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.

On Allergies And Things

I woke at 6am, knowing I needed to finish my marketing assignment today.  It's bigger and more complex  than I expected but already I see the beauty and sense of what it is teaching me.

This course is all about authentically marketing your business.  It's not about bluff, bluster, or exaggeration.  It's about telling your story and telling it true.  But it's challenging.  It's demanding.  I like it.

If you were to watch the video of me writing this post, you might be tempted to send it viral.  I'm not sure but I think it might be amusing.  I woke at 6am, sneezing.  Nose running like a river in flood.  It's this thing that I do here in Genova sometimes. A small allergy I suspect but no, no anti-histamines thank you very much.

There is a mountain of paper kitchen towels next to me here.  I stop to sneeze 3 or 4  times every few minutes.   Then continue ... writing, finding the photograph.  Concentrating. Sneezing, blowing my nose.  Typing.  Laughing at myself as I became aware of the scene.

It looks like another blue sky day outside my window and Stefano's Righicam promises 12 celsius today. I will write and that's not to be sneezed at ...  because yesterday I was formally introduced to the Tramontana Scura.  The dark north wind.  It was cold and rained periodically.

This morning the sun has already turned the building down by Porta Soprana a pale gold.  My camera may come with me when I go out in search of that first espresso.  The light here, in this city of soft golds through into orange, is often divine but it's not simple to find.  You have to hunt for it. To allow for the fact that the narrow carrugio sometimes only see the midday sun. It is a city of mystery.  A maze of a city.  I found this while out wandering the old part of the city yesterday.

Arriving in Genova - May, 2013

My journey to Genova in May, despite being far too short, was as special as every other visit I've made to that exquisite Italian city located in Liguria.  But the kindness of strangers was quietly overwhelming and intensely appreciated.  Perhaps it was all more condensed .  I don't know.  It was a special visit.  Crazy busy but filled with people I want to write about in the days ahead.

I've put off writing about it in detail because I didn't want to miss out any stories.  Now ... so much time has passed, I fear I have forgotten some things.

It's time to sit awhile and remember.

I arrived via Rome and landed in Genova late afternoon.  It was raining and grey - the only grey day I had.  In the days that followed, it was summer.  The journey from Brussels had been long but this time I was staying with Francesca and her lovely family out at Arenzano.  Paola's apartment was under renovation back in the city.

So I followed the train signs out to the airport exit doors but then the signs peetered out.  I turned a few times, sure it was me who was somehow lost, before wandering back to a counter where there was man who seemed like he might be open to questions from this lost woman.

He was lovely.  He started talking of the bus, then a taxi, then walking ...discounting each idea as he went.  It's not much more than a kilometre to the train station, an easy walk normally and so he drew me a map but then looked at the rain and wasn't happy.  The situation was resolved when a friend or collegue of his called out a ciao.  He called him over to us.  This lovely young man listened to the story and before I knew it my luggage and I were in his car. 

He had un po inglese and well ... my lack of ability in other languages has created laughter all over the world.  But we talked a little.  He weaved through the streets near the airport then parked next to a footbridge that went over the railway tracks.  He unloaded my luggage and then, much to my horror, carried my heavy bag all the way to the top of the stairs.  I was so grateful and a little bit mortified.

We said our goodbyes and I made my way down to the train station. I bought my ticket. 

Flustered, tired ... who knows really, I had forgotten how trains worked in Italy.  Platforms, directions, stuff like that.  Eventually I asked at the office and another lovely Ligurian said, come with me, and so I did.  I followed her under the tracks and up onto the correct platform.

Honestly, I know how trains work there.  I use them often but it seemed that there was a brain-freeze going down and I was in its grip.  She sat with me, we talked a little.  I wished I had studied Italian.  I appreciated her unobtrusive kindess.

I arrived in Arenzano and Francesca picked me up and whisked me off to her place. 

Now ... Francesca has lovely friend called Anna Lisa.  I'm sure of the 'lovely' because Anna Lisa had offered to cook dinner for Francesca and her family that evening. 

I took a photograph or two while she whipped up a focaccia al formaggio, as per the photograph at the end of this post.  There was other food too but I was so tired by then, and I did nothing but race about madly during those 5 exquisite days in Genova, I've lost the rest of the memory of dinner.  I suspect that the warm focaccia di formaggio was so good that I have fixated on it.

I also suspect that the kindness of Ligurian strangers had overwhelmed me, filled me up, knocked me off-balance a little.

And Francesca's family ... Beppe, Cesare, and Emma.  There's so much love between them that it is truly lovely to spend time in their midst.

And so I arrived. Genova,  May 2013.

Update: if you use a reader to read my posts, sincere apologies for the series of edits.  Strong antibiotics, 3 espressos, and no sunshine or warmth ... it all messed with my mind.

And Stefano, grazie mille for the editing advice.  It was a rather grave error, falling to the 'No exceptions' category.

More rain in Genoa ...November, 2011

Just after 3am, I woke to a noise that sounded remarkably like a big building collapsing.  The boom of it echoed through the caruggi, the narrow alleyways here.

I lay there, not really wanting to think about what it might have been.  Soon after, it happened again.  Thunder?  I got up to look and discovered yes, thunder, lightning and heavy rain.  I went back to bed hoping that the flash floods of last week had cleared streams and pathways so that this torrential rain might cause less problems ... then realised it may still be a case of a lot of water cascading down from the hills above the city, overflowing streams and streets ... and I hoped not. 

I lay there, listening, hoping that this was more about the sound and the fury of a storm and less about many mm’s of rain in a short period of time.

5am, I woke up to the crashing of thunder and wondered if it was the same storm or a new one. 
6.50am, I gave in and got up.  The storm continues and is incredibly noisy.  Perhaps it is trapped between the high hills of Genova and the sea.  It’s not going away.

I remembered Cinque Terre were concerned about this next lot of heavy rain, I don’t know if Genova needs to be too but it doesn’t seem like the best kind of weather for a city so recently hit by serious flooding.

Genova’s Righicam gives you a peek in at the weather and the weather forecast it links to tells me that there is a 100% chance of rain until 11am, easing to a 90% chance of light rain from about 5pm.

So, today one might be sure in the knowledge that it’s going to rain.  Reassuringly ... surprisingly, I can hear people in the alley below.  Hardy souls out with umbrellas on their way to work I guess. It’s still dark, except for those moments when lightning fills the sky.

Kate, an American who has been living in Cinque Terre for years, posted an email she initially began writing for friends and family ... after realising they seemed to have no idea of how bad things are here in Italy.  So many Americans have wandered through, and fallen in love, with Cinque Terre that she and other American bloggers living in the area were disappointed by the lack of coverage the devastation in their area is getting.  They’re encouraging donations to Red Cross

I have to admit to being worried if Cinque Terre is receiving the rain we’ve been having here in Genova these last few hours, and yet I don’t want to be alarmist.  This isn’t my country and it’s not my landscape.  Unlike the corners of New Zealand I lived in, I don’t know the area well enough to understand whether it can cope with the rainfall we’re having right now.  I guess it’s just a matter of waiting and seeing, hoping that those in authority here in the city get the warnings out this time and no more lives are lost because the 10-20% of Genova that is down low or situated in the flat places may be taking a hammering now.

I took this photograph down at the ruin of the ancient temple yesterday.

Rain, Genoa, November 2011

I was sitting here, minding my own business at 6.50am, when the sound of the rain registered.

It’s heavy rain out there.  I wandered on over to Stefano’s RighiCam and clicked on the 10 day weather forecast.  Seems we’re in for some rain here ... and some more rain too, actually.

People are hoping that those living in Cinque Terre will be okay during this series of deluges.  You can keep up with news in English from Cinque Terre via Kate Little at Little Paradiso who, in this particular post, lists others who are also writing of the flooding there last week.

Meanwhile, it’s good weather for writing a book, I’m thinking ...

Righicam - webcams over Genoa

I can no longer remember how I discovered Stefano’s Righicam but I remember my delight and the regular ‘visits’ I made to Genova via his webcams throughout the long grey Belgian winter.

We exchanged email periodically after my initial approach asking if he would me linking to his site on my womanwandering blog.  Spring came eventually and I made plans to return to Genova.

Stefano offered to meet with me, inviting me to ask if I required any information about Genova. It turned out that he and his wife had previously spent a few weeks in New Zealand and they had enjoyed their time there. 

What neither of us realised was that Stefano thought that I was a man.  I saw the surprise on his face when we met in Piazza de Ferrari and laughed when he explained.

We wandered off to lunch and Stefano more than met the challenge of finding a restaurant that served good Genovese food.

Over lunch, we talked of Genova and of his passion for New York city; a city he and his wife had just returned from, the city he had lived in for a time when he was younger.  I confessed that I felt much the same way about Genova – a kind of passion for this Northern Italian city. 

Spending time talking reminded that when I travel, it’s not about museums and shopping, it’s about people and photography, about conversations and slices of life as it is lived by people in countries not my own. 

Stefano explained much that I either didn’t know about Genova or simply had failed to understand.  This is exactly what I want wandering to be about.

As for the food, I highly recommend Ristorante Europa in Galleria Mazzini, 53R.
I slipped back there before leaving, unable to resist one more meal and enjoyed a delicious troffie and pesto.

Although there is a series of courses that can be ordered according to the menu, I tend to just select one, often from the primi piatti and follow with a small black coffee, it’s a way to avoid sleeping the afternoon away.

Grazie Stefano. 
And if you want to check in on Genova, click on Genova Righi webcam.

In Genoa ...

I have these days where I wake wondering who on earth I think I am and why I feel I have the right to wander and ask questions of strangers ...

Initially, waking this morning was gentle and delicious.  The first footsteps passed by my window, the voices were quiet but later, after I opened the windows, I heard the cafe owner arrive and roll up her metal door while talking on the phone ... soon the coffee cups began clanking together in much the same way as I crash dishes together when forced to be the housewife at home.

I slept again, only to wake to the laughter of a group of men below my window.  I imagined them drinking coffee together at the cafe on their way to work, perhaps doing that everyday, and I enjoyed being there on the edge of their lives.

A craving for onion foccacia lured me out of my bed and down the street before I was properly awake which surely explains my fright on opening my door and finding a neighbour out there on the stairs.  She was amused as she greeted me and out of some place unknown to me, I responded with a good morning greeting in French ... I don’t know French, not really.

I was able to redeem myself with a ‘grazie’ as she held the outside door open for me.

And so my day had begun.

The onion foccacia still had 30 minutes before it was ready down at the forno so I chose something else, not wanting the woman who greets me with a friendly ciao every morning to interupt the baker for English ... I ate a delicious pie full of ingredients completely unknown to me.

And then I fell into this funk ...  wondering who I thought I was, coming to Italy without language but packing this desire to capture a small slice of the life that I find myself living on the edges of.

I began writing but today is the day I’m meant to begin everything else I came here to do now that everyone has left me alone.  Gert limped home with a walking stick yesterday ... a cracked bone in his toe.  He walked into a bed leg in the dark.  He made it safely, picking up the rental contract for the new house when he reached home.

The internet cafe down in the piazza cocooned me for a while, being online provided me with a kind of identity ... people who knew me had written, I could speak their language but I was still frustrated with this feeling of being small.

Almost midday and not much work done. I left the cafe and broke the cappuccino rule, ordering one from my favourite cafe too late ... but okay because I’m a tourist and tourists order cappuccino’s long after the 10am breakfast tradition here in Italy.

My guide on this is an author I recommend, an Italian called Beppe Severgnini, columnist for Italy’s largest-circulation daily newspaper, Corriere della Sera.  He wrote in his book, La Bella Figura, ‘Consider the humble cappuccino.  After ten o’clock in the morning, it is unethical, and possibly even unlawful, to order one.  You wouldn’t have one in the afternoon unless the weather was very cold.  Needless to say, sipping a cappuccino after a meal is something only non-Italians do’.

It’s not that I want to try and pass myself off as Italian, it’s only that I prefer not to stand out as a complete barbarian ... a charge leveled at me more than once by a 'gentle' Italian friend.  And I have never quite recovered from the surprise I gave another lovely Italian friend and the waitress when I ordered cappuccino (once) after a pasta lunch.  And regretted immensely because there really is a reason for that.

When in doubt, when shyness overtakes me, or I’m nervous and unconvinced about what I’m doing in life, my impulse seems to be ‘just do it anyway’.  I mean, I don’t parachute or go deep-sea diving, I don’t take drugs but going out and talking to strangers without language in a country not my own ... that’s something else.  I grew up in smalltown New Zealand and today finds me talking myself into doing what I love doing most of the time.

So tonight I will photograph apertivo at my favourite cafe here in the city.  And I stopped in at the farinata shop ... the one the family have owned since 1812, and photographed the beautiful food on display there, surely the best farinata in the city and a place you really should eat from if you find yourself in Genova.  I will meet Stefano and Guilia, Alex and I have tentative plans and I will surely return to my seat on the top of the hill at Boccadasse ... these are my plans for the moment.

And just after digging up the courage required,  the universe smiled down on me for a moment and an old man said, ‘Ciao bella ragazza’.  I don’t mind he that he was old because he made me smile for a while which was grand because I was all out of courage on this day here in La Superba.