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 rain continues to fall, Genoa, November 2011

It seems that we have a stubborn zone of low pressure spinning round and round over us ... she writes, probably not quite getting it right.  It looks like we might have rain here until Tuesday ... so frustrating.  It’s not particularly cold but wet ... oh so wet.

Meanwhile I wasn’t really sure what we might find outside this morning but the bakery was open and so we had the best kind of focaccia breakfast.  Then we were off into the alleyways in search of water supplies.  Shops were open, people were out and about, and slowly I was able to line up reality and seperate it from the flood chaos we had viewed online.

We went down into the Centro Storico because we knew one of our lovely Genovese friends had been considering spending the night in her shop, worried about water damage.  It was good to find her safe and well.

And so it has been another day of quiet sadness, here in Italy, thinking about those who have died in the flash flooding during this last week.  I’ve been following Kate’s news from Cinque Terre, on her blog called Little Paradiso.  Today she wrote of another American who experienced the floods there.  Christine is blogging of her experience in the floods last week and the ongoing worries they have about this weather that just keeps spinning round over top of us all.

Meanwhile, a photograph snapped out on Piazza San Lorenzo ...umbrellas are required.

Colds, and the Ligurian Sea, Genoa

Yesterday, we walked a million miles alongside the Ligurian Sea ...

Okay, those who know Corso Italia will know that walking from Boccadasse back to the city of Genova is just over 4kms however ... if you factor in my cold, the fact it was veryvery hot, and the glare of the sun which, while beautiful, was fairly intense without sunglasses, I think you will understand my claim of a million miles.

Actually, the first time I saw this sea, I was too long out of New Zealand and my eyes filled up with tears.  It’s my home away from home sea.  It’s the sea I love best in these days.

Meanwhile, my body is a bit mad with me.  I still have this stinkin’ cold ... probably because I didn’t take the Acetilcisteina EG medicine the pharmacist gave me ...  I can already hear my sister explaining why we should take medicines given.  My sister, Sandra, is a nurse and knows stuff about the why of drug relief.  Meanwhile I’m of the ‘read and flee it’ variety, specially if the contra-indications are grim.  Actually this drug seems to be an all-round good guy but who knows ...

Alternatively, I buy the medicine, as if an entirely responsible adult and seem to imagine that is enough.  Having it in the house, close by, voila ... ! 
Osmosis!

Anyway, still feeling kind of miserable and messed up in the mornings ... I’ve just spent the last 30 minutes eating Clementines, blowing my nose and really kind of wishing I had started taking the Acetilcisteina EG all those days ago. 

The pharmacist said ‘10 days!’
I said, ‘You mean take it for 10 days?’
He said, ‘Yes, at the same time preferably.’  And I think he said something about before or after food too.

But, once upon a time, back in New Zealand, my lovely doctor did say that colds pass after 2 weeks with medicine, or last a fortnight without medicine. 

I’ll let you know ...

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 ...

A Celebration ...

The wish to travel seems to me characteristically human; the desire to move, to satisfy your curiosity or ease your fears, to change the circumstances of your life, to be a stranger, to make a friend, to experience an exotic landscape, to risk the unknown …
Theroux

Sourced from Steve McCurry’s photography blog.

Sometimes the photographs, I take here in Genova, are a simple celebration of being back in this place that I love.  It’s not always easy living here, without language, without anything resembling huge amounts of money, without family ... but I keep coming back.  My camera loves me for it.  My photographer’s eyes appreciate it too. 

I find something of New Zealand in the sea and the hills.  I enjoy the quiet kindness of the Genovese met along the way.  These days, I am reading my way into their history.  Steven Epstein’s book covers the period between 958-1528.  Titled ... Genoa and the Genoese, it captures something of the complicated and rich history of this Italian city that so few people I know seem to know.

Hanna came with me this time and she surely fell for the city, hoping her plane might be cancelled ... just for a few days.  There was so much more she wanted to see, and do, and photograph.  I watch it happen… everyone who comes here with me has fallen under the spell of this city so far. 

It’s good to be back.

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.

Reminiscing the Future ... Italy

I love the way we can bring the past alive in our present ... recalling the people we loved and lived with, the way that they made us feel.  I find everyone is still there, as solid memories, if I manage to call them up.

7am here in Italy, a cup of coffee from my small traveling espresso coffee-pot and a packet of shortbread-like biscuits nearby ...voila, memories of Nana and pre-breakfast coffees back home at her place, in Invercargill, New Zealand, chatting as she sped through her daily Southland Times, reading the news.

Imagine if her and I could have reminisced about the future ... ‘Hey Nana, in 2010, I’m going to be sitting at Paola’s kitchen table, in a small and ancient city in Italy, window open so I can hear the sounds of Genova waking up, drinking coffee, just like you and I are now.’

Nana, who never left New Zealand in all of her life but I wonder if she dreamed of it.  We never talked of those things.

Or a conversation with Mum ... ‘So I moved to Istanbul in 2003.  You would have loved it.  The people are so friendly, the summers are warmer than here in Mosgiel, the life ... you would have loved the life of that ancient city. 

Then Belgium in 2005’.  She would have flown over to make me a balcony garden in Antwerp, and spent evenings out there, ignoring the mosquitoes, drinking a white wine and watching the sun slip below the horizon. 

And Genova, I’m almost sure she would never have ever left Genova after arriving.  We would have laughed about me being my mother’s daughter perhaps, with a need for the sea and serious hills, and maybe we could have planned to open some kind of B&B here, satisfying our oddly hospitable souls and the pleasure we find in knowing people.

And my lovely little sister ... the one who has always been older and wiser than me, even if she was born after me.  We used to talk across the single-bed space back in those days when we shared a bedroom and if we had reminisced about my future life, I do believe we might have imagined we were inventing fairy stories ... where Istanbul, Antwerp and Genova were flights of fanciful imaginations ...

She should come here now.

Hhere I am, in the now, in Italy... loving the life I find in Genova.

Did you know, that swallows fly up and down Via Lorenzo in the evenings, before dark, screeching like hysterically happy young girls playing chase at an out-of-control birthday party.  They amuse me, those swallows - even as I realise that I can't begin to caputre their antics with my camera.

And did you know that if you take nuts to the park in Nervi, and you throw a few then make yourself comfortable on the grass, the squirrel will be become bolder and bolder ... until you run out of nuts.  Then you and he are over as photographer and model.

And did you know that this woman, a few thousand miles from home, from her past lives, and the people she loved first, finds the Ligurian coast an exquisitely beautiful place to remember and miss them?

Church bells ring in through the open kitchen window ... 8am.
Time to begin the new day but Sandra, come over one day soon.

Ciao from Genova, both feet in the present, as I think what to do with this day.