Aperitivo and The Opera Of It All... in Genova.

I have these incredibly talented friends ... Peter Furlong, the fabulous tenor and his wife, Julie Wyma, a truly talented soprano.

Back in July 2013,  I was in Genova, enjoying aperitivo with an old friend called Simon.  He began posting, what I considered, dreadful photographs of me over on Facebook.  

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His comments section came to life.  Our mutual friend, Veronica, warning him to be cautious about annoying me:-)

It turned out Julie and Peter were reading us in Berlin and voila, by the time Simon and I had moved to our second bar, the opera of it all was there on the internet.  What an opera:-)

I love them.  They make me laugh.  They did another short opera for Miss 12, an avid Dr Who fan, over here.

Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio ...

These stairs reminded me of the poem, by Ligurian poet, Eugenio Montale.  I love his poetry, like I love the work of Pablo Neruda, Hone Tuwhare, and Taha Muhammad Ali too.

I even hunted down a book of his poetry, with translations to English.  I've been told it's almost impossible to experience the full depth of meaning in translation but I love what understand of him.

Here's the poem I thought of today, when I looked back up at the stairs I had come down ... Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio… in translation :-)

I descended, with you on my arm…

I descended, with you on my arm, at least a million stairs

and now that you are not here every step is emptiness.

In any case our long journey was too brief.

Mine continues even now, no longer in need

of coincidences, reservations,

ploys, and the scorn of those who believe

that reality is what we perceive.

I descended millions of stairs with you on my arm

not only because four eyes perhaps see more.

With you I descended those stairs because I knew

the only real pupils, although terribly dimmed,

belonged to you.

(from “Satura”, 1971)

Translation by ©Matilda Colarossi

Cutting a Deal with Myself ...

The deal is ... if I work hard all day, then I can go wandering in Genova, about when the light gets interesting in the late afternoon.

I was out there today and it was glorious.  I started in the full blue of late afternoon and sat on the floating pontoon for a while.  Just enjoying the sun.

And I found this image on the way back through the port. 

My fascination with reflections started way back when I was a small child in New Zealand.  We used to head south, along State Highway 1 ... visiting Nana down in Invercargill.  We'd pass by the swamp area in Henley and, oftentimes, the world reflected was a perfect copy of what was above.

It didn't take much for the small child I was, with the massive imagination I still have, to believe it was simply another world.  An upside-down world. 

We hunt for reflections here ... my camera and I.  And Genova is perfect after rain.   The puddles here, they contain stunning visions.

And the fountain ... in Piazza De Ferrari has long been a source of inspiration.  A place to play.

Mmm, so that's what I did this evening.  I went out wandering, in this beautiful city I love so much.  Tonight, I have Amos Lee playing, the balcony doors are still open ... it's 21.18 and it's warm.

It's been a good day.

The Walking Cure ...

I have a to-do list that is a million miles long and so it is difficult to feel like I am getting anywhere with it ... but I think I am.

And so perhaps it was no surprise that, yesterday, I had to time myself out of life for a while.  It's intense out here.  Along with the joy, there's always going to be the small crashes ... big ones too.  Those moments when life simply overwhelms me.

I took the walking cure, making my way down to my favourite church here in Genova ... Chiesa di Santa Maria Maddalena.  Just for a while, I love the peace I find there.  And the beauty.

At some point I saw the light ... mmmhmm, and pointed my camera in the direction of it.  The photograph above is the result.  No editing.

I was still a little 'off' when I woke up this morning and so we went wandering again, my camera and I. 

I decided to take the funicular, up to Righi, after wandering the city a while.  I had a small glass of white wine when I arrived at the top, and studied my book on Genova, trying not to smell the divine lunches being served up around me.

And then, following an impulse, I chose to walk back down that rather steep hill to the city, on this very hot day, without a map ... as you do.  I was only lost for a while. I arrived at Castelletto and had no idea where I was. 

There are always kind people here in the city.  They discussed my problem and they showed me the bus stop ... I did the last of the downhill courtesy of AMT, the bus company here. 

Tonight's meal was simple.  Fresh tomatoes and garlic, from the tiny fruit and vegetable shop down on the main road, and pasta from a box of goodies I was gifted.  It was perfect.  No more mass-produced pasta sauces for me.  I'm a convert.  It seems anyone can whip up a simple little pasta sauce, here in Italy.  Even me.  Which reminds me, I must buy myself a mortar and pestle, as soon as I'm employed.

Tonight the balcony door is still open, it's so warm, and I'm thinking of staying up for the meteor shower.  I'm not sure.  I need to get myself into a rhythm now ... of working and walking in this beautiful city; that city once known as La Superba.

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.