By: Christen Calloway
Secluded, quiet, and adults only, the magical cove I am determined to find. Guvano Beach is the only “clothing optional” beach in Cinque Terre, which means “five lands.” The villages that make up the lands are, from south to north, Riomaggiore, Manarola, Corniglia, Vernazza and Monterosso.
A UNESCO World Heritage Site, Cinque Terre has been restored and preserved in large part because of fees hikers pay to walk the often steep and rugged pathways that connect the five villages. Although not entirely car-free, the area is remarkably clean and unspoiled. You can reach Cinque Terre by train from any major city with several trains per day and it is also possible to drive to the five lands, though parking is sparse.
With the sun glaring, we walk the least challenging flat coastal path toward Corniglia for 45 minutes, and stumble upon hand-carved maps showing us stairs and the tunnel to Guvano. We pound up the stairs past where the path is closed for repairs and continue north to the foot of the steps to Corniglia, a dead end. Confused as to where the path continues, we find stairs leading to a small house and a gate leading to beaches below. A woman and her daughter appear with a key to the gate and I yell “Mi Scusi!” In broken Italian, I ask where Guvano Beach is. She smiles and says, “Oh! Guvano!” and she gestures to go around the corner of the house. I interpret her next movements as button pushing, and she says “Light? Bzzz.”
We round the corner to find a tunnel with painted scenes of nude figures on a beach, “Guvano Beach one kilometer through tunnel” one sign says. In mouth of the pitch-black tunnel there is an intercom with the words “Push here for lights,” so we push. And we push. And nothing happens. Our group of four young women begins to have second thoughts about the black abyss before us. Tech-savvy students, we pull out cell phones, no good. Cameras, better, but not enough.
One of my companions wants to turn back, but I offer to lead the way with the LCD screen on the back of my large camera. We stay to the left and walk slowly on the sidewalk of the cavernous tunnel. Every step, incline, and slippery spot we shout “STEP!” to warn the girl behind us so she doesn’t trip.
The tunnel takes a curve and we are suddenly in a darkness I had never experienced. We imagine what kinds of creatures lurk in the blackness. I block the terrifying thoughts of bats and focus on the ground before me: it is cool and wet, and the girls wearing flip-flops call it muddy and slimy.
We hear a loud noise coming towards us, like a train or a truck, and I have the sudden urge to bolt. We stare into the abyss like soon-to-be road kill and the train in the tunnel next to us passes.
Timidly, we proceed, rounding a bend where – at last! – we see a tiny light. Our pace quickens. Then we hear footsteps behind us. Muggers? No, just two better-prepared beach-goers with flashlights.
The tunnel opens up to an oasis of trees and a clearly marked gravel path. We pass three men at a table under an umbrella, half expecting to pay them a fee to use the beach, but no one stops us and the beach is free.
One member of the flashlight couple, from Atlanta, asks, “How did you find out about the gay beach?” After I tell him about the guidebooks I read, a naked man with no shoes walks leisurely past, smoking a cigarette. We giggle for a moment about the man’s nudity and get it out of our system.
We look down the rockslide below, “Is that the only way down?” my friends ask. I tell them I have done this before and give tips on how to make it down the scary slope. As we begin our descent, one of the gentlemen from Atlanta offers to help us down. I say I can handle it, but nearly fall all the way down the slope when a rock underfoot gives way and sends me sliding on my butt. But then I gaze on the elusive Guvano Beach, paradise achieved.
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