My days here, are so different from those beautiful days back in Genova.
I miss the bars, and the lovely people who worked there, making the best coffe in the world.
I miss the noise of the city, and the quiet of the medieval centre.
I miss the musicians, and the everyday presence of ancient places. I miss passing by people whose faces look like faces painted in 400 year old paintings. I miss good pasta and sauce, pizza and walking.
I miss the Genovese.
BUT, I am learning to love hanging my laundry out on Dad's old clothes line, in the garden that smells of roses and all the other flowers he has there. And it makes me so happy to climb into my bed when thesheets smell of fresh air & sunshine.
I love the sound of the birds ... one of the only sounds as I hung out my laundry at 7am this morning.
I was always passionate about driving ... about wandering, and so I am happy to be driving again. Even if I enjoyed the kilometres I walked on Genovese footpaths, and the buses and trains. And I'm not sure how to avoid weight gain, other than via that boring path called self-discipline.
Reading. I have just finished 3 books, one after another. Reading late into the night, just as I did as a child.
My espresso machine is making me happy, I just need to go find 'the' coffee.
I love 32 celsius days (yesterday) and sitting here in the kitchen, back door open to the garden, and working.
Mmmhmmm, I called the plumber today. The bathroom tap is broken and it has leaked for days now.
Another thing to love, after a life lived in Europe, I phoned the plumber at 8.50am and he said, 'Okay, I'm doing a job just round the road, I'll come to you after it'. It was the same with the washing machine repair guy. That's quite marvelous really :-)
Here I am, just trying to find my balance again, in this smaller, quieter life that I'm living.
Buona giornata ...
Foto: these chairs, were just there, in this ancient ruin in Genova. I had my photograph taken in one, and couldn't resist the beauty of this still-life moment, Genovese-style.
I took this photograph back in August 2016.
Today, I saw them again. I wanted to talk to them, so much. I walked past them, looking for someone who might speak English and act as a translator.
I met the kindest man. He agreed, and we asked if I might talk with them and tell a little of their story.
It wasn't possible but it was so beautiful to see them again, and see that same connection between them, as they walked along the street.
Grazie mille, to the guy who translated. I appreciate it so much.
These two didn't know each other before this meeting but still, they became such beautiful friends.
Admit, that once you have got up
from your chair and opened the door,
once you have walked out into the clear air
toward that edge and taken the path up high
beyond the ordinary you have become
the privileged and the pilgrim,
the one who will tell the story
and the one, coming back from the mountain
who helped to make it.
From MAMEEN, River Flow: New and Selected Poem.
I would love to tell a story about this house. It's the first I've fallen in love with, in years and years.
It seems as though there is an infinite variety of ways to explore Genoa.
I couldn't resist using those words. Most easily, you can use your own two feet, alone or guided. There is a hop on/hop off bus. There are segway tours. A miniature train tour. And, of course, public transport. There are boats, bikes, outdoor elevators, and a funicular too.
And this rickshaw guided tour ...