Arriving 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

A Delightful Day Despite That Insomnia

I breakfasted at 4am Saturday morning because I couldn't sleep and by 4am, it seemed like the best thing to be doing.

I had spent the wakeful hours catching up on some of the emails I owe.  I had read, tried to quiet my busy little mind but, in the end, it became about breakfast . 

2 pieces of toast with peach jam, a Voluto Nespresso and voila, I slept ... until 10am.

2.30pm and I was out on my bike, navigating new city streets here, heading out on a photography shoot.  And it was one of those photography sessions where the children were divine, the dog made me smile, and Jayne ... well she poured me a glass of white wine when I was done.

A lovely way to spend a day really. 

I'm rapt with the results and hope all those involved are too.  Here's one ... a simple shot that needs no permissions to post. 

It's 11.21pm as I work away here.  Smiling like a maniac.  So happy about my today.

 

The Haircut ...

It felt a bit like jumping into a cold lake ... it needed to be done quickly, before chickening out occurred.

125 photographs later, and my talented daughter made me laugh, encouraging me to plot evil and amusing things.

So this is for Kim who was curious and Laura who said I must.  The haircut after a day of not being careful with it.  I think it was scrunched up in a hair-tie earlier. 

It's the cut where he took SO MUCH off but I loved it in the end.

 

On Days Where Joy Bubbles Up ...

Perhaps it began yesterday ... that bubble of joy that floated up out of me as I laughed with my new hairdresser.  He's about 65 and he's a delight.

I took my long hair to him a couple of months ago.  I went in knowing it was serious, that I hadn't had a professional cut in a very long time, maybe 2 years ... and that the time of the supermarket, do-it-yourself, dyes had to come to an end.

He sighed, he worked for hours, he fixed everything, cutting away so much hair I wondered, over the days that followed, if I wasn't related to Samson ... that my strength hadn't disappeared with my hair.

But a strange thing happened.  It wasn't as short as it initially felt but, even better, I had more hair than I'd ever had.  He had worked some magic that made it all lively and almost wavy.  A miracle really but one that I hadn't thanked him for.

Some colour 'adjustment' is required and so I biked over to book an appointment and voila, before I knew it, joy was simply bubbling out of me as we talked of my hair.

Last night, after a very warm 27 celsius day, I slipped outside with my laptop and sat in the  garden a while.  The swallows were still screaming around like the kamikazes they are but as the sun went down, out came the bats ... on an insect-eating mission.  I didn't know we had bats but we do.  It was beautiful out there in the garden that Gert made.

This morning began with the arrival of a most exquisite and much-longed for book.  Eduardo Galeano's Children of the Days - a calendar of human history had arrived.  Thank you very much, Gert!  I opened it and fell in.

It's as beautiful as imagined, more beautiful than I knew a book could be perhaps.

29 January

HUMBLY I SPEAK

Today in 1860 Anton Chekhov was born.

He wrote as if he were saying nothing.

And he said everything.

But there was still more joy out there waiting for me.  I had promised to phone Dave and Jude, another set of old friends from far-away.  We had enjoyed catching up with them when back home at Christmas. visiting just as they were just setting off on their grand return to Africa, with children.

Talking with them is like drinking from an ocean of joy.  Somehow they fill me up.  We talked for 2 hours and more about everything important and good.

The bell rang again and more parcels arrived.  Gifts for Miss 9, all the way from New Zealand, t-shirts for Gert, and voila, a  gift of music all the way from Australia.  I'm listening to that as I write this.  Thank you to Paul.

Tonight I have a 3-hour photoshoot.  I'm working with a friend who has pulled me into an exciting project of hers.  I suspect it will be intense but foresee more joy is entirely possible. 

Money ruins so much and while I need it, getting involved in projects that engage my heart and soul ... they're not to be sneezed at. 

In these days I tell myself that, okay, perhaps I'll die poor but by crikey, I feel so rich in stories ...

I owe email and phone calls.  Please forgive me.  Replies to follow in the weeks ahead.