I Am Missing That City, Its People ...

Coffee at Douce in Piazza Matteotti, Genova.

Or perhaps I am generally missing good coffee.  Even the highway autogrills do good coffee in Italy.

I am missing green beans, lightly cooked.  Tomatoes from Il Bio di Soziglia.  And adding the best riccotta from Le Gramole Olioteca to that mix.  Missing Francesca and Norma too.

Then I miss the possibility of eating Ravioli fatti in casa al “tuccu” di carne at Roberto's place, Il Genovese because Tuccu is the most divine sauce ever invented ... any place here on this earth.

I miss Stefano's restaurant because there are always stunning surprises in store when you eat and drink there. 

I miss the possibility of hearing Donatella singing and Luciano play there.  I am learning to miss Donatella's fried squash flowers too.  They were divine that night she took Helen and I home and cooked for us.  

I miss Barbara and Alessandra.  I most definitely miss Stefano.  I miss Lorenzo. 

I miss the 'ciao's' that I hear in the street.  I miss Pino & Silvana, and their divine pizzas.

I miss Boccadasse and my seat up on the hill, I miss Outi, Paula and Paola.  There is Davide, Federico, and Leah, and so many others. 

I'm thinking now  ... perhaps it all adds up to the fact that I'm simply missing Genova. And forgive me if your name isn't here because I'm sure to be missing you too  :-)

Yes.

Below, a photograph of Luciano playing bass guitar (really, he is), taken at a performance he and Donatella gave recently.

Luciano Susto, Genova

I first heard Luciano play at Stefano's Antica Hostaria Pacetti.  He was performing with his wife, Donatella.  Together they are Susto e Soranzio.

They have become friends.  Friends who were kind enough to invite Helen and I into their beautiful home on the hill one evening, friends who generously share their world with us.

I took the following photograph during an aperitivo performance at Stefano's restaurant one evening ...

Robert Capa Exhibition, Genova

I didn't have time to visit this Robert Capa exhibition while in Genova but only because I realised that it will be there for a while.  I shall return and make space for it.  He was a fascinating man.

Monday found me in my favourite secondhand bookshop here in the city.  I discovered a huge treasure, justified buying it, then had to talk myself into carrying the huge weight of it home.

It's John Phillips book, Free Spirit in a Troubled World.

At just 21 years old, Algerian-born photojournalist Phillips was hired by Life magazine and assigned to cover Edward VIII, just as the story of Wallis Simpson and the king's abdication was about to break. Here, Phillips records his next 23 years as a correspondent, witnessing many of the 20th century's most dramatic events. Before World War II, he filmed the Wehrmacht marching into Austria, the Warsaw Ghetto, and turbulence in central Europe. From the Middle East, there are momentous photographs of King Farouk, King Ibn Saud, and the destruction of Jerusalem's Jewish Quarter. Reproduced from his negatives rather than Life's prints, the over 200 black-and-white images chronicle old worlds collapsing and new regimes seizing power. More so than most photojournalists' memors, Phillips's extensive text combines intelligence with delightful intimacy.

Of course I'm going to want to read his book.  And even better, for me, it was less than 20euro.

But anyway, at some point each morning spent in Genova, we would find our way to Douce Pâtisserie, in Piazza Matteotti, and this was the view from my table ...

Our Clients Wrote of Our Workshop

What can I write ...

I feel so extraordinarily grateful to the three women Helen and I invited on our A New Way of Seeing workshop, in Genoa, Italy.

Since then Lisa, Leah, and Laura have written of working with us in ways that have filled my wee kiwi soul to overflowing.

Leah, from Help. I Live With My Italian Mother In Law, wrote of her experience with us in an English magazine. 

Laura, from Ciao Amalfi, wrote up her experience with us over on her blog. 

Today, I'm just in from reading Lisa's account of her time with us over on her blog.  That would be Lisa, from Renovating Italy ... the Lisa who had me laughing so hard that I could barely stay standing out there on Via Porta Soprana.  She has a talent for laughter but the weekend was full of laughter, of stories and photography too.

I borrowed one of Lisa's photographs from her post about it all.  I love this particular image, taken by Silvana, wife of Pino.  Pino is the man nestled in-between Lisa, myself, and Helen ... late on that laughter-filled evening in Genova.

Silvana and Pino own the very best pizzeria in the world and I adore them.  Their pizzas too. And so it seemed entirely appropriate to be photographed together.  Silvana, after a hot and exhausting evening, decided she would be the photographer ... and no begging her to join us would change her mind. 

I have to admit, I'm looking a little rumpled at this point in the day.  We were almost home after that first workshopping day.

I would work with any of these women in a heartbeat.  They were magnificent.  All of them. 

Huge grazie mille's to Laura and Lisa, Leah and Helen. 

It was a most magnificent weekend!

That Divine Thing ...

Today, at the monthly antiques market here in Genova, I met the most marvelous man and he sold me this 'most divine thing'. 

I wasn't shopping.  I was actually accompanying Outi as she shopped however ... this happened.  This beautiful shawl that I couldn't resist and believe me, I can resist most things, but this hit me in my girly soul.

I wasn't bartering, I really didn't have the money.  Unfortunately most people assume I'm bargaining.  It used to happen in Istanbul too. The lovely bloke selling this dropped to a price that was simply superb and so yes, I'm walking to catch my plane in Milan on Tuesday ...

But no, really, the Belgian bloke is bailing me out.  Thankfully.  I broke into a sweat confessing.  I love this shawl that much though ...  and I'm not sure I captured it here as it's silky and heavy and completely luxurious.  But anyway, you get an idea.

Drogheria Torrielli, Genova

Anna and Emanuela, from Beautiful Liguria, took me wandering one day …deep into the heart of the medieval section of Genoa. And it felt a little like a magical carpet ride but perhaps that was because we began at Drogheria Torrielli.

It's more than just a spice shop but, for me, the initial impression was that I had stepped into the pages of a book I read long ago … The Mistress of Spices.  A story about a priestess who knew the secret and magical powers of spices. Drogheria Torrielli seemed to promise ancient magic based on scent alone.

However the true story of this Genoese shop goes like this. In 1929 the grandfather of the current owners was working at the port of Genoa when an economic crisis hit and the work ran out. Way back then he decided to open a small supermarket, one of the first of its kind.

Moving forward, through time, into the 1970s and new people began to arrive in Genoa. Immigrants from Morocco and they were searching for spices from home. Over the years other immigrants followed and with them came the demand for spices from all over the world. 

Drogheria Torrielli began selling spices and, in the years since, this shop has become a place were a melting pot of cultures meet. More than that though, they are consciously attempting to maintain a balance between tradition while embracing the new.

Standing there, taking photographs, watching customers come and go, it occurred to me that Drogheria Torrielli represents a miniature version of what makes this city something special. The world wanders in through their doors.

Address: Via San Bernardo, 32r.

Home ...

But do you know this idea of the imaginary homeland?  One you set out from shore on your little boat, once you embark, you'll never truly be at home again.  What you've left behind exists only in your memory, and your ideal place becomes strange imaginary concoction of all you've left behind at every stop.

Claire Messud, from The Woman Upstairs.

Today's image is of one of those lions that guard Genova's Cattedrale di San Lorenzo.  I love those lions.  Whoever created them did a beautiful job.

Permission ...

... But when we give ourselves permission, we move past this. The world once again reveals itself to us. We become open and aware, patient and ready to receive it....We give ourselves permission because we are the only ones who can do so.

Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life, Dani Shapiro.

I love catching up with the wise words of Terri Windling via her blog, Myth & Moor.  She's a soul-soother somehow.

Meanwhile, I completely agree with the concept of time.   Something beautiful always emerges out of taking the time to play ... some of the best art, or the beginning of a series idea.

Needless to say, I'm missing Genova.  Here's an imperfect glimpse, taken between the portrait shoots I was doing for my book.

On My Way To That Airport in Milan

There was this older gentleman, riding an old bicycle, wearing a long black coat ... I imagined he was a priest at first.  He was smoking a cigar.  There were exclusive-looking shopping bags hanging from both handlebars.  And he crossed the road on a red light and I thought, 'not so priestly'. Then again, quite possibly Father Healy might done that. 

Anyway by the time I realised he wasn't a priest he had my attention.  He stopped on the island in the middle of the road and lifted the camera he had hanging round his neck, using it to take a photograph of the old-fashioned apartment building in front of him.

Then, a few streets on, there was a small truck raised up on its mobility/stability stands while the ladder was raised.  I can't be sure but it seemed like there was a big white cat sitting up in a tree waiting for rescue. 

I reached the airport, hungry but craving something sweet too.  When I write up this some might say, 'Oh Diane ...' but others may benefit from my honesty should they find themselves hunting down lunch at an airport in Milan.  I ordered a mozzarella and tomato sandwich and ... a hot chocolate. 

The waitress could barely put my order together.  She was laughing so hard. 

Sigh.

And laughing.  And still laughing as I wandered off with my 5pm lunch. 

Sometimes one just has to take the 'hit'.  There were things I could have said but decided it was a life lesson.

I came to the departure lounge early to work on my marketing assignment but there was an elderly English academic talking to his wife two seats down from me.  He was so ... so very much what you might except from a rather elderly English academic perhaps. 

He had been at a conference here in Milan and was rather excited by the wine at dinner but disappointed by the behaviour of some of 'the team'.  Talked of corruption and bureaucracy, so loudly, that I feared his way of speaking might slip into my writing.  Maybe it has ...

Traveling between here and there always seems to drag me into a slightly surreal space.  Speaking of surreal, I only managed to take one photograph of Davide, the Genovese guy who looks so remarkably like John Lennon ...

I went wandering with Alessandra, Federico, Barbara and Davide on Sunday.  It was superb.

What Do I Love About Genova?

Today someone asked me what I love about Genova.  And I stumbled because it's a complicated question to answer ... complicated like the city really.

I love that the sacred and profane stand side by side here.  That it's not a vanilla-smooth kind of city, you have to earn your knowledge. Wandering-lost, following friends, searching out that pizzeria, this bar, that church.  You can't just arrive here and know all there is to know of Genova.  It's not like that.

I love that the sea is there at the edge of the city, and that hills surround it.  Cradling it somehow.  I love the sound of the Italian spoken here.  I hear the conversations that pass by in the carruggi below my open window.  There's the laughter, the 'ciao's', the coffee cups clanking in the cafe close by. Occasionally dogs meet and quarrel, people shout.

I really like the Genovese.  The city and its people are particular and it works for me ... that photographer from New Zealand, from Istanbul, from Belgium.  The one who wanders a lot, without much Italian. 

This time I was here on a mission.  I am writing a book and it has taken a long time to define the central thread of it.  I  thought it was about my photographs taken here since 2008. Then I thought perhaps I might write some of my story too, wanting to attempt to capture something of how it is for me here.  But finally I realised it was another kind of book.  I hope to have it finished this year.  I'll let you know.

I love ravioli fatti in casa al “tuccu” di carne from Il Genovese but you know that already.  And the Napoli pizza from Pizzeria Da Pino.  No one makes pizza like them.  So far, for me, it's the best in the world.  Douce Pâtisserie Cafè in Piazza Matteotti has the most divine crema brioche and their coffee is very very good.

Le Gramole Olioteca is an exquisite store to wander to if you want top quality products like pasta and oil, jam and all kinds of cheeses.  I interviewed Francesca and she wrote of what their shop means to them.

But that's only a few of my favourites.  This city is full of the best kinds of food.  And wandering in Europe's largest medieval quarter is full of surprises. There are fresh fruit and vegetable stalls, the fish shops, the butchers, the cathedrals, the churches, and the palaces built in wealthier times.

In so many ways I experience the city as a sensory overload. The recipes are as they have always been in places like confectioner Pietro Romanengo's laboratory - 7 generations in the business.

Genova has a whole lot of something that I've never found any place else.  It's been a melting pot over centuries and has come together in a very particular way.

And so perhaps it becomes clear that it's not a question I can answer easily.  It's all about a lot of things ... like the city itself. 

Those Stairs, That Light, Genova

Sometimes I see the light, try to capture it, and a kind of alchemy happens so that I end up with an unexpected result.

I was on the stairs between Righi and the city, heading for the Sanctuary of Madonnetta, up there on the side of one of those steep Genovese hills when I saw the light.  And it seemed beautiful.

My day had begun at 10am.  I had the pleasure of spending two hours working with the lovely Beatrice.  I watched as she used my camera, understanding my instructions so very quickly.  I was impressed.  Her English was good but even better she could understand my New Zealand English.  It might be news to some but NZ English isn't always the simplest English to follow.

I had lunch down at Porto Antico with Barbara and we talked,  as we do, until it was time to meet up with Alessandra, Federico and Davide.  And they took us wandering, with Davide gifting me a portion of this ancient city's history as we went.  The Davide who looks so remarkably like John Lennon.

We walked along Via Garibaldi, catching the Righi Funicular to the top of one of the hills that surround Genova, and then we walked some more. 

I found the photograph when we were on the way down, using the ancient pathway to reach the Sanctuary of Madonnetta.

It's Been A Day ...

One of those days when you really know that you are alive.

It began at 10am, with Shannon.  She's lovely.  From Oregon, from New Zealand, these last 4 years from Genova ... is how I would describe her because she doesn't really fit into any kind of everyday frame.  She's remarkable.

I interviewed her, we wandered, we ate at Il Genovese ... which is one of those things you should do if visiting Genova.  I continue to order their Ravioli fatti in casa al “tuccu” di carne because, to me, it is the most exquisite dish in the world.  It combines so many things that I love and somehow it calls to mind memories of childhood and food that makes a soul remember what it was to be safe and loved.

Seriously, you shouldn't laugh until you have tried it.  I keep meaning to photograph that particular dish but perhaps it will have to wait until next time.

Then we met with Arianna, the loveliest soul, and the student who saved me from incomprehension on a train to Arenzano, more than 2 visits ago.  I had some of that delicious, really thick, Italian hot chocolate that is being served up all over the city at the moment, and we 3 talked in a mix of Italian and English.

Okay ... I didn't actually speak in Italian.  It turns out that Shannon is almost fluent in Italian (she's modest) and that Arianna is almost fluent in English (she's also very modest).  Me ... I was kind of hopeless but I am used to this role when it comes to languages of the countries I live in and love.

Then it was home to unpack things gathered and get ready to meet with Anna from Beautiful Liguria.  She has a new website launching soon but for now she is here.  If you're coming to Liguria then Anna is the person to contact for advice on everything from accommodation to what to see and do. 

Then 6pm came round and I was off to meet Barbara for aperitivo but I also met Alessandra.  It's been a truly excellent day here in Genova.  11.22pm finds me back at the kitchen table by the window that looks out over the carruggi I live on while here. 

And photographs ... well, there was this one, found while Shannon was introducing me to some of her experience of the city.

The Port of Genova from Spianata Castelletto

Shannon and I were doing an interview up at Spianata Castelletto, the "small castle".  It's a name that refers to the old fort that used to overlook Genova as of the 10th century AD.  Unfortunately it was dismantled in the late 19th century but the view up there is beautiful.  It's a tranquil area, filled with older people taking in the sun and the view, while mothers and fathers bring their babies there.

As we were talking as ship's horn blasted across the city, demanding attention it seemed and so, I have a series of photographs of this massive container ship being guided into port by the 3 tug boats.

 

All Roads Lead to the Sea ...

I remember my surprise on reading poet, Kapka Kassabova's poetry collection, All Roads Lead to the Sea.

She was writing of her new country, New Zealand and I was left thinking, does she imagine we're a small island nation or something ...?

Turns out New Zealand is very much that and not the continent I had imagined us to be.

And now, here I am, so many years and so many countries later, searching for her poetry collections, wondering if there was actually a poem with that title because here in Genova, it occurred to me that so many roads lead to the sea.  

I found another of her beautiful poems ...

Love in the Dark Country
Kapka Kassabova

Tomorrow for twenty-four hours
I’ll be in the same country as you.

The sky will be constantly shifting,
the morning will be green, a single morning
for my single bed. And in the night

as the dark country goes to sleep
a church bell will measure
the jet-lag of my heart.

I’ll open my suitcase and unfold my life
like a blanket. In the dark country I will lie
all night and wonder how this came to be:

the one light left in the world
is your window, somewhere in the land

of thin rain and expensive trains.
And instead of maps, I have an onward ticket.