A Winter Sunday in Genova

I woke before 7am, to the quiet that is this small street on a Sunday.  The shops and cafes take a day of rest and almost no one was stirring ... or so few that I could sleep again, in the time that passed between suitcase wheels running over the huge stones of the street.

I woke to grey clouds but it's not cold.  This I discovered on venturing out in search of my Sunday focaccia.

The sound of the fountain in Piazza de Ferrari filled the air, owning the entire piazza in a way I had never noticed before.  It was a powerful presence, in the Sunday-morning-quiet of the old city.

Walking, I discovered that the artists of via San Lorenzo were already out and unpacking their paintings.  Amedeo came over to greet me, and I walked back up to his car with him, to help with his work.  He bought me an espresso.  We exchanged slightly ashamed confessions regarding our failure to learn each others' language since our last meeting.

(I need an Italian teacher based in Antwerpen ... does anyone know of someone?)

I stayed a while before continuing on my search for focaccia, came back to share but he had already eaten and so I strolled home, via Piazza de Ferrari again, unable to resist visiting the fountain.

And as I strolled, I realised that even this early on a Sunday morning, there are good people out on the streets, people to talk with, and that there is so much beauty that it fills me with a peaceful joy that I don't take forgranted.

Buongiorno, from La Superba ... otherwise known as Genova.