Joy. Just Joy ...

Sometimes, I should confess, some Genovese are shocked by my passion for their city. The waitress on Sunday ... she couldn't believe that I had chosen Genova, over the UK and New Zealand!!???

But honestly, at the moment, my life feels like I'm a child again and so joy is the simplest thing really.  Small things ...

In these days, joy can be found in succeeding down at the shops. This morning I bought sweet tomatoes, and a pile of focaccia - because there's a party in the mountains tonight and I'm going.

But best of of all, I bought an abbonamento mensile integrato.  A month-long bus ticket, so much cheaper than the 10-ticket book I've been using. Thank you to Outi for that idea.

And everyone was so kind to me, to this non-fluent child of the South Pacific, wanting to live in their city.

The photograph ... here's me, casually writing, ohhh, that's just the bounty of my magnificent success!

And there's Coco, my beautiful cat companion here in the city.  She came to check out my purchases. We talk. Well really, I'm her slave and I ask her if she needs anything. She likes to wake me in the night, wanting me to rub her belly, to stroke her head and honestly, she taps me on my nose if I try to ignore her and cover my face.  Or she kneads my hair ... which is quite disconcerting at 3am.  Running her claws through the length of it but never touching my skull.  I'm quite impressed but remain disconcerted that she can even do that.

I'm fairly sure she thinks she's hilarious. I find her more amusing during daylight hours however, I have been known to laugh weakly, as she insistently works on waking me up a couple of times every night. 

And yes, I could close my bedroom door but I can't.  I think it would upset her and anyway, I guess it's nice to be checked ... you know, that I'm still breathing. 

Golden Days ... Genova

My mornings begin slowly in this golden city in Italy. Morning after morning, I wake to soft blue skies and 30 celsius.  It's changing the pulse of my body ... of my mind. 

I am finding my feet but so slowly. 

Every time I move countries, I have to relocate everything.  The names of simple things change with the language.  Favourite places and people need to be discovered.  And I search for that new rhythm for my days ... for my life.

My holy moment, those breakfasts I love, have to be hunted and gathered again.  Reframed by what is available.  I haven't quite found 'breakfast' here ... not yet.

My skin is becoming brown, my feet have become accustomed to open leather sandals, and I wear that silky clothing I found in the secondhand shops in Surrey.  And I'm bemused because I've never been a silky clothing kind of woman.  But it's hot.  Really hot.

I have this idea now, that wearing clothes only happens because we have been civilised.  In Genova, the heat and humidity dictate that we only cover the skin that we must cover because any more coverage is just plain insane.

But the city and its colour... I began this wanting to try and describe the peachy, golden glow of the buildings here. 

In the past, I've always lived 'in' the city but this time is different, just for a while.  And as my bus rolls down the hill into the city, I see the glow of the buildings and begin to understand that colour is one of the things that has made me fall in me love this ancient place.

Even here, looking out from my borrowed balcony, the buildings are shades of pale yellow through into gold and terracotta.   And yes, then there's the blue sky, arching over it all ... every single day so far.

Life feels soft.  The air, the sea, the colours that surround me.  It's early days and I'm letting myself sink into them slowly.  Knowing I shouldn't but unable to help it.  To rush, to be stressed, to worry ... would be to waste it all.

I have half-constructed that precious breakfast.  There's a coffee machine here so I have my espresso.  Peaches are ripe and cheap at the moment ... they remind me of Christmas, long summer holidays, and home.  And there's cereal but this is definitely only an 'under-construction' kind of breakfast.  The search continues ...

My dinners are mostly about salad.  Paysanne Salade might loosely identify the mix of ingredients that find their way onto my plate.  Sweet lettuce and baby tomatoes,  and a little cooked bacon.  Sweet potatoes (New Zealand's kumara) cubed and lightly fried in some oil, with pieces bread falling into that pan too ... after the bacon.

I'm not sick of it yet.

I have so many stories of good people and marvelous adventures.  It's time to start telling them but first ... you understand, I had to mention the colour.

Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose ...

And so it is ... 'nothing left to lose'  has gifted me the courage to move to Italy.  Finally!

I have been loving Genova since 2008 but ... I had stuff I could lose, I didn't dare move.  Who leaps from that kind of cliff edge really ... without wings?

Suddenly, and unexpectedly... I lost everything, even a country.  Everything, except my books and my desk, and that's only, so far.

But really, I'm smiling.  I'm slimmer and stronger than I've been in decades ... and honestly, that's a good thing.  Right?

'Stuff' can trap a soul in one place, oftentimes quite happy to be there.  Add that brilliant job, the family, those responsibilities ...

So my take on all that is ...how many people get the chance to wander off, in search of that next life. The next big adventure?

Mmmm but this is my second big move.  The first time, I packed my shiny, new university degree and flew out of New Zealand heading for Istanbul.  This time, I have meandered ... slightly lost and a little bit broken.

Finally, I arrived ... on a Tuesday, here in Genova, Italy.  In that city I have loved, more than any other since 2008.  I have that 'nothing left to lose' thing going on and I'm planning on making it here because I believe there is nowhere I'd rather succeed in making a life.

It's been so good to be back.  And fortunately, I really enjoy the northern Italian sense of humour.  Mmmhmm ... because there has been quite some teasing, as new doors opened and I've met new people.  I had forgotten the humour.  The affectionate mocking:-)

Most notably/enjoyably, I was documentary photographer at special event last Friday.  Up in the mountains here (I love writing of being up in the mountains in Italy) and it was such a privilege to be there, to be free to capture the day, to meet the people I met.  I will write of it soon but I need to process the photographs. Get permissions to share.

There is something about Italy ... about Genova, that fills my soul with a special kind of joy.  I have no idea what it is and, believe me, the Genovese cannot begin to imagine what this terribly 'enthusiastic' foreigner finds here.  Never mind,  I find something I warm myself on and so here I am.  Tasting it, trying it, loving it.

I suspect there will be stories ... lots of them.  And photographs too.  I'm slow at the moment, it's been 30+ celsius since I arrived.  I'm adjusting, and sleeping more than I've ever slept ...

Stories to follow.  I'll leave you with a favourite song, performed in a much-loved place in the city here.

Ciao for now.

Alex...

I was talking with a wise woman the other night.  Her wisdom quietly blew my mind, as she's only 18 however she's way ahead of where I was at that age.  Ahead of so many, of any age, I suspect.

Her history of achievement is quietly spectacular too, both outdoors and academically.  She's waiting now ... to see which university is for her, based on her results.  Physics and maths are her thing.  But so are days out with friends, laughter, and Pokemon Go.  She's startlingly well-balanced and confident. 

I hesitate to write this but this combination seems like a rare gift in these days.  Her parents, her family ... they played a huge role, I'm sure but nothing is ever guaranteed when it comes to how we show up in the world.

Alex and I sat up talking after everyone else had gone to their beds and, much to my surprise, I was gently taken to task for under-valuing my photography.

Although she never said these words, I came away with the idea I should simply get over any doubts that I had then get on with it.  Get on with pursuing my passion for photography, as opposed to pacing up and down on the edge of the pier, wanting to swim but trying to make everything perfect before I leap in. 

Just sell what I do, and talk of what I believe photography is meant to be.  And ohmygoodness, had I heard the story of my life so far??!

But for me, here on the inside of my life, I know all the other stuff.  There's always the pre-leap phase.  And there have been so many times in my life, so far, where I've felt myself back on that pier that heads out into the lake ... pacing.  Wanting to, needing to, jump but so very nervous.

Can I swim well enough?  Sure, but should I wear a life jacket just in case I get into difficulties in the water?  But wait, why not have a small boat in the water, ready to pull me out?  A small boat ... why not a bigger boat, or a cruise ship.  Why not wait, save up and buy a cruise ship and then simply dive into the ship's pool then? 100% success guaranteed ... once I have enough money to buy that big old cruise ship.  

And on it goes, while I remain there on the pier, ready but not committing.

So, to Alex, I write a huge and heartfelt thank you.  You gifted me your idea of me, in that beautifully direct and intelligent way that you have.  Never lose it, never apologise for it.  You're just kind of perfect as you are.

Wishing every success in the years ahead!!  I'm so looking forward to seeing what you do with your life.

Lewis of Lewis ...

I met this man last week and it turned into this delicious story that I just have to tell ...

I was at The Victoria, in Oxshott, and this guy wandered in with his suitcase.  He'd just come up from the train station and was meeting his friend.

Our conversation began simply enough, and then he mentioned he was a Scot, he had been to New Zealand.  And I mentioned ... half laughing, that 'my people' came from Scotland.  From the Isle of Lewis, 6 generations before me.

And that's when it all got a bit odd.  I learned his nickname was Lewis of Lewis, and he was born there on the island I had mentioned.  We stayed on, after his friend arrived, and it was a lovely evening.  But the 'odd' doesn't end there.

His friend arrived and he introduced her.  I said, I feel like I know you ... like we've had conversations. 

She felt the same.  We talked over where we might have met in this tiny village but agreed we'd never met while wandering out in the Oxshott woods.  And she didn't work, nor did she volunteer at any of the charity shops in Cobham, and so we gave up with the guessing and decided it was simply our imagination.

Later, I was talking of having lived in Belgium and suddenly ... Liz asked me if I had photographed Simon and Deirdre's wedding in Brugge, and I said, no but I did photograph their son's confirmation celebration.  Their daughter's too ... back in Brussels.

And that's where we'd met.  I had both talked with her and photographed her. I was the photographer and Simon is her godson.  We were so confused by meeting in the bar in that tiny village in England, that Belgium simply hadn't occurred to us.

A couple of days later, I wandered into the pub, with Marcelle... and there they were, just finishing their lunch with a friend.  I wandered over to say hi again.  They said pull up a chair, so we did. 

Marcelle couldn't stay long but I stayed a couple of hours.  It turned out their friend was another child of Lewis.  He had been a school friend of Lewis, and now has more than a passing interest in genealogy and the history of the Isle of Lewis. 

He invited me to write to him with the details I have of my family, and the two brothers who left for New Zealand, all those years ago.   As soon as life settles a little, I'll do it. 

I knew Lewis was leaving 10am Monday and I asked if I might photograph him.  He said it would be fine, although he was a little reluctant about posing.  And so there I was, to the amusement of both him and Liz, at the station on Monday.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting that man from Lewis, and Liz too ... then again, it's probably quite clear :-)

Card Evenings in the Garden ...

I have played card games over the years but, like jokes, I usually forget how they go and never play them again. 

I'm determined it will be different this time ...  It turns out I love playing cards with friends.

Cathy, James and Alex have, patiently, spent these long summer evenings teaching me how to play different card games. Doggy Whist, let's not mention Irish Snap, and then Hearts.  Hearts ... probably because it was the game that seemed to click best with me and, while I trail behind, the deficit isn't too shocking.

It occurs to me as I stop here, look up and around me, that I should go get my camera and photograph the place where I come to read and write on these Surrey mornings.  I'm out in their beautiful English garden - a fish pond chuckling, birds singing and usually Jenny, their King Cavalier, is here next to me. 

But the card games ... I didn't realise how much psychology there is.  Analysis and tactics. Plain dumb luck, and instinct.  Who bluffs best, and let's not forget ... who cheats most outrageously.  But best of all, the laughter. 

Yesterday I posted a 'card game story' over on Facebook:

Much hilarity ... once we all stopped screaming/roaring!!! Playing cards, outside in the garden in Surrey tonight. Cathy warned me not to put my wine glass on the ground ... SLUGS, you see. I thought she was kidding. Worse still, she thought she was kidding.

I picked up my glass about 5 minutes later and SCREAMED which made the others wonder but then they joined in the screaming too - in the most hilarious way.

We were all making the most incredible noise as they realised I had picked up my wine glass, by its narrow stem, and my fingers had closed round a SLUG. A big fat slimy slug!!! I'm still giggling ... I think the ongoing laughter is about James roar which was not unlike that moment, in the movie Home Alone, when the main character came face-to-face with the TarantuIa and roared.

I probably won't sleep tonight, for laughter. We're lucky that the neighbours didn't call the police.

Then last night, our game was threatened by Flying Ants.  Apparently they're set to kick off, again, and you don't want to be involved.  Not all all.

I have packed my suitcase and realised it was way over the limit.  So I left it open on my bedroom floor ... hoping things would magically change.  I repacked yesterday.  It's lighter but I might have to leave the tripod behind.  Mmmm, and so today is the day of suitcase reckoning.  Let's see how it goes.