Vernazza, Italy

Can't move for Americans. I've stopped saying 'scusi' to pass people now – that's just a shared joke, a ruse between two English speakers making an effort. But 'sorry' actually gets better results. 'Dude', spoken softly exasperated, works well too.

There's a good reason why all these Americans are here, though. Vernazza, and the other four villages in the Cinque Terre, is bogglingly beautiful. Mountains dramatically erupt from the water, looking powerful and enormous. The houses and people seem out of scale – how can so few of us fill these places? It's like travelling to Mt Ararat, only to discover that's it's not really that big. Ararat is, and the Cinque Terre coastline should be.

The little houses stick up like short stubs of pasta on the coast, tightly packed together all painted in complimentary pastel shades. My new job of coordinating local government is obviously getting to me – I briefly imagine the design guidelines for painting new houses, the various levels of approval required to change your house from light green to light blue, the consultant reports, the upset neighbours. I wonder how many locals live there, and how many have sold up and moved on to profit from the tourist trade.

In Vernazza, by far the most popular town, and therefore to me, the least attractive, the loud, young Americans are by the water. They can't have travelled over here in such large groups – if they were all having such a good time at home, they'd never have left. But here they are, posing for photos on rocks, casually flirting in the way that makes it clear they don't know each others' names. Groups must form during the day around rocks and beaches, hang out for security, and to flirt, to share this over-whelming Italian-ness of their surroundings – no McDonald's, anywhere! -- then disperse in the afternoons only to regroup in the evenings to get drunk on wine and familiar faces.

The old ones – so polite, SO polite – venture further inland away from the beach, into the churches and lookouts. Their groups seem more established, more formal I guess. They knowingly refer to Rome as last week, and have say things like “I really preferred Rome to Paris, didn't you?” They are amused as I am by their fellow younger countrymen -- “He has some wine sticking out of his rucksack!” one reported, enthused. You can drink anywhere over here!

I had lunch in a restaurant high above what passes for the beach – smooth large rocks lapped by perfect water and watched the crowds some more. An Italian showoff – over here you can tell a man's nationality by his swimming gear – jumped into the water just so to get everyone's attention, pushed himself powerfully through the water and then began climbing a large rock. He preened and sunned himself up there for a little while, maybe 20 metres above the water. Then he jumped straight down, making a terrific noise as he hit. Satisfied, he returned to his towel and closed his eyes.

Not five minutes later a group of four Americans swam over to the rock themselves. One had trouble finding the right place to climb out of the water -- there was a small swell knocking him around -- but his friends pointed out the right place and he quickly caught up. They slowly climbed to different points of the rock, talking a little nervously to each other. They sat at the top for a while, deliberately unconcerned about whether they'd jump but still looking down, trying to judge how deep those underwater rocks were. The one who had trouble getting out of the water began to be a little impatient, then just suddenly jumped. He was king of the world, beaming ear to ear when he came back up. His friends quickly followed, each as happy as the first.

We left the restaurant not long after, and didn't return to Vernazza until late the next day. By then, that rock accommodated over 15 gleeful Americans. They'd organised it quite carefully. After posing for group photos for their friends near me, where the Italian lay yesterday, they retreated down the rock, out of sight for the next photos. One climbed back to the top of the rock, signalled to make sure their friend near me was using the right camera, then counted for bravery and jumped for the photo. One by one, they all repeated.