A leisurely breakfast on board the
MSC Splendida; a perfect way to start the day. We hadn’t signed up for any of
the official excursions, so we were a low-priority departure, meaning that had we attempted an early departure we would have been placed at the back of the line.
So, instead of rushing through a
meal and risking indigestion, we slowed down to enjoy our pick of pastries,
eggs, assorted meats, coffee, juice, hot or cold cereal, fresh fruit and on and
on. Although, come to think of it, I didn’t see any pancakes. However, just
because you can eat everything doesn’t mean that you must. I enjoyed a relatively
modest plate of scrambled eggs and a few assorted selections of sliced meat and
cheese and coffee.
As it turned out disembarking turned out to be a
little more complicated than we had anticipated. Because we wouldn’t be coming back on
board when the ship departed a little extra bureaucratic shuffling was
required. Immigration officials like to be kept informed of the status of the foreigners
on board.
When we finally did step on Italian
soil we were greeted, not by armed customs officials, but by a gauntlet of
vendors selling everything from a single rose to $25 iPhone 9s. This was
definitely buyer-beware country. But purchase we did, and I think we chose
well: a pedal-powered electric-cart tour of the old city.
Our bicyclist/guide turned out to
be very knowledgeable, friendly and more than fit enough to pedal two full-size adults around old Genova. It was a great
experience and we learned a lot including:
Genova had been bombed
by the British in World War II and yet considered itself lucky. It seems that
because the British had a centuries-old relationship with Genova they focused
on bombing military targets rather than employing the flat-earth policy proposed
by President Roosevelt.
Marco Polo once
spent time in a Genova prison as a hostage. He had committed the crime of being
born into a family willing, and wealthy enough, to pay a ransom.
Christopher
Columbus hailed from Genova. At about
the time we was planning his first world tour, Genova was in the throes of an economic
downturn. There were insufficient funds in the till to finance Columbus’s dream
cruise. Luckily, the city enjoyed a good relationship with Spain, and that
provided the Genova-born Columbus with an inside-track with the King for getting the financing he required.
Most revealing
about the region may be the fact that they are still stinging from a military
defeat, suffered at the hands of the Venetians, around 8 centuries ago.
As we traveled the narrow, winding
and sometimes unpleasantly aromatic roadways, it quickly became obvious that one
could easily get lost here. Apparently that had been the plan all along. The
tale, similar variations which we’d heard in other similarly architected
cities, was that the streets had been designed narrow and labyrinth-like in
order to discourage pirates. The lost
and mostly single-file pirates would be easy pickings from the rooftops as they
tried to find their way to some prosperous portion of the city.
Hidden in plain sight along these
alley-ways were the prostitutes. By my estimate there was at least one such
person every 20 to 30 meters. I found this interesting. The streets weren’t
populated by horny sailors, as might have been the case at one time, but by
tourist. These were mostly middle-age and older couples, with bulky cameras
hanging around their necks. Who was the clientèle that the prostitutes hoped to
attract? Was this merely advertising for potential in need of “fresh-air” strolls taken in the
middle of the night? Maybe they weren’t even prostitutes, but actors; hired by
the mayor’s office, to provide “atmosphere” for the tourist.
Whatever the case may have been we
were informed that prostitution is illegal, though tolerated. As our guide put
it, local people could not imagine these streets without the prostitutes.
And, as it turns out, prostitution can also mean so much more than just itchy genitals. In the middle of all
this—life—we happened upon the church of Saint Maria Maddalene. The exterior of
the church is unassuming, fitting right in with all of the other
pirate-plundering structures. However, on the inside, proudly financed by
prostitution, is a splendor, or gaudiness and excess if you prefer, that would
never have been guessed at. Although, you couldn't be faulted for thinking that any pirate worth his weight should have smelled the gold.
If this church exists as a penance
for sin; well then I guess there’s still a lot of sinning that needs to be done.
The church of Saint Maria Maddalene
wasn’t the last stop on the bicycle cart tour. It wasn’t even the most
impressive stop. But, as all good things
do, our guided tour had to end. And, as if by some grand design, it did end,
right outside the doors to our hotel for the evening: the Grand Hotel Savoia.
I don’t collect a check from
Expedia, so I don’t want to spend too much time describing a hotel, but I will
say its five-star rating was well-deserved.
After checking in, we decided to
follow the desk-clerk’s recommendation and set out on foot to visit the Basilica
Saint Annunziata del Vastato.
The basilica had been seriously
damaged during World War II. It is currently held together with an integrated
steel framework that, in contrast to the massiveness of the basilica looks like chicken-wire. The exact age of the basilica is difficult to determine as its
history goes back to at least the 1200’s but its constructions moved forward in a series of
starts and stops that were seperated by decades. The primary structure, as it exists today, appears to be
attributable to a takeover by the Franciscan order.
Beautiful churches aside, we
continued our foot-tour (that sounds so much more sophisticated than simply
saying walking) up, or down, the Via Balbi in the general direction of our
hotel.
Now, I’m generally not one to put
much stock in the intersession of God or angels or any such thing but… Likely lured by evil, or a very small sign
indicating a pizzeria at the other end, my wife attempted to steer us down a
rather dark and winding alley. As we
strongly considered this deviation from the well-traveled path an elderly white-haired
woman, dressed in black from head to toe, potentially everybody’s Italian
grandmother, appeared from nowhere.
“No,” she intoned. She further
emphasized the point by wagging her finger and pointing to the alleyway. “No!”
“Grazia,” we replied.
I, for one, was not inclined to
ignore the warnings of an elderly Italian woman who had so emphatically warned
a couple of ignorant tourist about the dangers of a particular route. She disappeared into a very sparse crowd as mysteriously
as she had appeared. We continued on our original path.
Stopping at a small café outside of
the train station we enjoyed an unusual, and unusually good chicken, tomato,
and brie sandwich. What we had thought, when ordering, would be cups of hot
chocolate turned out to be cups of a warm thick pudding-like drink topped with
wip crème. Delicioso!
As a chaser we then went to the train station
to confirm our morning tickets to Rome.
In trying to keep this under
several thousand words there is much that I have left out. I only touched upon
Marco Polo’s unpleasant stay in Genoa—in the prison that would someday become
the principal bank of Spain and as previously mentioned provide Spain incentive
for financing that scoundrel Columbus. (I
wonder if in a round-about-way, Marco Polo didn’t finance Columbus?) There was
the Cathedral de San Lorenzo, the black and white cathedral, ten centuries in the making and still under construction. It comes complete with a miracle: an unexploded
bomb in the center of the church, which is either a testament to God, or an
indictment of British bomb-making. And I failed to mention the horrendous
error by city planners that unintentionally channeled mountain breezes to
literally blow vessels out to sea. And
so much more.
We were able to absorb a lot of
detail, history and atmosphere in our barely 24 hours in Genova, but 24 hours
is not near enough time to learn about a city. It will take weeks of re-playing
these events in our minds just to process what—comparatively—little we have
seen. Luckily a picture is worth a thousand words, and while these blogs barely rise
above that mark, there are more than a few pictures to serve as reminders.
However, I can’t just post pictures
and surrender the last word. I’d like to mention that we capped our stay in
Genoa with one of the finest Genovese dinners ever served to man, but that’d be
a lie. In spite of having spent a decently active day—yes, I’m keeping my
pedometer going and five-plus miles of walking per day has been the norm—neither
of us were hungry enough to justify a full dinner, as had been our original
plan. Seeing that there was a McDonalds only 5 minutes away… No, we
didn’t travel all these miles to eat at McDonalds. We opted for something local,
as in really local, not tourist-trap local. We took a chance. Sometimes you win big, and sometimes not so
much. But this is Genova, in Italy! And just as surely as you could once purchase indulgences
to wipe away sins, you can still purchase redemption for bad food choices. We
found a place, just a few paces down the road, where we were able to wash away
the earlier unpleasantness with a gelato that, apparently, can only be served
in Italy.
Tomorrow we rise early. We’re
taking the fast-train to Rome where we’ll visit the Vatican and, if we’re not
too busy, dine with the Pope.
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