, first filled with rocks and mud, then with cars, vans and buses from the parking lot farther up the road. The village’s ruptured five hundred gallon propane tank was swept into the harbor after covering the lower village with a yellow haze. By nightfall the footbridge had been destroyed by vehicles and rocks washing over and beneath it, and the building’s entrance porch with the only exit door from the four sleeping rooms on the floor we now occupied was sheared away, leaving us stranded unless we leaped into the maelstrom to be swept toward the sea.
The entire roadway became the river. We were in typhoon-like weather. Landslides from the mountains surrounding the tiny valley filled the original river bed and earthen dams seemed to burst periodically as pressure mounted, sending down mud, rocks and water at speeds too fast to estimate, with noise too terrifying to forget. The cannonade of rocks bombarding the building’s foundation and lower floors shattered our nerves. Waves of mud and water crested as much as a foot above our second story room’s window sill. Water inside our room kept rising.
Earlier we had barricaded the main hall entrance into the second floor with a chest. Now we tipped the sleeping room’s particle board wardrobe onto its side atop the bed, added a few pillows and blankets to sit on, barricaded the door to the room and waited. We watched the brown water cover then float the bed. As the wardrobe’s joinery came apart we placed all the flat panels and the broken doors we could find on top of the floating bed, but the platform was uneven, and our weight pushed the bed down to the floor, leaving us waist-deep in cold muddy water. By then the exterior hallway door had given way; the windows in the room beside us had broken open; we expected our room’s water level would soon be level with the screaming torrent outside. Several times the water receded, two or three feet, only to rush in again with increased force. We prayed together, talked about what our lives together had meant, and sent signals with our LED flashlight. It was pitch black, except for an ever-so-important floodlight, still shining intermittently from a building across the road.
About midnight men wearing orange wetsuits with aqua tanks, along with local men in orange rain gear knocked on the window to our room. The window had held. Water in the room had remained lower than the water in the hall. Outside, the bottom of the riverbed was now level with the second story window sill. Although it was still raining, the storm seemed to have ended as quickly as it had begun. We were led to a church uphill and my wife was carried over the rocks because she had no shoes. We were given hot tea, dry clothes, and we tried to get some sleep.
With daylight more orange men arrived on helicopter ropes. And that afternoon remaining tourists were evacuated south to La Spezia, helped across the broken harbor to the heavily loaded boat by local men having lost everything. Neither roads nor trains were functioning. There was no electricity. There was no potable water. But people have lived in the Cinque Terre for well over 1000 years. Their family and community roots go deep into the rocky soil. Three days after the tragedy Italian TV showed footage of heavy equipment helping men with mattocks and shovels beginning the long process of recovery.
There is no way my wife and I can adequately express our gratitude to the people of Vernazza, and especially to our hosts, Annamaria and Moggie Meregoni, who cared for us even as their lives and livelihoods were falling apart, with their families and friends in such terrifying peril. My wife and I left Vernazza in borrowed clothes and with little luggage, merely two of the 2.3 million people visiting these five tiny villages each year. We left feeling deep respect for the people of Vernazza. We wish them Godspeed in their recovery. They radiate God’s grace already.Show more
Don & Phyllis
Spokane, WA USA
The conviction that I had not 5 minutes before left me as quickly as the blue water in front of the bar turned to brown.
It was a gloomy October Tuesday and despite the drizzle I awoke happy knowing that it was the last day of our work week. Marco had asked me to change shifts with him that day but I said no, it being Michela’s night off we were planning a fun evening out.
I arrived to work a little before 9:00am and there were already several tables occupied. It was just Sandra, Davide and myself that morning as our cook had the day off. It was Davide in the kitchen, Sandra at the tables and myself at the bar. Breakfast went well, eggs and bacon for almost all as it was 90% foreign tourists that morning. As the breakfast crowd started to thin out Massimo showed up. It was supposed to be Carmen’s shift, but given the specific date (the 2 year anniversary of daughter Camilla’s death) we understood why Massimo was there.
Usually there is a lull in patronage from 11:00-12:00, but as the rain continued to fall the clients continued to arrive. The Blue Marlin being the only bar with ample seating inside, there was around 25 clients plus us four employees. Michela arrived for a light brunch with the two dogs and then went home to prepare lunch for Isabel, as she was expected to be returning from school at 1:30pm.
The drizzle from the morning had turned into a steady rain. The clients we had were quite content to linger inside the warm bar and listen to music as opposed to venturing out into the rain. Midday brought with it a harder rain and increased water levels in the street. I have seen several centimeters of running water in front of the bar before so i wasn’t that worried. Most of us were actually taking photos or videos.
That tranquility quickly evaporated as the water level continued to rise and increase in speed. The tables and chairs outside the restaurant started to slide slowly downhill. At that point Massimo and I went outside to stack the tables and chairs close to the wall to keep them from being swept away (some of us still taking videos or pics). In my infinite wisdom I took off my shoes and put them in our locker room to keep the dry (I found them two weeks later, not dry). So there I was, soaking wet and shoeless, jeans rolled up to my knees and in a t-shirt.
The steady rain turned to torrential downpour and no one could believe the amount of water coming from the sky or the violent river that was rapidly forming before our eyes. The mood in the bar changed from the enjoyment of watching the power of nature to the fear of becoming consumed by it. Voices started rising a bit and questions were being asked. “Has this ever happened before? Is there an upstairs? Is there a back door? Are we safe here?” I was telling everyone to stay calm and we would figure something out. Even with the water about 30 centimeters high i was convinced that we would be ok if we just stayed in the bar. We were mopping and bailing the water out of the bar at this time and I was singing to myself Johnny Cash’s “Five Feet High and Rising”.
The conviction that I had not 5 minutes before left me as quickly as the blue water in front of the bar turned to brown. A whirlpool was forming 15 feet in front of the bar with scooters, trash cans (I distinctly remember the dolphin shaped trash bin from the playground floating by) and soon after an ape (a small 3 or 4 wheel pick up truck). We could smell gas and by this point the water was about 40 centimeters high and increasing in speed. I told Massimo what he already knew, “dobbiamo uscire di qui!” (“we need to get out of here!”). Seconds prior, someone was asking Davide if the angled part of the ceiling had stairs behind it. The answer most thankfully was yes.
Some 20-25 years ago the Blue Marlin had an upstairs dining room that was accessed by way of a staircase just to the left as one entered the bar. Over time, the upstairs was sold to make for a storage area for the restaurant Trattoria da Sandro across the street and the archway that led to the stairwell had been bricked up, a coke refrigerator now standing in its place.
As water began to infiltrate the bar (even though we had bolted shut all four entrance doors) Massimo remembered the old entrance and asked me to help him move the refrigerator. There behind it stood the old brick wall, luck for us made of the hollow brownish brick kind rather than the solid red brick, which is much harder to break through. The fuse box for the upstairs storage area was placed in that wall, not hung on the brick but nailed to a piece of wood. Massi grabbed a nearby framing hammer (one that he had been meaning to throw out for months and thankfully never had) and began to chip the brick around the wood. The fuse box came loose and we placed it on top of the refrigerator. Massimo then continued on the hole, placed a chair in front, and we had our make-shift escape hatch.
.
I was the first through and landed in water a little lower than knee high. Massimo on one side helping people onto the chair, I on the opposite side, taking them in my arms, placing the on the ground and telling them to go up the stairs. The problem was that people were scared and rushing too much, passing me their bags (and at that point I realized I left my own bag behind… that bag being one of the only things that I have left of my mothers belongings) and then throwing themselves into my arms. After 4 or 5 people coming through the hole like this I started barking orders to everyone. “Pass your bags to the person behind you. Then, with your left leg come through the hole, duck your head through and then fall back into my arms”. I kept repeating this and the evacuation began to go smoother. That is, until one client about halfway through the evacuation came to the hole.
On the shorter side, but considerably overweight, it was difficult for her to simply climb up on the chair. She started to come through the hole like I instructed, with her left leg first. Then, she tried to duck her head and couldn’t. She tried again, then another time and said “I can’t”. She could not bend far enough to get through the hole. So, I grabbed the back of her neck and bent her body for her and then pulled her back onto me. She came thorough, but by now the water was up to my mid thigh and there was still about 15 people in the bar. At this point, a phrase popped into my head “be quick, but don’t rush”. I can not remember where I heard it, but it seemed quite applicable then and so I started to repeat that as well. I knew we wouldn’t make it out if we didn’t pick up the pace, but I didn’t want people to be panicked and rush as that would cause more problems.
The water at this point was up to my crotch and the exterior door I was next to blew open with a gush of water and hit me on the right side, knocking me to the left. I smashed my right forearm against the door, jamming it shut. My right arm was holding the door and with my left I kept pulling people through the hole. All the while, the water kept rising, the door pushing harder against me and people continuing through the hole. I called for some one to help with about 5 people to go, because I am no longer keeping the door shut, but more so keeping the jet of water spraying in from becoming a gushing spillway. Someone came down and helped me with the last few people as I tried to keep the water at bay. Massimo was the last one through as the water was up to my belly button. We ran up the stairs, leaving the door to blow open and flood the stairwell.
We all made it safely up to the large storage area above the Blue Marlin, and there was no higher ground to climb to from there. A motley crew we were if I have ever seen one. Five or six nations represented, with children, teenagers, 20 somethings to 70 somethings…all safe for the time being. But the water kept rising and people were beginning to cry, children as well as adults. I looked out the window and saw Michela for the first time since the morning and I wanted to cry too. She was safe, 5 stories up on the other side of the street. I yelled to her, asking about Isabel, was told she was safe in La Spezia. Then I asked about our dogs and was told they too were safe in the house. We all felt relatively out of harms way one flight up, so we took a collective deep breath and relaxed a bit. The water by now was five or six feet high but rising quickly. We were another ten feet above the water but a bit of panic began to set in with the group. I again tried to calm everyone by telling them that we will be ok and we were searching for a way to get to higher ground. People tried their phones, calling the police, the town hall, etc. while others tried screaming to whomever may have heard us. I was shivering at his point and looked around for any dry clothes available. I find a way too tiny woman’s jacket and a pair of shoes 3 sizes too small and jam myself into both.
We were all watching helplessly as the water continued to rise. I felt myself trying to will the rain to stop to no avail. We were in a large area with 4 or 5 rooms so I went about searching for a door out or up. Nothing. The water kept rising and for the first time that day I personally started to get a bit scared because even though we were one floor up I knew that there was no where else to go from there. And the water was filling the street faster than a bath tub. Across the street I saw Mateo with his grandparents on a second story balcony. He was climbing up to the roof and had fashioned a harness with some bed sheets to lift his grandparents up to the roof. At this point the water was about 50 centimeters lower than the first floor. I looked in the stairwell and it was flooded. There was no escape. Then it stopped raining and the water started to go down like someone had unclogged a drain. The water was going down faster than it had risen and a bit of hope started to creep in. People started to hug, smile and laugh. We started forming a plan to go to the train station or up one of the alleyways to the city hall center. It was then that Massimo said he was going to try to get to his house and to Carmen. He went down and out the door and disappeared into the alleyways. I started to instruct the people on what to do and told them to get ready to move.
Then it started raining again. The water stopped draining and once again began to rise. I wasn’t sure what to do at that point, do we try to ride it out or do I take to the ever-rising water with a mixed group of 25 people? Fortunately the decision was made for me. At that moment a rescue crew of locals (Francesco D’ambra, Giacomo Amore, Michael H, Emanuele Viacava, Mauro Mazzitelli) came to our aid. How they got there I am not sure, but they told me of their plans to evacuate. They broke open a door a few doorfronts down. That door led to a stairwell, that led to another door, that open up to the alleyway in back of the buildings. I had no idea that there existed these mazes of stairways connecting the main street with the back alleyways and thankfully they did. They wanted us to follow them up to the comune (city hall complex). I translated their directions to everyone and asked all to check that whomever they came with was still with them. We were all accounted for. I had the guys check the bathroom and other room just in case. We started down the stairs, being careful not to touch the wall on the left or the water (Massi had place the broken half of the door flat as a makeshift bridge) because there was still the fuse box there, now bobbing in the muddy water. I waited until the last person had gone down and I grabbed a sack of used tablecloths. As I passed our escape hatch I briefly looked inside the Blue Marlin and all I saw was a meter and a half of mud and the bar turned on its side.
On our way up to higher ground I encountered the same overweight woman who had trouble getting through the hole. She was gasping for breath and collapsed on a doorstep. We were only about 50 meters from the church near the city hall (now the rescue center) so I introduced myself. I remember her telling me she was from Minnesota. I took her hand in mine and told her to get up.. She did and then promised to lose weight when she got back home. She was half sobbing, half gasping so I kept her talking and before she knew it we were at the church. There were 50-60 people already there and more arriving with blankets, towels, and any food that they had. I opened the sack of tablecloths and started to distribute them.
I will spare you the details of being up there between the church and the comune, of desperately trying to call Michela, of wanting to cross the river to get to her, of looking for a place to sleep, searching for food and drinks and other assorted details as I fear that I have become too epic in my tale. However, I will leave you with this: Our story is one of hundreds. We are fortunate to be alive to tell them. What happened on October 25, 2011 in Vernazza was tragic and terrorizing, there is no doubt about that. But we are fortunate to be here today to look back on it with the ability to share our accounts. Yes, the “what ifs” can be haunting.
What if Carmen came to work as planned instead of Massimo, unaware of the wall behind the refrigerator? What if Massimo had thrown out the hammer as he had been planning to for months?
What if I had switched shifts with Marco and hadn’t been there to explain in English what we needed to do when more than half of those trapped were non-Italian speakers? Thankfully, these are questions that never need be answered.
Show more
Jeffrey Hewitt
Vernazza
The people of Vernazza rescued me, and showed me that there are truly wonderful, selfless people in this world.
When a traumatic event happens, and people ask you afterwards to tell them about it, you (at least I) give them the “Readers’ Digest” version. Those elements may certainly be the most dramatic and the easiest for others to relate to. But they are not what keeps you up at night afterwards. It’s the fearful thoughts that you had in those moments, those unspoken, difficult-to-articulate concepts. Those impossible to say out loud thoughts that plague you in the night. Some of them may even be irrational, but that does not matter. In your dreams they are as imminent as the dawn…or the nightfall.
Last October, I accompanied my mother on a Mediterranean cruise in honor of her 80th birthday. My father had died the year previous and I felt compelled to celebrate my mother’s life in a very special way. Hence, I left my husband and family at home and embarked on this adventure with her. Fortunately for me, my mother is a fairly seasoned traveler and quite adventuresome given that she is 80 years old. However, with that age comes some significant physical limitations and after 10 days traveling in close confines with her I was ready for a day to myself to explore and do exactly what I wanted to do. So, because the ship was docked at Livorno, Italy for 2 days, I felt that this was the perfect opportunity to take the first day to explore a region that I had heard much about from friends and always wanted to see for myself — the Cinque Terre.
Mom was quite happy to spend the day relaxing on the ship because we’d had some very busy, physically exhausting days up until then. I told her to expect me back for a late dinner at about 7:00 p.m.
Arising at 6:00 in the morning, I spent the first hour in the gym completing my regular routine. I had been getting up at 6:00 and working out for about 1½ hours each day since we had begun our cruise. Then I quietly showered, dressed and left the ship at about 8:00 a.m. to take the bus to the train station, and then the train to La Spezia and on to Riomaggiore; (the first town in the Cinque Terre traveling from the south to north). I suppose that I should explain that the region of the Cinque Terre is a rugged portion of coast on the Italian Riviera, comprised of five villages: Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. The coastline, the five villages, and the surrounding hillsides are all part of the Cinque Terre National Park and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. A walking trail, known as Sentiero Azzurro (“Light Blue Trail”), connects the five villages. Vernazza was founded in the year 1000 AD. As I was to come to appreciate — the Romans sure knew how to build structures to last.
10:00 a.m. — When I arrived at Riomaggiore the weather was overcast, so the first place I stopped was the tourist bureau. They informed me which trails were open for walking, and I bought my trail pass. I started out on the first part from Riomaggiore to Manarola which is a very easy stroll. But, just as I was starting, around the first corner a thunder and lightning storm rolled in. (You should know that, of the few fears that I have, lightning is in the top 3. During my time as an emergency room nurse I had 2 patients who had been struck by lightning. The one that survived had long term bizarre health consequences.) I chose what I thought was the sensible approach, to return to the train station to wait out this storm, which did pass after about half an hour.
11:00ish — Not to waste my one day of true freedom I quickly proceeded to walk the trail between Riomagoire and Manarola, then take the train to Corniglia. I walked up from the train to the town and found the trail head between Cornigia and Vernazza.
Noon — There were no signs that anything was predicted or amiss with the trail. Although I was by myself, I fully expected to cross paths with several other hikers because I had been told that this was a well-travelled trail by tourists. In Canada I would not even think of hiking alone in the wilderness. I am not, by nature, a timid person, and I am in good physical condition. Plus I had in my day pack an energy bar, water bottle and small first aid kit — which, to me, seemed appropriate for the hiking venue that I was taking on.
The weather was overcast with bits of blue sky showing but very pleasant and warm. As I started out on the trail the birds were chirping. As I hiked around several olive groves and other orchards there was an amazing aroma which I could not place. It smelled like it must be some kind of flower but I did not see any fresh flowering species. Perhaps it was the olive trees?
As I continued my walk the trail became narrower and less defined but I was not concerned because I had friends who had hiked this trail and described it this way plus I had a map that, while it was not detailed, did outline the trail and the road that traversed the Cinque Terre up above. I was having a beautiful hike in an amazing place and I was overjoyed to be doing that. The sense of freedom from all that constrained me was incredible. By golly, I felt so alive in those moments! Little did I know that in the very near future “alive” would be my very goal! Because this area is so lush with olive groves and orchards it was impossible to see out over the horizon. When it started raining there was no way for me to see the extent of what was coming my way.
12:30 p.m. — It had only been raining a few moments when I started to hear thunder which corresponded to a huge increase in the volume of rain. Soon there were very visible flashes of lightening followed moments later by loud cracks of thunder. The trail was taking me out onto cliffs overlooking the ocean and I was feeling very exposed and vulnerable to Mother Nature. I quickened my pace knowing that the situation was deteriorating and I needed to get somewhere safe. The visibility became terrible and somehow I lost the trail and found myself in a terraced olive grove. Trees were coming down around me, having been struck by lightning. The grass was tall and swirling around my legs, cutting right into them as I hurried along. There wasn’t a sign of other life around, and since I couldn’t even see where the trail might be, I knew I had to double back. Soon I found a well-worn path and followed it up to the road — I never was able to find the original path I was on.
Looking at my map, I realized that this road connected all the towns and even if I had gotten turned around in direction, if I followed this road I would come to a town. Several trees had come down on the road. The storm showed no sign of passing, and by this time I was feeling really anxious. I turned to the left and ran the 100 meter dash for about 2 kms! As the road was winding down towards the town of Vernazza there were areas where the water had really accumulated carrying lots of mud with it. “Please God, don’t let there be a mudslide. My family will never know where to look for me” I pleaded silently as I ran as fast as I could at times through mid-calf deep puddles. By this time I was absolutely dripping wet.
1:30 p.m. — About 200 meters short of the town of Vernnaza an Italian fellow in a silver Toyota station wagon pulled over. “What are you doing out here?” he asked with an incredulous look on his face. “I got lost on the trail,” I replied. “Well, get in!” he instructed. “But I’ll get your seat all wet!” was my ridiculous response. “Get in, it will dry!” he insisted. His name was Sergio. He was on his way to Vernazza to pick his daughter up from the train station. We drove into the upper parking area and waited in the car. The rain was pelting down so hard you couldn’t even see the train station, which was only about 50 meters down the road.
I should explain that you are not able to drive right down into the town of Vernazza. The streets are too narrow for cars — having been built long before cars even existed. A paved parking area bordered the upper side of town. There were other cars, vans and even a small bus parked in that paved area. Several people were sitting in their vehicles, presumably also waiting for someone.
2:00 p.m. — After a short while, I decided that I had imposed on Sergio’s good nature for long enough. I left the car and ran into the first open door which was only about 10 meters away — the Post Office. My plan was to wait there until the worst of the storm had passed and then find a restaurant to have some lunch in and dry off, after which I would jump back on the train and return to Livorno. I’d had enough hiking for one day!
After about 10 minutes though, the storm was only increasing in intensity with rain like I have never seen in my life before. It came down in sheets. That statement is significant, since I lived for several years on the north coast of British Columbia, where I saw many storms with torrential rain coming down sideways due to gale force winds. I could start to feel the tension in the air as the postmaster began pacing and looking out the window.
Soon he turned to me and said, “I’m going to take you next door to an apartment building to wait and then I’m going to close this up and go there too.” He led me to a four story apartment building next door where a few other local Italian fellows were also gathered. The rain really started to build up on the road now and they were moving large planters out and away from the buildings. Shortly after, Sergio and his daughter also joined us in that foyer.
2:30ish p.m. — The rain continued and water continued to collect on the road and build in the parking area. Sensing increasing danger, I had climbed the stairs to the landing between the first and second floor. All of a sudden the Italian men who had been keeping watch in the foyer started whistling and shouting to the people sitting in their vehicles to get out and run. Soon we were joined on the foyer by another ten people who had abandoned their vehicles, still running with the blinkers and lights on. It was only moments after they arrived that a torrent of water filled with mud, rocks and other debris came raging down the street. Within about 5 minutes the vehicles started travelling down the street on their own, being pushed by the force of the water and mud.
Water and mud also began rushing into the foyer, forcing everyone further and further up the stairs. I was at the head of the pack, on high alert with all survival instincts fully engaged. Suddenly about six women came out of an apartment on the third floor, glasses of wine in hand, and chatting away. I was to learn that they were work mates from the USA who had rented that apartment for a few days. They didn’t seem to understand at that moment how serious things were and found this whole event very exciting. That was to change in an instant.
I was standing on the landing between the second and third floor, listening to their excited chatter, when all of a sudden we heard a loud swooshing noise followed by the smell of gas. It was obvious what had happened — a gas line had burst, spewing natural gas fumes into the building. Within seconds the gas smell was so strong that my eyes began to burn. We opened all the windows and everyone was shouting for the cigarettes to be put out. Several of the American ladies started to cry. It certainly looked pretty grim to me at that moment as well.
So, there I was, standing in front of a large open window, shivering like crazy, considering what my next move should be. Looking down, there was a torrent of rushing water, mud and other debris that had encircled the building. To jump would have been certain death. The thought of spontaneous combustion and incineration was not very appealing, either. I considered that, since I was dripping wet, perhaps I would not be completely incinerated but may be just burned. Then, because I am a nurse, I remembered what it was like to suffer with burns.
What I was left with was the choice to stand in from of this big open window, shivering, facing out towards the terraced hillside and praying that there would not be an explosion (and if there was one, that I’d be blown out onto the terrace, and that since I was soaking wet, with my face turned away from the building, I would be spared horrible burns). Amazing the ideas you cling to in those moments of sheer terror.
As I was looking out I saw an older fellow walking along the terrace outside towards a small square building with no windows. My fist reactive thought was, “What are you doing out there? Get inside!” (though, at that moment, I was not particularly lucky to be inside). But then it dawned on me that perhaps it might be the town utilities building, and he was going there to shut off the gas. That seems to have been the case, since the smell of gas stopped shortly after, although I was never truly certain.
One of the American gals came to me and told me that her astrologer had predicted that she would return safe from this holiday. I’m sure that she had meant for that to reassure me. I steeled myself and responded that I hadn’t made it off the hillside only to die here. Looking back on that statement I’m not sure if I had meant that more for her — or my own — benefit.
Several of us had found our way up to a room facing the front street on the third floor and watched as the cars (one of them belonging to Sergio), vans and even small buses were pushed down the small street and out into the ocean by the force of the water and mud. It was as if they were matchbox toys, not real vehicles. I felt so sick for Sergio and his daughter standing there helplessly, watching their vehicle swept away — especially after the kindness he had shown me.
By this time I was shivering like crazy, and really cold, so I squeezed myself into a corner to try to get out of the breeze that came from all the open windows. Closing them was not an option because of the fear of gas fumes. To make matters worse I thought I could feel the floor beneath me swaying under my feet. This was a very disturbing sensation because it could have meant that the building was being moved off its foundation by the force of the water and mud. I kept trying to remind myself that I had just spent the last ten days on a ship, and it was likely that motion I was still feeling. But my mind kept playing back all the news hour videos of houses being swept away in other mudslides. Not wanting to incite further panic, I leaned over to a young fellow from Texas, whose name was Jaimie, and quietly asked him if he could feel the same movement. His eyes widened to saucers. He stood still for a few minutes then gave me a big smile, and reassured me that it was likely residual ships motion that I was feeling.
I became aware of a young lady (about late 20s) who was watching her van get washed into oblivion. She was a private tour guide who was there with two couples. Later, she told me that her insurance only covers collisions and not situations like this. I felt so sorry for her, losing such a big chunk of her economic future. How would she ever be able to recoup those losses, especially in this depressed world economy? Her name was Nicki, and I’ll never forget that distraught look on her face.
As it turns out, the two couples with Nicki were from the same cruise ship as me. Both of the ladies were from the USA and were longtime friends. They had become separated from their husbands and were very concerned about where they were, or if they were even alive. They had all been enjoying “the best lunch we ever had” when the ladies (with Nicki) had decided to do some window shopping, leaving the fellows behind to finish their wine. They had been waiting for the fellows in Nick’s van when it all started, and they had to abandon the van and rush into the foyer of the apartment. Virginia (Virgie) and Shellie were their names.
3:30 p.m. — Fortunately a wonderful couple, Mr. and Mrs. Columbo, who lived on the 4th floor came and took us to their apartment. Mara (the lady of the house) gave me a long sleeve, lightweight sweater and another cashmere sweater to replace my sopping shirt and fleece jacket, plus a dry pair of socks and a towel to dry myself as best as I could. That left only my wet capri pants, but the material they were made off would dry quickly. She also made me some tea with some of the bottled water she had. I was finally able to stop shivering but it would be hours before I truly warmed up. Shellie gave me a granola bar to eat, but I saved it for later. Who knows when we will have food or water next?
While sitting in Mara’s living room I looked at pictures of Mara’s beautiful family: a son who is a lawyer, his wife and baby, and a stunning daughter. Fortunately they lived elsewhere, so at least she did not have to worry about their safety. Mara and her husband paced back and forth, stopping frequently to look out the window. It was awful to see their distress as they witnessed friends and neighbors homes being decimated by the water and mud. Every once in a while I would give Mara a hug. Since she spoke a small amount of English and I speak only a few words of Italian, it was the only way I had to let her know how I felt.
Eventually about 25 people ended up at Mara’s: the American gals from the third floor, several local folks, Jaimie, Nicki, Shellie and Virgie and myself (the lone Canadian). The Italians collected mostly in the kitchen, leaving the living room to the rest of us. We were curled up in chairs, on the sofa, on the floor — wherever we could find space. One fellow from another apartment (Tony) brought us a bunch of wool blankets. It was only after I was wrapped in one of them for several hours that I began to warm up.
5:00 p.m. — We were all sitting around sharing stories of where we from and how we came to be at Mara’s place. When it came to my turn to explain what had happened to me, one of the gals asked me, “Who are you here with?” to which I responded, ” Oh, I’m by myself.” Suddenly there was a collective gasp in the room and a voice asked, “You mean you’re all alone?” It was a “light bulb” moment for me and I could feel my chin and lip start to quiver and my eyes well up with tears at the thought of how alone I really was. It had not occurred to me up until then.
Time passed and people kept trying to reach others with their cell phones. At times they would get through for brief periods. It would take Virgie and Shellie about 10 hours to make contact with their husbands. Interestingly, the Americans who had iPhones were able to get text messages out quite well. I heard them chatting about getting CNN there and appearing on Good Morning America (perhaps they were in the media industry)?
I had left my Blackberry on the ship, so had no way to reach my mother to let her know I was alright. As the evening wore on she would become more and more concerned because I had not returned. I mentioned this to several people there. Nicki tried really hard to reach the port agent and the emergency number that the cruise ship instructed us to always take with us when leaving the ship. Many times she was not able to get a connection. Even when she did, there was no answer. The thought of my mother being anxious about my whereabouts was weighing heavily on my mind. Nicki must have sensed this because she seemed to take it on as her personal mission. She called the number repeatedly throughout the night and left messages whenever an answering machine came on.
9:00 p.m. — As the night wore on, the torrential rain, thunder and lightning continued. It would not let up for about 13 hours. Every once in a while someone would open the window and look out. I’m not sure what we were expecting to see. You could tell by the constant sound of raging water (similar to standing beside Niagara Falls) that nothing had magically improved. Just before midnight, we spotted some search and rescue workers walking around and checking out the buildings. They shouted out to us that the storm would end about 2:00 a.m. We chuckled at their precise prediction and optimism. As it happens, they were right on.
Midnight — People were trying to snuggle down to get whatever sleep possible. Since I was sitting on an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, Mara took me into a bedroom that had a thick rug on which I could lay down. She closed the door, leaving me alone and in the dark. From that moment, my mind struggled to maintain some sense of calmness and rationality. Laying there wrapped in the wool blanket, but still feeling quite cold, I thought about my mom: what had she heard? What was she worrying about? What would she do? Would she stay on the ship and hope that I could catch up to it in Monaco? Or, would she disembark and wait for me in Livorno? Would she become so distressed that it might precipitate a heart attack or a stroke? I desperately tried to send her physic messages telling her that I was OK and to stay on the ship — that I would find a way to meet up with it. Then my thoughts went to my daughters. What had they heard? I thought about my Britany, my leftie with the “artistic personality” who was just finishing her first practicum in early elementary school teaching. I could visualize how distraught she would be, trying to reach her father in hunting camp to tell him. (note to self: both of us should not be away at the same time in separate places). Her twin sister, Jordana, who was at University of Alberta, would be the most practical one, who considered the logical explanations. Then my first born, Rhayna, finishing her final practicum in middle school teaching, and how this might throw her off her game and how much she needed to be successful in this venture. I thought about my husband and soul mate, Tim. Was he aware of anything? If he received a message from a distraught Britany, would he be racing back to Prince George, perhaps on icy roads, to get back?
I lay there listening to the sound of the storm and the raging water around me (even through closed windows) feeling so alone and helpless. I could feel my lips quiver, my eyes tear up and my shoulders start to shake. At that moment, when I felt that I was just going to break down and dissolve into a crying babbling mess, an inner voice spoke to me:
“Joanne, you’re OK. Pull yourself together. You are an Emergency Nurse.”
“This is not the first life threatening situation you’ve been intimately involved in. This time — just because it happens to be YOUR situation — this is no time to fall apart.”
“Everyone else can take care of themselves, there is nothing you can do to help them. What you need to do is take care of yourself, and survive this.”
Where do those inner voices come from? Is it the logical part of our brain taking over from the emotional part? Some might suggest that a guardian angel has come to help. I could even speculate that it was the voice of my father who had died the year previous. All I know is what I heard in my brain and how much it helped me calm myself. I decided then, that I needed to be out in the living room with the others, whether I could find a place to sleep or not. Being all alone was just not doing me any good.
1:00 a.m. October 26, 2011 — I got up, returned to the living room, and found an arm chair to curl up on. Looking around the mostly sleeping group, I realized that this chair was available because Mara and her husband had given up their own bed to Shellie and Virgie. Mara and hubby had settled down to try to sleep while sitting at the kitchen table — a blanket around their shoulders and a pillow for their heads. I was thunderstruck at their generosity, because of all of us they were the eldest and likely most in need of rest.
Several of the Italian men were lying out in the hallways, covering themselves with bath towels. At that moment, it occurred to me that these people had given us — “the foreigners” — everything they had. They went without. They did it without hesitation, as if their own discomfort was nothing. It’s difficult to describe how your heart feels; watching people who have lost so much still extend all they have left to you, even at their own discomfort. Even writing this brings tears to my eyes.
Another thing is the sewage. There were almost 25 people using a toilet that could not be flushed. Several of us agreed that it would be best to throw our tissue into the garbage instead. We had yet not come to the point where we had to decide what to do in the case of a bowel movement, and I was dreading that (after all Mara’s generosity, it seemed inhumane to leave her with a toilet plugged full of excrement). How often have you gone on holidays planning how often you are going to urinate or have a BM? It became a reality for us.
4:00 a.m. — I finally drifted off for about an hour and a half. When I awoke, I looked across the room to see that Nicki had also just woken up. It was about 4:00 in the morning. A few of the Italian guys whose names I never learned (although I did hear one was named Jimmy and another Tom) were also up. They made some tea, and offered some to us as well. We only had 8 litters of water left, and had no idea how long we would have to live on this ration.
6:00 a.m. — Nicki continued to try to reach the Port Agent to get a message to my mother. Finally, a man answered. He began yelling at her for waking him up with this because he did not consider it an emergency. I really admired Nicki’s spunk at that moment — you should have heard her give him an earful back! He actually hung up on her. God bless that girl — she was determined to get my message to my mother. Undaunted, she called again at 8:00 a.m. and spoke with a different person, who assured her that the message would be delivered to the ship. Despite Nicki’s herculean efforts, I was only mildly relieved. I was really hoping that the port agent had not just given her lip service.
8:00 a.m. — As daylight started appearing, we could see that the search and rescue professionals had been busy. We stood at the window and watched them string up safety lines across the new river that had formed in front of the building. It seemed that there was enough rock in the mud that had been deposited that the ground would be stable enough to walk on, versus sinking right in to gumbo like mud. Someone tossed up a bag with several loaves of bread. We ate a couple of pieces. I was starved, so it tasted amazing to me — especially dipped in fresh olive oil.
10:00 a.m. — A couple of hours later, the Search and Rescue technicians (SAR techs) came to our building. They told us to grab our stuff and be ready to leave right away. I didn’t need to be told twice! I grabbed my wet clothing and stuffed it into my backpack, put my runners back on, and quickly made my way to the balcony on the third floor. I never even got to say goodbye and thank you to Mara. From there, we had to climb down a rickety ladder to the ground. The mud had filled in to the top of the second story. As I was standing on the balcony, waiting to be given the go ahead, I watched the SAR tech trying to convince an elderly lady in a dress to climb over as well. This lady was having nothing to do with that no matter how hard the SAR tech tried to convince her. Finally, looking rather exasperated, she looked at me. “Think you can do this?” she asked. “No problem,” I said. I whipped myself over that balcony, onto the ladder and down to the ground in about two seconds. I could hear others reassuring themselves and others — “Look at Joanne, she’s doing fine.” Again, my survival instincts kicked in. I was going to lead the pack out of there, no pussy-footing around. Once most of us were out of the building, the SAR tech took us one-by-one across the raging stream. It was only just over knee deep, but was so forceful that if you lost your footing you could still be carried away. Plus there was always the chance that you would be struck by some object that had been swept down. I held onto the safety line and walked across the river with the SAR tech on my downstream side. Once I was on the other side I really wanted to hug her, but she had many people left to bring across. A “Grazie!” had to suffice. I was really impressed with the professional behavior of the SAR techs.
I started walking up the hill to the church that had been converted to an emergency shelter, when I heard that the engine of a train had made it through the tunnel. It could take small groups to Corniglia. From there, one could jump on the regional train to La Spezia and beyond. I was desperate to get back to the ship and see my mom and know that she was OK. Giving Nick, Virgie and Shelly a hug, I raced down to the train — leaping over debris and another smaller stream — and was the last person on.
11:00 a.m. — Soon we were in Corniglia, where I chatted with a few others who had endured the previous 24 hours — much to the astonished looks from those who had stayed in Corniglia. They’d simply had a rain shower, and people had no idea of the carnage that had unfolded a mere 4½ kms away. It would take me five hours to get back to the ship because of interrupted train connections. I was starved, cold, thirsty and had a major headache — plus I was quite a sight, still wearing Mara’s clothes, including a pair of fuzzy bright lime green socks which were wet and mud-soaked, and clearly visible along with my mud-soaked legs.
All in all, I experienced about 3 hours of sheer terror followed by about 14 hours of high anxiety. Still, I felt lucky because I was able to leave. My Italian friends face a long clean-up process and financial uncertainty.
4:00 p.m. — I was finally able to relax after re-uniting with my mom, who had received a message at about 8:30 that morning that I was alive and well. The bottle of wine we shared helped as well. Boy, did that bed on the ship feel good that night!
I guess I should close by saying that I’m going to be OK. I realize that this is just one person’s experience. I can assure you that there were many others who had just as harrowing experiences during this time. We were ALL rescued by the local Italian residents of Vernazza. I would like you to think about this whenever you travel and consider how something similar and comparable could happen to you and yours.
If, by reading this, you feel moved, then I would ask you to do something. And if I may be so bold as to direct you, I would dearly appreciate if you could find some way to contribute to the lives of the people of Vernazza. It so happens that I have a few suggestions:
1) Plan your next vacation to visit and hike the Cinque Terre and stay in Vernazza. Tourism is vital to their economy.
2) Fundraise, either just a personal contribution or a community effort, and send your funds to Per Vernazza Futura or Save Vernazza.
The people of Vernazza rescued me, and showed me that there are truly wonderful, selfless people in this world.Show more
Joanne Archer
Prince George, British Columbia
The main street was roaring and churning, washing a car and truck down under the train station and water and debris over the tracks and the train platform.
The day after we arrived, we had a wonderful day visiting the five towns and woke up to rain the next morning. The owner of the place where we ate breakfast (The Blue Marlin) suggested we might like to visit another town further up the coast so we were on the train station watching the rain when the announcement was made that our train would not be coming but the next one scheduled would be there. We watched the rain get heavier and heavier and the main street began to run like a river. A beautiful playground and area with flowers and trees began to get washed away and soon the main street was roaring and churning, washing a car and truck down under the train station and water and debris over the tracks and the train platform. We were beginning to get very concerned because there was no way to get off the train platform. Three wonderful Italian men began leading people across the tracks in hip high water and over a fence when a propane tank broke free and came barreling down the main road. It exploded just before it reached the train platform and the men began screaming to run. We ran through a tunnel (a total of 14 people) and they lead us over the train tracks in hip high water, over a fence, through someones apartment and down to the back entrance of the church. We were soaked through and through by this time and the priest and Frederico, a teacher from town who was on the platform with us got us blankets, towels and a case of water. The priest took the communion wine out of the sacristy and it sure tasted good. After a couple of hours there, watching the water come up the church doors, we were lead to another church on the top of the town which was set up as the emergency center next to the mayor’s office. (I tried to give the second bottle of wine back to the priest but he wouldn’t take it so I distributed it in the emergency center.) By this time the town had no electricity, no water and no gas so we mingled with the local people while kind men brought cookies, water and juices from where ever they could find them. The children were kept in school overnight because it was too dangerous to let them leave the building and the raging water made it impossible to get from one side of town to the other. The rain and water roared all night long and cars, mud, trees and debris washed down the road and into the harbor. Some people were trapped in stores and restaurants along the main street and had to escape out back doors and windows into peoples’ apartments. The place where we had breakfast had to take a hammer and break the wall in the back of the place so people could crawl out. Enrica, our landlady, sent her son to get us at the church and he lead us down to their home where we slept au natural after peeling off our wet clothes. After Enrica’s father offered us a glass of breakfast wine, we put on our wet clothes the next morning and climbed back up to the church with Enrica and her mother since they had no food or water and we tried to get some water and bread. The bread was all gone but we did get water. It’s amazing to me that all we ate in a 36-40 hour span was a couple of cookies and water and wine and we were never hungry the entire time.
The next morning helicopters dropped emergency workers into town and they began evacuating tourists by boat since the train stations in Vernazza and Monterosso were totally filled with mud and debris and would not be able to run for at least a week. Enrica couldn’t get our luggage since her rooms front the main street but she managed to get a woman to let her go through her apartment and through a window and she somehow got our luggage for us. We met her in an alley behind her home and started down into town. The harbor was filled with everything that washed down the hills and the emergency workers and local volunteers helped us cross the streams that were still running by putting benches over the streams and walking us over them. We were able to be evacuated on the second boat that dropped people at La Spezia where they provided a free bus to the train station. We missed our plane connection to Paris and stayed overnight in Piza before flying to Paris the next day. Our shoes and suitcases still smell like Vernazza mud but we are very happy to be safe and dry again. Nine people were killed in the flash floods in Vernazza and Monterosso and the people had no water, electricity or gas even days after the disaster. We feel very bad for the people in the village because they said it would be at least 3 years before the town would be back to normal and most of the people rely on tourism for their livelihood. Very, very sad!Show more
Veronica
Ridgefield, CT USA
gas….gas….gas….same in italian as English….you could smell it everywhere
This blog was written a few days after we left Cinque Terre. We were in Vernazza the day of the flooding/landslide: Thurs. Oct 27. We arrived in Florence last night after a harrowing experience in Cinque Terre (CT) our first day 10-24 in CT was very nice. We hiked a section of the trail from Monterosso Al Mare to Vernazza…..overcast and light sprinkle but still lovely. that was enough of a hike for us, but we looked around Vernazza and decided to come back the next day Tues, 10-25 for lunch and then hike from there. So we came back the next day. It was raining a bit, but we thought it would brighten up. We stopped in for cappacino and dolce and waited out the rain…soon it started raining inside the place…..not a good sign…..oh well……went out took some pictures in a light rain, then off to lunch…..we headed up a side street to Ristorante Incadase Da Piva…..we were the only customers and we had a wonderful lunch. During lunch it started raining harder and harder, oh, well, we ll have more vino!! Soon a lady rushes in hysterical because the street a short block below us had turned into a raging river…..shh….shhh…..everyone calmed her down, no problemo, the lights were flashing on and off……at times we just had the generator light….no problem. We started looking out the door at the water rushing below….Whoo! typical?? i asked…..no, no..people began to get worried about their friend with a shop on the Via Rosa the street below us. Then all of the sudden they all start yelling in the restaurant and rushed out. My husband, Kevin says to me landslide!!!! let’s go QUICKLY!!(he had HEARD the landslide) We were the last ones out and we followed the restaurant staff and owner up and up people were rushing around turning off their gas….gas….gas….same in italian as Enlgish….you could smell it everywhere…..the gas main had broken in the street…so we all have rushed out of the restaurant following the locals up and up these tiny winding alleys through the residential areas….the gas smell is strong everywhere and people are really panicking-crying, yelling.
We contemplate between staying under cover in walkways where the smell is stronger and going into the open areas getting drenched in the torrential rain….you can hear the water rushing down the main street in town, Via Roma. and see it in sections. It’s now muddy like a river,with all the ground from the mountain in it….it’s rising quickly….the rain begins to slow to a trickle and we say to each other we got to get out of here…there are no police that we can see, no one seems to be taking charge.. hmmm….doesnt seem to be any emergency plan, what to do in case of landslide and flood …the train station is basically covered in mudand rock ,we can’t reach it anyway as there is a raging river between us and it……we decided to check out the trail that leads to the next town Corniglia, thinking we could hike out. We are dressed pretty well, as we planned to hike that day, hiking boots, rain jackets, layers , hats…..so we start out, its pretty steep going out but not as steep as the trail we hiked yesterday….and today we have more motivation and adrenalin! We head up and get to some pretty narrow sections that are now slippery. you can see the once beautiful water full of mud-debris from the landslide, and oh what is that?, a propane gas tank leaking in the water (i have pics). The rain starts hard again, im pretty much drenched to the skin, but it’s not cold and no worse than a 15 mile run in the rain…..I even have my wicking hat-gloves….but perhaps this wasn’t a good idea as we see that a slip will basicallylead to a 50ft. drop off the cliff. Should we turn around or keep going? The decision is soon made for us as we get to a part of the trail that is impassable because of a landslide……ok…..we had walked about 20 min.and got nothing but drenched, but we turn around and are now heading down on this slippery trail in the pouring rain……we get back to town safely……although its hardly a safe place…..things seem worse…….the water in the main street has covered the entire first floor of buildings. We can see signs from the top of shops barely showing above the water… So we wander around back in town and find some Americans that we had talked to earlier from Washington State…turns out that the woman works for Rick Steves Tours-Guidebooks,and they are on a R.Steves tour. We stand around with these 4 people and 2 more tourists from Australia in this covered walkway…..now it is getting cold since we are standing still…..the Aussies are complaining that none of the Italians are opening their doors and taking us in. In Australia they would never leave people standing out side in a natural disaster….i point out that the locals are watching their shops being destroyed, and cars and boats floating out to sea and are worrying about the old nonnas and children that people are taking to higher ground……the tourists are not their first priority! Anyway i dont know if i want to go in a house anyway as the gas smell is so strong coming from inside when anyone opens a door. After about 60 min. of standing around we go into a covered doorway opening and a women (who is really upset) lets us in……grazie millie!!! No, the bathroom can’t be used….the sewage water has risen up to the top…….no electricity, but they have candles lit…..ok,this makes me a little nervous……and the grandmother who looks about 90 is sitting on the couch. They bring in chairs for us, cover them in plastic as we are all dripping all over. Then we sit and chat (sorta) for another hour or so….as I’m watching these tall tapers burn down i feel like im in a movie, and this is showing the passage of time…… The husband is running back and forth helping out (doing what ?) in town…..probably getting people out of first floor buildings. Soon he comes back and tells us that there is a place for people like us…..with food-water……he will take us there. So we follow this local to a large outdoor patio at a restaurant at the Castle….the highest point in town overlooking the harbor. There are about 100 to 200 people there wrapped in tableclothes to stay warm….it was nice to be out of the rain. There was heavy plastic tied around the patio so it was almost like being inside…they had those outdoor patio heaters going and people were hanging around. We talked to other tourists for a while and found out that those who were in restaurants on the main street at the time of the flood-landslide were in water up to their thighs, then they started standing on tables….men were holding the doors to keep the doors from breaking down. .they finally got out when people cut the bars on high windows…..we were happy that we choose our lunch place on the street a bit higher! About 8:30 pm they broke out a bunch of great food from the restaurant, incredible mussels in a faboulous sauce, meat, cheese etc. We had a flashlight in our backpack, so my husband, Kevin stood with the light over the food while they served. one of the men owned the restaurant and was supplying everthing, the other who was serving just had his perfume shop and car destroyed. despite the tragedy the mood was festive….eventually i met a young couple from Houston. They had a room in town, that was high up…..they invited to stay with them that night in their extra bed…since there was no way we were leaving the town that night. We took them up on this offer, since the native seemed to be staying in this patio restaurant all night, and it was starting to get cold…..it gets very cold there in the mountains at night. We had found out the night before. So off we went with our new friends, lindsay and thomas. it was nice to finally get out of the all of our wet clothes. we had a pretty restless night, but at least it was in a bed….kevin and i shared a single bed! The next morning we went back to the restaurant patio to see what was going on. We watched the coast guard boats come in and drop off rescue workers…..we also watched helicopters drop off rescue workers…..an hour or so went by and it looked like nothing was happening in terms of dealing with the tourists (us). So we decided to work through town and see if there was anyway to get to the train station and then maybe walk along the tracks to get out of town…..So we start wandering around town the next morning, trying to figure out how we are going to get out of town…..there is no electricity, no water, no workig toilets, no trains out, and the sea looks really rough so we dont know how long it will take the ferry to get there to take people out. We figure that the way out will probably be by ferry, but will that be in a few hours or the next day? We head towards the train station. There used to be a pretty tall set of stairs leading up to the train station……now the train station is even with the rest of the mountain, which has covered all of these stairs…….we head that way, and see a small path, we are probably trespassing on peoples property at this point, but does it really matter? We climb over some debris, and see a possible path to the train station. There is a young Italian man shoveling dirt off a level floor…..Thomas, (of the Houston couple who shared their room with us) goes out to scout the path to see if the rest of us could make it…..he walks along the top of a stone wall, hops down, talks a bit to this guy, and then crosses the flowing river, which at this point is not very wide, over a door that the guy has put down. We find out this guy is shoveling out the inside of his house, which has been destroyed, looking for personal belongings….we see his smashed computer and other stuff in the mud. he was wiped out, physically and emotionally. Thomas continues down over the mud and debris to the train station….he talks to some train employees, and figures out that YES it is possible for some tourists to travel on the tracks….small maintenance cars (smaller than a caboose) are bringing in workers. when they head back out to Corneglia, the next town, we could catch a ride….but no luggage, people only (at least that’s what Tom thought he said). In the meantime Kevin goes down and starts helping this guy shovel…..the guy seems ready to take a break, and Kevin is ready to DO something…then kevin goes down and negotiates with the train workers in italian (he has gotten good!) and hand gestures, and it is decided that we could have 2 suitcases among the 4 of us on the maintence car….since our suitcases were back in Riamigorria, this got Tom and Linday’s suitcases on the car…..which was coming very soon…….so Tom and Lindsay RUN back to their hotel, down muddy paths, up millions of steps in town, up 3 floors to their room, to grab their suitcases and get back as quickly as possible……we wait to help them carry their suitcases, passing them from person to person over the trail, down some sections, over the door over the river, etc. and eventually to the train tracks…..the guy shoveling his house helps us, as do some other random locals. We make it to the train tracks and the car is already there!!!! We run to the car, squeeze our way in, and then a few other people show up (they had a toddler with them, which got them the ride) and squeeze in after us….the train guys jump on and we are off!!! Lindsay and Tom are still huffing from the run back……its about a 5 minute train ride and we remember to take a few pictures……then we make it to the next town, where we get off, grazie mille!!!! (thousand thanks) to all the train people and then we wait for the next real train running from Corneglia. We get on….phew!! we made it….we say goodbye to L & T . They are heading to La Spezia and from there directly to Florence. Kevin and I jump off at Riamigiiorre where we had our room. We trudge up the hill, and stop at the grocery store which is just getting ready to close….when we tell them where we had been, they give us bread and cheese and water all for free….they had heard of the disaster! Everything was fine there. But another town Monterosso Al Mare, had been hit badly as well. We ate, shower, Ahhh…..and head off to settle our bill…..the booking lady was a New Yorker who had moved to CT in 1979…..we showed her pictures of the disaster on our camera…..very sad for all the towns. Off to the train again, this time to La Spezia and from there to Florence…..by now it is a BEAUTIFUL warm day, and the water is glistening in the sunlight, and I am so sad to be leaving Cinque Terre!!! People in town said that it would take 3 to 5 years to rebuild the two towns that were hit! hopefully we will come back again.Show more
Joanne
St. Louis, MO USA
Our hearts go out to all those who lost everything.
We ( 6 friends from Toronto, Canada) were in Vernazza that horrible day in a restaurant at the bottom of the hill near the water. As the water rose very quickly and the gas lines snapped we were trapped inside and would have drowned. We escaped with the help of the staff in the restaurant and emergency crews who were able to saw bars off an air conditioning hole near the ceiling and we crawled through.We then ran up several flights of stairs and ended up in someones apartment where we stayed overnight until we were rescued. We were amazed at the generosity of the villagers who made us food and tried to keep us warm. A sad end to a wonderful Tuscany holiday. Our hearts go out to all those who lost everything.
Maureen,Charlie, Joanne & Donny, Barb & Larry
Toronto, Ontario Canada
May God richly bless the people of the Cinque Terre.
Of all days to plan a day trip to Cinque Terre, ours was October 25, 2011 — the day the towns would be changed forever. We were on a Mediterranean cruise, and we took a day trip with Papillon Services to explore the region we had only dreamed about. We had no warning that our dream would soon become a nightmare.
Our ship had sailed through intensely rough seas the night before from Villefranche, France, so much so that I wondered if we would be able to make the port in Livorno. I awoke as we were docking, the weather was overcast but calm, and the forecasts continued to call only for “some showers.” We embarked with our driver with no idea what we would soon face.
When we arrived at the Cinque Terre, we parted with our driver in Riomaggiore to make the trip through the towns by train. At each step, the skies darkened and grew ominous. When we arrived in Vernazza by late morning, the rains began. Within minutes, the rain was running down the main street of the town like a river. A shopowner took a photograph of us in our rain coats and umbrellas holding up a postcard of Vernazza on a sunny day. We thought that the worst was that we wouldn’t be able to see the region in all its glory. Little did we know that we had not seen anything yet. We continued by train to Monterosso, arriving at 12:25 to meet our driver. He advised that the mountain road was in terrible condition and that he had been told to wait until the storm passed to drive us back. He parked his car near the sea in old Monterosso (the part just south of the newer Monterosso al Mare), and we walked to Al Pozzo for lunch. The rains dwindled, the floods in the street ceased, and we enjoyed a delicious lunch of trofie al pesto with some wonderful Cinque Terre wine. Despite the rain, it was truly la bella vita.
As we prepared to leave Al Pozzo, the skies literally opened once again. As the ground was obviously saturated from the earlier rain, the street quickly filled with a massive river of water. Our driver was given permission to drive up the main street to pick us up and to drive us up to the mountain road to safety — or so we hoped.
When we got into the car, emergency workers were running in all directions. We understood very little Italian, but they were telling us that we couldn’t go down the mountain to the harbor because there were “holes” open in the road for draining. After waiting for some time to be able to get down to the parking area near the harbor for what we hoped would be safe ground, we were told we would have to try to drive up the mountain in the river of water to try to evacuate via the mountain roads.
Our car and two other vans tried going up the mountain. We made it some distance until it became quite steep, and large amounts of debris was falling down the road — huge chunks of mud, garbage cans, and anything in the water’s path. One van full of tourists was caught in the water and was stopped precariously in the river. Our car was able to get to a safer spot just off the road — at least for the moment.
A police emergency vehicle arrived and began by evacuating the tourists from the precariously positioned van. The authorities advised they would return for us as soon as possible. The four of us waited alone for quite a while. As we did, we realized the river of water pouring down the main street was growing larger. Much more terrifying was that, in front of our car, there was another much more rapid flow of water. It appeared to be a drainage area but it had turned into a massive flow of unthinkable amounts of water. Between the river behind us and the rapids in front of us, the small piece of ground we had found for safety was literally being torn out from under us.
Our driver continuously looked for ways to get us out. We waited and waited for the police, who I know did everything they could to save us, but as of yet had not been able to return. I pray that their services were used to save other lives. As we saw the waters rise and the unthinkable amounts of rain continue, we knew we had to do something very quickly. Our driver found a meandering road in the town and said he believed it was our path to safety. He said succintly, “we must try.” He tapped my hand and backed our car into the smaller river of water rushing down the main road. I have no doubt that God’s hand held our car — we drove through the river and up a small street where the waters were much less. Little did we know that at the top of the street was a lovely hotel, Hotel Villa Steno, where we were welcomed. We finally made it out of the storm.
At Hotel Villa Steno, we were able to get out a quick email to family advising them that we were stranded but fine. Just afterwards, we lost power. People continued to come to the hotel, and we realized that it was a mix of stranded travelers and locals with simply nowhere to go. You could see the massive river of water rushing through the streets. The sound of it will stay with me forever. We were advised that the road we were stranded on just minutes earlier had now entirely washed away.
We waited in the lobby as afternoon turned to evening. As the sun went down, we had no lights but our cell phones and a few flashlights. The lobby was full of people from around the globe, but all of whom who lent a helping hand. Those with rooms offered us pillows, blankets, dry clothes, and even famous lemon candies. As we sat in the room with candlelight, there was a moment of inescapable beauty — so many languages being spoken, everyone having faced a harrowing day, but with a sense of peace, togetherness, and hope.
Later in the evening, after rooms were provided for children and the elderly, the hotel gave us their last room for a few weary hours of sleep. Overnight, you could hear the river rushing and voices of Italian rescue workers, but nothing else. A tree branch cracked at one point late in the night, and I wondered about the stability of everything around us, although I tried to push these thoughts from my head. The fear began to sink in, though, as we were alone in the dark room with no idea what would happen next.
It seemed a terribly long wait until dawn, but when the sun finally began to rise, we went out to see the city from the terrace above the hotel. Sunrise above the Cinque Terre was such a beautiful sight — one I had dreamed of. Yet, the sun showed the heart-breaking extent of the destruction. The town was buried under mud. Debris littered every corner. The hardest site for me was when I realized that the van, from which the other stranded tourists were with us were evacuated, was in front of us, quite a distance down the mountain and entirely destroyed. Thank God that the tourists were taken to safety.
As we began our early plans to evacuate, a man named Marco volunteered to lead tourists to the train station, although we still had not heard if trains were running. We had to take a path over the mountain that was very difficult, especially for the rest who had to evacuate with luggage. When we arrived at the harbor, you could see the devastation in that area for the first time. The quiet of the town was only broken by the sound of countless rescue helicopters overhead. It was unfathomable.
We received word that trains were only running towards Genoa. As we had to reach Rome by 7pm to attempt to reboard our cruise, we knew this was probably not the best option. We then heard that boats were coming. We saw a coast guard boat and wondered why it could not begin to evacuate us. We were told the heartbreaking reality that these boats — along with the helicopters — were looking for those lost at sea. What a reminder of the blessings of our situation.
Eventually, a volunteer tourist boat came from La Spezia. It boarded 200 tourists from Monterosso and Vernazza. We sailed along the beautiful coast, glad to be returning to safety but with the heaviest of hearts for all of those who were not as fortunate. Although we had no news, we knew due to the sheer magnitude of what we had witnessed that many lives had been lost.
Our driver had a car meet us at La Spezia, which took us directly to Civitaveccia to reboard our cruise ship. We did safely make it aboard. Words cannot describe the joy of reaching our families.
We have just now finished our cruise and returned to the USA. Our hearts are broken for the people of the Cinque Terre. Although we spent a brief time there, the kindness of the people enured them to our hearts forever. Despite the fact that they had lost everything, they did not pause to lend a hand. We would find out later that Marco, who led us to the train station, was a shop owner that had no shop to go to. He volunteered to show us the only possible path through the mountains to the train. We offered to give him a tip out of sheer gratitude. Although he had lost everything but the shirt off his back, he refused.
I could not agree with Rick Steves more that we must commit to the rebuilding of this place, not just for us to revel in its beauty, but for them, our friends. It may be one of the most breathtaking spots of land on our earth, but for these kind people, it is quite simply home. They have forever touched my heart, and despite the horrors we witnessed, I would go back tomorrow if I could just to lend a hand and help put them back to where they were on that fateful morning when we entered their lands. I will continuously pray for their recovery, and I hope we can all do our part to help. May God richly bless the people of the Cinque Terre.Show more
SEF
TN USA
Our prayers are with you Cinque Terre.
My wife and our 1 year old son were there during the storm. It started raining around 11:30am and by 2:00pm the streets were flooded out and things got very scary. It rained so hard and so fast, it was like nothing I had ever seen before. When we woke up Wed. morning the town was covered in 5-10ft of mud and cars were everywhere. Simply put, the town was destroyed. Police officers asked that all tourist to leave immediately. We came by car, but had to evacuate by train. Our rental car was left in the town and we felt so helpless for everyone there. The locals were so great to us during the storm. We had no food or water and the locals helped us with everything including diapers for our 1 year old son. Though we only spent 1 day in total in Cinque Terre we have a huge place in our heart for it. I am not sure the media or public really know how bad it is. If you have the means to help then do so. These poor people have lost everything and it doesn’t seem they are being supported enough with the bare necessities and man power to help dig out.
Our prayers are with you Cinque Terre.
Noah
Denver, CO USA
At one point I really thought I was going to die
Myself, my brother and my sister in law were there for a day trip from Monrolla and ended up getting stuck for 24hours. I have traveled a ton and have experienced many things but never have I seen/experienced something like this. At one point I really thought I was going to die there,we were at the Blue Marlin restaurant eating lunch and decided to wait out the heavy rain before going back. Little did we know that the next 2hours would be the most frightening in my life. The restaurant owner, Massimo had to break down the wall by the electrical box and we had to go up stairs to the 2nd floor. The water continued to climb up and the receded right went we were started to freck out because there was no where else to go. Everyone was starting to relax even though it was still raining, just much lighter. Then it happened again…the loud crashing and river started raising again because all the water from the mountains was coming down and we needed to get out, right then the volunteer rescue team found us and took us up to the city center.
Rebecca
San Diego, Ca USA
We can honestly say we have been blessed with the privilege of visiting Vernazza BEFORE, DURING, and AFTER this tragic event…we are forever changed.
On October 25th, 2011, my husband (Preston) and I (Andrea) along with 5 of our friends set out to explore one of the most beautiful places in the world, Vernazza Italy, also known as the jewel of the Italian Riviera. We arrived in Vernazza around noon and strolled down the picturesque street to photo the beautiful harbor. We decided to eat lunch at Gambero’s when it started raining. Although the rain was really pouring down, we decided to head back uphill towards the train station in order to catch the train to Monterossa. Within minutes the water rose to a couple of inches as it ran down the steep hill. I was taking video of a small truck that was parked on the side of the narrow, winding street and noticed the water was raging up against the back of the truck with enough force to push the truck down the street. I thought it would be a wise idea to stop on the opposite side of the street and video an amazing shot of this truck being swept out to sea. Within minutes, we realized we needed to cross the street and move to higher ground. As we ventured across the street, the water rose from approximately 5 to 12 inches and instantly swept my feet out from under me. I found myself being washed down the street about 30 feet with Preston chasing after me. As the water rushed over my head, he grabbed the collar of my jacket and pulled me out from behind the truck. A few more feet and I would have been sucked under the truck and eventually down the street into the harbor. An Italian policeman helped us up to the steps and we proceeded to walk approximately 20 yards to the train platform (station).
We gathered with 12-15 other tourist, all in shock at how fast the water was rising. Viewing up the street, we noticed the water had now rose to 10+ feet, raging down the same street we had just walked an hour before. At that time we noticed the train tunnel filling with debris, then a gas line blew spewing water 20-30 feet in the air. The smell was so strong we could hardly breathe. I think all of us quickly realized we were caught in a very dangerous situation. Preston and I tried to bust down the door or at least break out the window at the station to protect ourselves from a possible explosion but it would not budge (the next day we noticed the door and window had been busted out with the force of the water). Two local Italian men were yelling at us to do something as the water was rising up to the train platform. We were not about to run into the train tunnel that was filling with water and debris, and the water was now washing over the train platform, so we decided to run towards the spewing gas. 12 of us were lifted over a rail through a small door where we found ourselves in someone’s kitchen! We were then led down many steps and ended up in a 14th century church which overlooked the harbor (on the opposite side where we dined for lunch). The view was something I will never forget. The cars that were swept down the street, out to sea looked like toys and were instantly chewed up as they were dumped in the harbor. We spent about 5 hours in this church and were asked to write down our names before we were rushed out of the church, uphill, in the dark. All we could hear was the raging water. We had no idea where we were going or what was about to happen. After climbing about 200 steps (or what seemed to be 1000) we ended up at an old converted church which now serves as the local government/police station.
For the next 15 hours we listened to the raging water and prayed the church walls would hold. Rescuers brought in survivors throughout the night, including our friends! I failed to mention that we got separated while heading to the train station. They told their survival story which brought tears to everyone in the church. Someone led them to an abandoned restaurant/bar down by the harbor and told them they would be safe here. A few minutes later a 5 foot wall of mud and debris crashed through the walls pushing them against the back wall. 4 of them were pushed up against a door which allowed them to escape up to the next level but our other friend was pushed up against a window that overlooked the now raging water below. He crawled through the window, wrapped his neck scarf around his wrist and the bars of the window, and dangled over the raging water. He was minutes from letting go when someone on the floor above him tossed down a piece of carpet that he used to climb to the 2nd floor to safety. They were then rescued and joined us along with the other tourist and local survivors.
We were able to return to Florence the next afternoon on a small railway that was cleared for emergency personnel. We can honestly say we have been blessed with the privilege of visiting Vernazza BEFORE, DURING, and AFTER this tragic event.
Although our heart breaks for the people who lost everything that day, especially the ones who lost their lives, we are forever changed. What an amazing 24 hours; We started the morning with such excitement and anticipation of our visit, witnessing one of the most beautiful places in the world, which quickly turned into sheer panic, fearing for our lives, to relief when we were reunited with our friends. As the sun came up we were overcome with such sadness and the realization that many lives were lost and the entire town, now buried in over 13 feet of mud and debris, may never recover.
In lieu of Christmas gifts this year, we are making a donation to the “save Vernazza” campaign. We ask that if you are sending Christmas cheer our way, please make it in form of a donation to the people of Vernazza. www.savevernazza.com Show more
Andrea
Harlingen, TX USA