The Passion of Artemisia, by Susan Vreeland

We’ve been lucky, I said.  We’ve been able to live by what we love.  And to live painting, as we have, wherever we have, is to live passion and imagination and connection and adoration, all the best of life - to be more alive than the rest.
Extracted from The Passion of Artemisia, by Susan Vreeland.

Genoa, in Reflection

I have loved the world in reflections since those days when I was a small child traveling to my Nana and Grandad’s house in Invercargill.

The swampy creek that ran alongside State Highway 1 over near Berwick was almost always a place of perfect reflections.  No one realised probably but I was contemplating that world so perfectly reflected, wondering if it might be another world, a parallel world perhaps, a magical world.

These days, I have discovered I can go some way to photographing those worlds reflected in puddles.  And I love it.  The rain stopped for a while today, the sun came out and voila, there we all were, out on the beautiful streets of this city.

So ... here’s a little of the beauty I find in Genova, in reflection.

The Ligurian Sea, Genoa

The Ligurian Sea is a part of the Mediterranean Sea positioned between the northwestern coast of Italy, the southeastern coast of France, and to the north of the islands of Corsica and Elba.

The western boundaries of the sea are an estimate at best, as mapping accuracy depends on where the sea actually ends, and there are many opinions for same.

The distance from Pisa to Nice is 251 km (156 mi), and from Genoa to Elba is 207 km (129 mi). The max depth is estimated at more than 2,850 m (9,300 ft.).

Called “Mar Ligure” in Italian and “Mer Ligurienne” in French, Genoa and Livorno are its chief ports and the sea is well served by regional ferries.
Sourced, The World Atlas website.

Art & Life, Genoa

I imagine that the person parking their bike might not have been as excited as I was about this quiet space here in the city of Genova.

I love the colour and textures of that pale golden building.  I love that I always find this particular space by chance, while wandering on my way someplace else.

Light is everything here.  There is the way the city looks in that deep rich late afternoon autumn light. I photographed a few city buildings last week, simply because the light had changed how I remembered the cityscape along via XX Settembre.  I get excited over a blue-sky day and the promise of light in those difficult to reach parts of this tightly-built city.  Then a stormy sky promises quite another effect, as the beautiful roofs quietly reveal their full beauty against a backdrop of clouds.

Loving Genova ...

Cinque Terre Floods, October 2011, Italy

I arrived in Genova on Monday 24 October and, on the following day, we had rain here in the city.

It was the first in 3 months and I didn’t think too much about it, other than trying to deal with the problem of never knowing how to dress against the weather here.  There is this tricky humidity to contend with, one that sees me either over-dressed or under-dressed for the weather ... never correctly-dressed.  Wednesday a heavy cold hit.  I’m not sure that my inappropriate outdoor clothing wasn’t responsible.

Wednesday and news began filtering in about a massive dumping of rain over in Cinque Terre.

I won’t even begin to attempt to explain the story to those who haven’t heard of Cinque Terre because Alex explains all over on his blog, Italy Chronicles.  But for those who asked about how it was here in Genova, knowing how close we are to Cinque Terre, there are two videos and an explanation over on Alex’s blog. 

There were no problems here in Genova because the powerful downpour was fairly localised and truly terrible, as you will see.

One of the many things I love about Genoa ...

But perhaps I should begin with the people I meet here in this city I love so well.

Yesterday Hanna and I spent the day with Francesca.  We were putting together a project I have in mind and Francesca had kindly agreed to come along and translate.  She just fitted right in as we wandered and worked our way through the day.  Mille grazie, Francesca.  We had the most excellent time.

And in-between meeting the people we needed to meet, she introduced us to parts of the city we wouldn’t have known about and wouldn’t have dared enter.

Thanks to Francesca, we were able to wander the halls of this grand old house and voila, there was this room, puppet-show in place ... but of course.

There are always these unexpected magical moments here in the ancient city, also called La Superba ... It is also called la Superba - the Superb one - due to its glorious past.

Piano, piano ...

Slowly slowly ... that’s how I’m moving.

I seem have caught myself a cold en route.  Feeling sorry for myself is slowing me down, quite a lot.

Photos and stories will come, I just have to get through this phase of yuck.  Today, when I sneezed in the supermarket, this crazy guy gestured for me to step back from him.  I had my hand over my mouth, my germs were under control.  Truly. 

Later, when I went to visit Francesca, I warned her of my situation, she laughed and hugged me anyway.  She already has the cold, since Saturday. 

Sunshine and warmth today.
Ciao for now.

Jetlag ... and some stories from the road to Italy

Probably not jet lag ...
The flight to Milan was meant to be about 1 hour and 15 minutes.  We ended up arriving 20 minutes early ... a short-cut that boggles my mind.  How does a plane arrive 20 minutes early?

The alarm rang in Belgium 4.59am. 
Taxi at 5.54am.
Suitcase, the one that Brussels Airport broke last time I flew in there, revealed we hadn’t managed to fix it as I placed it in the hold of the Airport Bus ... 6.05am.
I may have said a bad word.

I arrived at the airport.  For a moment, I forgot I was in a country whose service providers often don’t care.  I confessed that my suitcase probably wouldn’t stay closed on the plane, due to being damaged last time I’d flown Brussels Airlines.  Fortunately, I said, I had managed to replace the suitcase strap they had lost but could he note its fragile status?
No.

Actually, the Brussels Airline check-in bloke pulled that face that Belgian service providers pull when they don’t really want to hear what you are saying because it’s YOUR problem and THEIR company and/or shop refuses to be held accountable.

Fair enough.  I’ve been there long enough to know the impossibility of anything close to satisfaction in this kind of thing.  I have lost the few battles I’ve attempted.  Raising ones voice doesn’t help.  These guys survived the Spanish Inquisition.  Raising ones voice is NOTHING.

I had an idea and suggested it to the Belgian check-in guy.  He warmed to me immediately. 
I suggested I get my suitcase plastic-wrapped so it would stay closed.
He led me there, abandoning his post even.
He didn’t mention the 5euro fee for plastic-wrapping.

However, there was the relief of having my suitcase secured. I returned to complete check-in.  He had handed my case on to the Belgian check-in woman.

I was early but you really need to be when you tavel from Antwerp to Brussels via the bus.  You have to allow for traffic jams when you travel morning or early evening.

I wandered off and bought a bottle of coke,, looking for that instant caffeine hit.  I thought the check-out chick insane.  She kept asking me for MORE money.  I knew we would work it out at some point.  She would laugh, I would laugh, she would apologise.
But no, that small bottle of coke really was 3.50euro.
I said ‘I’ll be sure to really really enjoy it then…’  And then we both laughed.
That is a robbery, isn’t it? 
It is $4.88us and $6.09 in New Zealand money.
I wish I hadn’t made those conversions now ...

On the plane and things began to improve. I met this lovely Mexican/American woman.  We chatted most of the way to Milan and so I noticed even less of the very short flight.

In Milan, the big heavy Belgian-frost-protecting jersey had to come off but ... oh no! I couldn’t put it into my plastic-wrapped suitcase because I still had a long way to travel and dared not interfere with its hold on my belongings - there were two train trips to be made.  I tied it onto my suitcase, hoping not to stand out as a peasant there in Milan.  Found a nasty sandwich, remembered too late that I knew how to purchase them in that shop because I had been a chicken last time too ... limiting myself to simple Italian when ordering food.  Sigh. 

I decided perhaps I could make this my rite-of-passage experience.  Each time I arrive in Italy I will have one of these disgusting sandwiches to appease the gods of travel and win myself a good visit.  I ate almost all of it while waiting for my train to Genova.  Breakfast had been quite some hours earlier.

On the train, I had the most incredible good fortune ... (so I’m thinking the sandwich sacrifice may be the ritual of choice on future trips).  I sat next to a lovely woman called Germana.  We began chatting after she very kindly alerted me to the fact that our number 7 train carriage had just become a number 6, and yes, we all had to move.

My seat was next to her in number 6 carriage and so we began to chat.  It turned out that this lovely woman had, like me, had spent some time living in Istanbul.  Well, that was that.  We fell into conversation, talking of the lovely places she had lived, talking of family, talking of life.  It was so excellent!  That train trip passed so easily that I didn’t even notice the million tunnels that we have to travel through to reach Genova.

We said goodbye at the station, I found a taxi and voila, here I am, back in this city I love so very deeply.

But that’s not all.  I walked into the apartment and Paola and Simon had arranged the loveliest birthday surprise.  3 bottles of truly delicious wine!  Really!

So there I was, back in Genova, having met good people along the way, my suitcase had managed to contain itself and not spill open and now ... there was red wine waiting for me!
A huge thank you to Paola and Simon!

Today it’s 9 celsius, it’s pouring down after 3 very dry months here in the city, and here I am, wrapped up warmly and smiling that big smile that I try to control whenever I reach this place.

I hope your worlds are behaving today and I wish you joy.
Ciao for now.

Cees Nooteboom, and a Genoa Image

Photography is a more intense way of “looking”. No photographer simply travels. He cannot allow himself the luxury of just looking around. He does not see landscapes; he sees photographs, images of reality as it might appear in a photograph.
Cees Nooteboom in 1982 in the Holland Herald, KLM’s in-flight magazine.

Clouds and Sunshine ... on a hill above the Ligurian Sea

I had this feeling that the clouds, the sea, and the coastline might be interesting if we were to wander out to the look-out on the hill at Boccadasse this morning.  And they were.

I love sitting here. It took us longer than planned to reach it, as Gert is all but crippled by back pain and so, we’re moving more slowly than usual. 

Meanwhile he has been threatening to write a book full of things that I say.  Sometimes he almost falls over laughing.  I have to admit, I’m more than happy he doesn’t blog me.

He is also talking of enforcing a 20 euro limit, per journey, on me and the beggars who spot the ‘I give money I don't have to beggars’ halo that shines over my head.

Last night it was the artist ... he was kind of dirty but it wasn’t just the grime and etc.  I was lost when he looked directly at me and I noticed his little broken glasses were hanging crookedly from his nose. 

Mmmm, and the day before, the African guys.  My natural curiousity gets me into trouble while wandering.  And Gert’s more than certain they have a far higher income than me at the moment.  Let me know if you have need of a little brown plastic turtle or elephant.  I have 4 ...

But perhaps I should get these guys to give workshops and help me work on my line out there in the begging world. 

A Room in a Big Genovese House ...

I feel things powerfully, and so life is about negotiating this way of being quite sensitive, or it has been.

But I'm wondering perhaps here in Genoa it’s okay to feel everything as I do.

I mean look ... the photograph below is an ordinary everyday street in the city.  This is a street laid with beautiful old stones and you just know that they hold million stories.  They’re worn, they shine in the rain.  I looked down and like a child, I showed Gert the resulting photograph, exclaiming ‘isn’t it beautiful!’  And it wasn’t about the photograph, it was about the light and the stones.

The wine I find here is delicious.  We scaled a supermarket shelf today, hoping that no one was watching because they surely would have found endless entertainment in our efforts to reach the last couple of bottles of Conti Serristori, Chianti 2008.  Just 4euro, it is a very nice everyday kind of Chianti.

The focaccia I mention more often than is polite, is exquisite.  The coffee here ... it is sublime.  A small expresso lifts a day beyond ordinary.

Last night it was fresh gnocchi and pesto.  Simply prepared here at the apartment, devoured with delight ... and no small amount of pride that we managed to cook it correctly.  A delicate beast, is fresh gnocchi.  Once it floats to the surface of the pot, it’s ready ... don’t mess about unless Gnocchi Soup appeals to you (and it shouldn’t)

The sounds here in the small alleyway where we are ... it’s of people living and I miss that in Belgium.  Here, I feel like I have a room in a huge house.  I can hear everyday life in the same way I lived amongst 2 brothers, a sister, 2 parents and various pets.  I love the noise of life. 

The air is fresh today, washed clean by the rain that has returned ... and returned all day long, while thunder has surprised us periodically over the last 12 hours.  The temperature was 23 celsius this afternoon, but it comes and goes.  I love the rain. 

La Feltrinelli, a bookshop that is surely on my Top 5 bookshops in the world, has moved a little closer to the apartment, and today I accidentally purchased another book from a favourite author (8euro here) ...  delighted to roam through its shelves and many floors.

Mmmm, so it is, I have fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with this city on the Ligurian coast ... but you knew that, didn’t you.

 

Bar Boomerang, Genoa

One of my favourite places, here in the city of Genova, is Bar Boomerang. 

Initially it was the name that I noticed.  Then the fantastic, never-tasted-better cappuccino drew me back again and again.  On this, my second visit to the city, I discovered that their aperitivo is the nicest aperitivo I’ve had so far.

The staff are friendly, clients are important to them and their passion for the work comes through in all that they do.  If you are in Genova, I recommend you find your way to this cafe and decide for yourself.

In a small interview with Simona, the patient barista (patient in working with my New Zealand English), I asked a few questions about the cafe. 

She explained that the name had orginated from a visit that Marta, the owner, had made to Australia.  Marta and her husband enjoyed the trip so much that they named their Genovese cafe Bar Boomerang.  I need to explain that what we would call a cafe in New Zealand is a bar here in Italy, although alcohol is served so perhaps it becomes something of a hybrid.

Open five years, the bar is located on via Porta Soprana, 41-43,  not far from the ancient Genovese gate known as Porta Soprana. The gate, built in 1155, was originally intended as a defense rampart, with access for commercial traffic arriving via the interior, and acted as a barrier to would-be conquerors like Barbarossa and others.  Today it stands permanently open, welcoming foreign creatures like me inside this ancient part of the city.

As a tourist, a sometimes shy tourist without l’taliano, I was a little intimidated about just how to order my coffee. Of course, it’s quite simple. You wander into the cafe, order your coffee, select something to eat if needed and take it yourself.  In most bars, you can either pay a little extra and take a seat or stand at the bar and drink without sitting.

You pay as you leave.

At Bar Boomerang, their work is a passion and I’m sure that is what makes everything taste so good.  Simona took me through the four steps required to make good coffee.  Obviously you begin with good coffee, then you make sure your machines are clean.  The third step involves making a good press and the fourth, well that surprised me, it’s about noting the humidity and any changes in the humidity.  If it changes, the settings on the coffee machine need to change too.

The coffee is so very good.  It’s one of the things I missed for weeks after leaving last time and I expect it will be the same this time.

Most people know Italians take their coffee very seriously.  I asked Simona about the ‘rules’ and she explained that a typical Italian customer might have cappuccino or latte in the morning. Milk coffee is only for mornings and laughing she said, not before or after lunch or dinner.  This is more of a tourist thing or maybe in winter, on a really cold day.  Expresso is for all the time, after lunch or dinner particularly, as its role is to aid in digestion.  You could typically follow the expresso with a liquer of some kind like limoncello, grappa or jagermeister.

I feel more relaxed when I wander into the bars here now, still imperfect and prone to crave cappuccino at inappropriate times but less worried.

Bar Boomerang is open from 7am until 9pm,  6 days a week – closed Sunday.  They also serve lunches but that’s another post over on the blog.

Pizzeria Ravecca da Pino, Genoa

I ate more pizza than I should have in Genova but eating becomes very much something I can’t be bothered doing when I’m out wandering ... cooking is even less likely to happen and so the pizzeria across the alley became a second home, specially while Pippa was staying. 

One night, I popped into the kitchen and took a series of photographs at Pizzeria Ravecca.
I liked this one.

Pizzeria Ravecca da Pino, Via Ravecca, 23r - 16128 Genova.