Today was a second day spent introducing a lovely woman to this Italian city I like so well.
We wandered the city with our cameras, chasing the light, searching out things we found beautiful and/or interesting, talking, walking ... an ideal way to spend time here in Genova.
At some point I looked up and spotted this dress overhead and loved how it looked out there on the line.
Genoa has been nicknamed la Superba ("the Superb one") due to its glorious past and impressive landmarks. Part of the old town of Genoa was inscribed on the World Heritage List (UNESCO) in 2006 (see below). The city's rich art, music, gastronomy, architecture and history allowed it to become the 2004 European Capital of Culture. It is the birthplace of Christopher Columbus.
But really, one can expect no less in La Superba. It is a magnificent city that merges the everyday with a remarkable history.
I looked up, as I was hunting down breakfast this morning ...
I miss these colours when I'm not here ... I find them beautiful.
Today, as I walked back up the hill, I saw this.
San Lorenzo's Cathedral was built to hold Saint John the Baptist's ashes ... ashes that arrived in Genova after the crusade in 1098.
The lions that guard the entrance have been a point of fascination for me. Today, searching for the cloister of yesterday (wrong church), I discovered the animals around the corner behind my favourite lion.
I love the way they seem to be attempting to peer round the corner ...
Last visit to Genova, I had the good fortune to meet a very kind man who quietly explained the free concert Outi and I had arrived in time for ... in Palazzo Ducale.
Roberto and I stayed in touch. He has wandered the world and taken some beautiful photographs en route. And so it was, this time, that he offered to take me into the heart of this ancient city I love so well.
There is no point in ever imagining you know Genova. She will always surprise you. Even if you live here forever. It is a city for those who want depth. A city for those who don't want the easy entertainment experience.
Today I was introduced to the legend that is Captain Enrico Alberto d'Albertis (1846-1932), a remarkable man. His castello is one I will return to. I wandered in a cloister that I didn't know existed. I visited churches I had only photographed the exterior of ... grazie, Roberto.
Tonight ... I'm not even sure I can capture it for you. I am here, as usual, next to the open window ... writing and listening to music but more than that, listening to the noise of an evening in Genova. There's a bar below me, a pizzeria across the small alley ... there is life.
I love the noise of Italy. And there's a warm breeze, good music, and the pleasure that is simply being here ... in this moment, loving everything about where I am.
But a photograph, from my today spent wandering. The light ... this one was all about the light.
There is a creaking, grinding roll-up metal door that is activated about 6.30am ...near my bedroom here in Genova.
It's a feet-on-the-floor explosion of sound. To give you a sense of it, an army would be proud of this vehicle of noise when waking and/or scaring the living daylights out of their new recruits or prisoners of war.
Some mornings I hear it, some mornings I don't. This morning I woke, completely heart-thumpingly disorientated. I lay there a while and then, sure enough, some kind of pressure-building noise followed as the cafe primed its coffee-machine with the required level of explosiveness ...perhaps.
I stumbled out of bed to see if I had missed the possible thunderstorms predicted for while I slept but they didn't come. It's overcast but that won't hurt after yesterday's 32 celsius, with humidity of 76%.
The kitchen window is open, next to my laptop and the breeze is almost refreshing. The 'ciao's' have begun and people sound lively and engaged in this language I love. So upbeat, even at 7.37am.
Meanwhile friends here are rebelling. Maybe they're pretending but some have decided it's time I spoke Italian. Of course, I agree but language acquisition has never been the thing I am best in. Two years in Turkey and I remember the Turks were amused by my using a very English pronunciation in my simple greetings.
Learning Dutch hasn't gone well either. Maybe there is some forgotten colonial impulse buried deep in my New Zealand genes but I tend to begin in English in Belgium and mostly they reply in the same. Actually, they reply in English when they hear my Dutch too. I have come to believe that my attempts are so impossibly bad that they are found to be abominable.
But anyway, English is a useful language to travel with ... or not. Depending on what one believes about language.
So ... last night I began working through the 200+ Italian flashcard exercises I have stored on my computer. While the language itself is often straight-forward, in that it is pronounced as it appears, I realised that words like 'di' and 'a', with their multiple uses, could be troublesome.
'di' (that Italian word that isn't my name) = of, from, about, than, to, with, by. And then there is 'a' = to, at, in, for, with, by.
The road could be long. Here too, the 'i' sounds like my 'e'and so Di of me becomes Dee. Although it is the same in Dutch and so I have adjusted to that kind of thing.
I can see how this language-studying commitment is a necessary commitment because to post graffiti without being sure of what is saying is a risk I don't often take. However this one refers to, or was written by, Melina Riccio. Hers is an interesting story for sure ...
The espresso and cappuccino cups are rattling in the cafes below, a man is telling a story so amusing he can barely squeeze the words out through the laughter he is trying to control. It seems like old friends are at the cafe, meeting on their way to work perhaps, and talking about things I don't understand ...
Buongiorno ... it is morning here in Genova.
...how places love us back, of what they give us.
They give us continuity, something to return to, and offer familiarity that allows some portion of our lives to remain collected and coherent.
They give us an expansive scale in which our troubles are set into context, in which the largeness of the world is a balm to loss, trouble, and ugliness.
And distant places give us refuge in territories where our own histories aren't so deeply entrenched and we can imagine other stories, other selves, or just drink up quiet and respite.
The bigness of the world is redemption.
Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby
I found these words over on a favourite blog of mine called Myth & Moor. It's the site where Terri Windling notes down, oftentimes, beautiful words and wisdoms she finds along the way.
Tonight I am sitting at Paola's kitchen table in Genova, again. My laptop and I are located next to an open window, one floor above the street and, after a 32 celsius day, I'm enjoying the softness of a breeze that carries rumours of rain.
Today was quiet after yesterday's strangely epic journey here. All went well till I landed at Milan's Malpensa airport. I picked up my soft cloth luggage, unzipped it to throw my camera bag in, noticing a wet patch as I worked ... and then the stench of it hit me.
At first I thought it was urine. I was horrified. Then I thought, okay, cat pee ... okay. I wandered over to Lost and Found luggage and explained. They were lovely. I love this thing about Italy. They remain human in times of deep distress and need while other countries in Europe have failed consistently. But never mind.
The woman came round to my side of the counter ... sniffed, and diagnosed Fish!. Apparently some people from countries that don't need to be named, pack fish in their luggage, gifts from or for relatives. This fish had leaked all over my bag.
The Lost and Found woman filled out the necessary insurance forms for me, so sympathetic that I couldn't help but thank her. I explained I had two trains and 3 hours of travel ahead of me. Was there some place in the airport where I could replace my stinking bag. She sent me up to Departures and eventually I located the only place selling anything like my bag ... and there were no sales inside the airport. Everywhere I been lately, in Belgium and Italy, there are sales. Probably this airport was the only place without sales.
I travel on a wish and a prayer. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only person left in the worlds that I know who doesn't have any kind of credit card. I usually get by, even if I sometimes arrive home with just 10 euro in cash, or less. Yesterday I was in despair. I could do it but it would seriously impact on my desire to fund this trip by myself.
I can't even write the price I had to pay for the bag that could fit my luggage into it. And I had to have wheels because I am slightly broken in body and my equipment is heavy enough without having to carry the rest of my stuff too. The luggage shop assistant was lovely. She sent me off to another store, just in case they had something more reasonable but no.
I paid, I unpacked my luggage with just a few losses ... thank goodness for waterproofing I guess. I dumped the stinking bag over by the rubbish bins she pointed to and we laughed as she said not to worry, that she had a spray that would clear the fishy stench my bag had created in her shop. It stunk, so bad. So unbelievably badly. (But you got that by now, didn't you.)
I found a train to take me into Milan and it might have been okay with the stinky bag. There was A/C and lots of space but the longer train journey, the 2 hours from Milan to Genova, that would have been a nightmare. On that train I was seated in one of those little 6 seat cabins with 5 other people and a closed door. The A/C was weak and the temperature outside was 30 celsius.
I imagined how horrific it would have been to have traveled with my fish-stinking bag. Instead it was tranquil, people napped, helped one another with luggage, smiled, and were kind.
It could have been another story entirely ... I was glad I had spent the money.
However today has been a far better day and full of good people. And here's a glimpse of the flowers I found this morning. Okay, so it was bread and cheese for dinner but really, it was all so very worth it I'm thinking, as I sit here by the window listening to the ebb and flow of life here in Genova this evening
The Palazzo Ducale, once the seat of the oligarchic government of the Republic, today it is used to host the most important art exhibitions and major events.
This picking through and posting images from my May in Genova began when I decided it was time to write of that trip.
This street ... Via San Vincenzo, the walking street that I often use when I wander to or from Brignole Station. I know I've arrived or I'm sad to be leaving. It varies.
For some reason, I like this image.
It's also useful, perhaps, for understanding the image that follows.
Inside Palazzo Ducale, in Genova, there is much to photograph ...
My journey to Genova in May, despite being far too short, was as special as every other visit I've made to that exquisite Italian city located in Liguria. But the kindness of strangers was quietly overwhelming and intensely appreciated. Perhaps it was all more condensed . I don't know. It was a special visit. Crazy busy but filled with people I want to write about in the days ahead.
I've put off writing about it in detail because I didn't want to miss out any stories. Now ... so much time has passed, I fear I have forgotten some things.
It's time to sit awhile and remember.
I arrived via Rome and landed in Genova late afternoon. It was raining and grey - the only grey day I had. In the days that followed, it was summer. The journey from Brussels had been long but this time I was staying with Francesca and her lovely family out at Arenzano. Paola's apartment was under renovation back in the city.
So I followed the train signs out to the airport exit doors but then the signs peetered out. I turned a few times, sure it was me who was somehow lost, before wandering back to a counter where there was man who seemed like he might be open to questions from this lost woman.
He was lovely. He started talking of the bus, then a taxi, then walking ...discounting each idea as he went. It's not much more than a kilometre to the train station, an easy walk normally and so he drew me a map but then looked at the rain and wasn't happy. The situation was resolved when a friend or collegue of his called out a ciao. He called him over to us. This lovely young man listened to the story and before I knew it my luggage and I were in his car.
He had un po inglese and well ... my lack of ability in other languages has created laughter all over the world. But we talked a little. He weaved through the streets near the airport then parked next to a footbridge that went over the railway tracks. He unloaded my luggage and then, much to my horror, carried my heavy bag all the way to the top of the stairs. I was so grateful and a little bit mortified.
We said our goodbyes and I made my way down to the train station. I bought my ticket.
Flustered, tired ... who knows really, I had forgotten how trains worked in Italy. Platforms, directions, stuff like that. Eventually I asked at the office and another lovely Ligurian said, come with me, and so I did. I followed her under the tracks and up onto the correct platform.
Honestly, I know how trains work there. I use them often but it seemed that there was a brain-freeze going down and I was in its grip. She sat with me, we talked a little. I wished I had studied Italian. I appreciated her unobtrusive kindess.
I arrived in Arenzano and Francesca picked me up and whisked me off to her place.
Now ... Francesca has lovely friend called Anna Lisa. I'm sure of the 'lovely' because Anna Lisa had offered to cook dinner for Francesca and her family that evening.
I took a photograph or two while she whipped up a focaccia al formaggio, as per the photograph at the end of this post. There was other food too but I was so tired by then, and I did nothing but race about madly during those 5 exquisite days in Genova, I've lost the rest of the memory of dinner. I suspect that the warm focaccia di formaggio was so good that I have fixated on it.
I also suspect that the kindness of Ligurian strangers had overwhelmed me, filled me up, knocked me off-balance a little.
And Francesca's family ... Beppe, Cesare, and Emma. There's so much love between them that it is truly lovely to spend time in their midst.
And so I arrived. Genova, May 2013.
Update: if you use a reader to read my posts, sincere apologies for the series of edits. Strong antibiotics, 3 espressos, and no sunshine or warmth ... it all messed with my mind.
And Stefano, grazie mille for the editing advice. It was a rather grave error, falling to the 'No exceptions' category.
Each product, be it pasta, olive oil, pesto, cheese, sauces or wine, has been tasted by us. This is the only way we be sure of truly advising you. We travel around Italy searching for the local products that bring excellence to your table. This is our passion !!!!
Francesca, writing about the shop, Le Gramole.
I interviewed Francesca and Norma about their shop, located deep in the historical heart of old Genova, back in 2011.
It's a special shop, in a special area of the city. As for Francesca and Norma, they're really special too but I imagine you knew that was coming.
They welcome everyone into their shop. They're happy to take the time to talk, to advise, to suggest. I have heard them speak Italian, French, and English, and there are always smiles.
I really recommend you take the time to visit them when in Genova. You won't regret it.
Francesca was preparing for a one-on-one food tasting while I was there at the weekend ...
I happened to be in Genova on a weekend when the food market, known as Sapori al Ducale, was open and trading.
Researching it, I discovered that the food on display came from farms and food artisans located all over Italy. You can imagine the quality ... it was mouthwatering.
There were oil producers, all kinds of wines and spirits, cheese, cold meats, sausages, honey, preserves, handmade pasta, desserts and organic produce, just to mention a little of what I saw there.
It is surely a place where' passion, professionalism, tradition and history' come together.
And now I am in a beautiful city, in a truly beautiful city, Genoa. I walk on marble, everything is marble: the stairways, the balconies, and palaces. The palaces are so close they almost touch and from the street, one can see noble ceilings, all richly painted and gilded...
Here I open my eyes wide on everything, innocently, simply ...'
Gustave Flaubert.
There are streets like this in Genova ...
Via XX Settembre is a street that always makes me want to stop and attempt to capture something of the light.
It's still beautiful even when it rains.
I flew over to Genova last Friday and immediately, upon arriving ... stories began to unfold.
It was a madly-busy, exquisitely-joyfilled 5-days. And I couldn't reach the back-end of my website for some reason but honestly, I had no spare time.
I stayed with the kindest friends out at Arenzano. And I met their friend, the talented artist Giorgio Bormida. Actually, I wanted to cook dinner for Francesca and Beppe before I left, and ended up cooking for Giorgio too. It was only as I began dinner prep that I thought ... 'What have I done??! Cooking isn't really my best thing'. But they were all very kind.
I caught up with some of my favourite people there in the city but completely missed out on catching up with others. It was lovely to catch up with Stefano, the owner/operator of Righicam, over lunch. And with Francesca and Norma, from Le Gramole.
And then there was that 24 hours spent working with Diana, staying at B&B Baur with her and Micha. It was sublime ... photographs and words to follow in the days to come. I heard my first cuckoo as I sat by the open window in the morning. And the views ...
The kindness of Genovese strangers stunned me and ... well, it made me smile. A lot really. I met a lovely guy at a concert in Palazzo Ducale, who kindly explained all that was happening, to Outi and I. But Outi and I is another whole story.
Meanwhile, here I am, just in from an 11-hour day of traveling. It was a day that involved a train, a taxi, a plane from Genova to Rome, a bus to and from the plane, another plane to Brussels, then a bus and a tram home.
I shall return with photographs downloaded, with a mind rested and ready to tell you some stories.
I'm missing the colours and the light of Genova ... so much!
I love the way this city goes from post-modern to ancient, and everything in-between, so easily.
Roberto Panizzi is the president of the World Pesto Championships here in Genova and he was kind enough to allow our workshop group to photograph him making pesto. Grazie mille to Anna, of Beautiful Liguria, for setting that up.
There Robert was, surrounded by 5 women as he demonstrated the pesto-making process, talking and inspiring us while calmly bearing the quiet storm of flashes along with the knowledge that Hanna's was also filming him.
Here he is, having photographed us, busy sending the resulting images out to all his twitter followers.
We adored him.
