San Lorenzo's Cathedral was built to hold Saint John the Baptist's ashes ... ashes that arrived in Genova after the crusade in 1098.
The lions that guard the entrance have been a point of fascination for me. Today, searching for the cloister of yesterday (wrong church), I discovered the animals around the corner behind my favourite lion.
I love the way they seem to be attempting to peer round the corner ...
I miss these colours when I'm not here ... I find them beautiful.
Today, as I walked back up the hill, I saw this.
There is a creaking, grinding roll-up metal door that is activated about 6.30am ...near my bedroom here in Genova.
It's a feet-on-the-floor explosion of sound. To give you a sense of it, an army would be proud of this vehicle of noise when waking and/or scaring the living daylights out of their new recruits or prisoners of war.
Some mornings I hear it, some mornings I don't. This morning I woke, completely heart-thumpingly disorientated. I lay there a while and then, sure enough, some kind of pressure-building noise followed as the cafe primed its coffee-machine with the required level of explosiveness ...perhaps.
I stumbled out of bed to see if I had missed the possible thunderstorms predicted for while I slept but they didn't come. It's overcast but that won't hurt after yesterday's 32 celsius, with humidity of 76%.
The kitchen window is open, next to my laptop and the breeze is almost refreshing. The 'ciao's' have begun and people sound lively and engaged in this language I love. So upbeat, even at 7.37am.
Meanwhile friends here are rebelling. Maybe they're pretending but some have decided it's time I spoke Italian. Of course, I agree but language acquisition has never been the thing I am best in. Two years in Turkey and I remember the Turks were amused by my using a very English pronunciation in my simple greetings.
Learning Dutch hasn't gone well either. Maybe there is some forgotten colonial impulse buried deep in my New Zealand genes but I tend to begin in English in Belgium and mostly they reply in the same. Actually, they reply in English when they hear my Dutch too. I have come to believe that my attempts are so impossibly bad that they are found to be abominable.
But anyway, English is a useful language to travel with ... or not. Depending on what one believes about language.
So ... last night I began working through the 200+ Italian flashcard exercises I have stored on my computer. While the language itself is often straight-forward, in that it is pronounced as it appears, I realised that words like 'di' and 'a', with their multiple uses, could be troublesome.
'di' (that Italian word that isn't my name) = of, from, about, than, to, with, by. And then there is 'a' = to, at, in, for, with, by.
The road could be long. Here too, the 'i' sounds like my 'e'and so Di of me becomes Dee. Although it is the same in Dutch and so I have adjusted to that kind of thing.
I can see how this language-studying commitment is a necessary commitment because to post graffiti without being sure of what is saying is a risk I don't often take. However this one refers to, or was written by, Melina Riccio. Hers is an interesting story for sure ...
The espresso and cappuccino cups are rattling in the cafes below, a man is telling a story so amusing he can barely squeeze the words out through the laughter he is trying to control. It seems like old friends are at the cafe, meeting on their way to work perhaps, and talking about things I don't understand ...
Buongiorno ... it is morning here in Genova.
This picking through and posting images from my May in Genova began when I decided it was time to write of that trip.
This street ... Via San Vincenzo, the walking street that I often use when I wander to or from Brignole Station. I know I've arrived or I'm sad to be leaving. It varies.
The Palazzo Ducale, once the seat of the oligarchic government of the Republic, today it is used to host the most important art exhibitions and major events.
For some reason, I like this image.
It's also useful, perhaps, for understanding the image that follows.
Inside Palazzo Ducale, in Genova, there is much to photograph ...
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.
And now I am in a beautiful city, in a truly beautiful city, Genoa. I walk on marble, everything is marble: the stairways, the balconies, and palaces. The palaces are so close they almost touch and from the street, one can see noble ceilings, all richly painted and gilded...
Here I open my eyes wide on everything, innocently, simply ...'
Gustave Flaubert.
There are streets like this in Genova ...
Via XX Settembre is a street that always makes me want to stop and attempt to capture something of the light.
It's still beautiful even when it rains.
I happened to be in Genova on a weekend when the food market, known as Sapori al Ducale, was open and trading.
Researching it, I discovered that the food on display came from farms and food artisans located all over Italy. You can imagine the quality ... it was mouthwatering.
There were oil producers, all kinds of wines and spirits, cheese, cold meats, sausages, honey, preserves, handmade pasta, desserts and organic produce, just to mention a little of what I saw there.
It is surely a place where' passion, professionalism, tradition and history' come together.
I flew over to Genova last Friday and immediately, upon arriving ... stories began to unfold.
It was a madly-busy, exquisitely-joyfilled 5-days. And I couldn't reach the back-end of my website for some reason but honestly, I had no spare time.
I stayed with the kindest friends out at Arenzano. And I met their friend, the talented artist Giorgio Bormida. Actually, I wanted to cook dinner for Francesca and Beppe before I left, and ended up cooking for Giorgio too. It was only as I began dinner prep that I thought ... 'What have I done??! Cooking isn't really my best thing'. But they were all very kind.
I caught up with some of my favourite people there in the city but completely missed out on catching up with others. It was lovely to catch up with Stefano, the owner/operator of Righicam, over lunch. And with Francesca and Norma, from Le Gramole.
And then there was that 24 hours spent working with Diana, staying at B&B Baur with her and Micha. It was sublime ... photographs and words to follow in the days to come. I heard my first cuckoo as I sat by the open window in the morning. And the views ...
The kindness of Genovese strangers stunned me and ... well, it made me smile. A lot really. I met a lovely guy at a concert in Palazzo Ducale, who kindly explained all that was happening, to Outi and I. But Outi and I is another whole story.
Meanwhile, here I am, just in from an 11-hour day of traveling. It was a day that involved a train, a taxi, a plane from Genova to Rome, a bus to and from the plane, another plane to Brussels, then a bus and a tram home.
I shall return with photographs downloaded, with a mind rested and ready to tell you some stories.
I'm missing the colours and the light of Genova ... so much!
I love the way this city goes from post-modern to ancient, and everything in-between, so easily.
Roberto Panizzi is the president of the World Pesto Championships here in Genova and he was kind enough to allow our workshop group to photograph him making pesto. Grazie mille to Anna, of Beautiful Liguria, for setting that up.
There Robert was, surrounded by 5 women as he demonstrated the pesto-making process, talking and inspiring us while calmly bearing the quiet storm of flashes along with the knowledge that Hanna's was also filming him.
Here he is, having photographed us, busy sending the resulting images out to all his twitter followers.
We adored him.
Whenever I return to Genova, I remember ... that I'm walking along roads that have been here forever. It makes me almost sure that ghosts surely walk next to me as I wander.
Tonight I couldn't resist and wandered out with the tripod. There was the image below, with life carrying on through my time-lapse, creating something that almost captures this feeling I have about walking next to the ancients when I'm here.
I listen to life out there on the streets, generations of people in this place of complicated history and excellent stories.
Back in Genova ... and loving it.
One of those flash ephiphanies of travel, the realisation that worlds you'd love vibrantly exist outside your ignorance of them. The vitality of many lives you know nothing about. The breeze lifting a blue curtain in a doorway billows just the same whether you are lucky enough to observe it or not.
Travel gives such jolts.
Frances Mayes, from A Year in the World.
I could spend quite some time just photographing those giant bubbles I find in Genova ... they fascinate me some.
The streets in Genova pull me out into them ... I can spend hours walking there, lost in the now. I am missing those days where images came in through my camera lens as a deluge of colours and textures.
In New Zealand I was the kid and later, the woman, who disappeared constantly ... on my bike or in the car, with my dog, I was off, in search of a place to dream. Rivers, lakes, the beach or, more simply, a school field.
In Genova I find that space more easily in a cityscape than anyplace else I've lived so far. It used to be Nature, now it seems that this remarkable old Italian city can soothe my soul.
