I was that woman who apparently screamed as she fell yesterday on Via XX Settembre, bending my knee in a way that it hasn't bent in quite a few months. I was so sure I had either cracked something inside the knee or my achilles tendon had finally snapped.
I lay back on the rain-soaked pavement and waited for the agony to arrive however a lovely Genovese man came along, spoke to me and started helping me up. I was stunned, it hurt, I was shaking but it wasn't bone-shattering pain.
Once he had made sure I was okay and Gert had taken over, we walked on to the railway station. Me drenched from head to toe and limping ...
And so it was that I returned home from Italy.
My Belgian had come to bring me back after 17 days in Genova.
It was 2 hours to Milano by train, then an hour through Milano to the airport by bus, then a 1 hour and 10 minute flight to Brussels and a final 35 minute bus ride home to Antwerpen city and voila, here I am, freezing in the fog, surrounded by the mess of semi-unpacked bags, working out the when and the how and the why of the days ahead.
Full of stories, a few 1000 photographs and some really excellent memories.