Signs of spring

Bruno's shoes were off.  Now, the fact that the man who owns one of the beaches in town was shoe-less while putting up cabanas and gearing up for the opening of the beach bar, might not mean much to many people.  However, as I learned today, the fact that he was shoeless, pants rolled up haphazardly, and squinting into the sun, means that summer is here.  When the shoes go back on, the season is over.  Another one of the signs of the season that I never knew.
A few other ones are more predictable, yet happily welcomed.  The appearance of fresh peas in their bring green pods, tendrils curling gently around them, means spring in the U.S. too, but fresh peas are hard to find and their season is short.  More and more people are laying in the sun, relaxing on the beach, and looking at the intensely blue, clear water, I could hardly blame them.
It's a T-shirt kind of day here in Monterosso, and sitting roasting in the sun in mid-March is something much appreciated, after such a long and difficult winter.  Spring is a rushed season that spills quickly into summer, both encompassed in something simply referred to as the "Season" - when the town fills up and comes alive.

fresh peas and zucchini flowers

unloading beach chairs

Shoes or no shoes, spring is here.

Milano

Many times I find myself wondering how on earth a girl with a death allergy to shellfish, who can't swim and who feels more comfortable in a grey city then in the open air (I keep thinking "police response time") wound up in a place that is so completely opposite what I had ever expected, yet at the same time, exactly what I wanted.

I've been adapting, little by little, to life in a tiny beach village, but I've been thinking of the city more and more.  I missed the movement, the activity, the options - I even started to miss the subway.  The Italian Beer Fest this weekend in Milan brought me the opportunity to spend a few days in Milan, a 3 hour direct train from Monterosso, and the second-largest city in Italy, as well as being the un-official capital of the northern part of the country.  Milan is an incredibly important city not just in Italy, but in Europe, and is known foremost for fashion, industry, economy, and, as I've learned, fog.  Lots of fog.
I can vouch for it's transportation importance (as well as fog, due to my long history of delayed flights from here) as the only times I've been in Milan were to go somewhere else.  I've flown from Linate and Malpensa airports, taken trains from Milano Centrale as far as Vienna, but never actually saw what the city was like.  After the business portion of the weekend concluded at the beer fest, the sightseeing began.

Perched on the roof like a little bird

La Scala

The Duomo is breathtaking, and for 6 euro, you can climb to the top and perch yourself in the spindly, carved facade looming over the busting piazza below.  It is, without a doubt, one of the most incredible buildings I've ever seen.  The inside is just as spectacular, though I was a little shocked we were allowed in on a Sunday morning when mass was being held.  We were both a little uncomfortable, especially when tourists started taking photos of some of the most important parts of the mass - like during the Eucharist.  I'm Catholic (though admittedly, not the most model Catholic), and I know not everyone in every part of the world is, but the idea of entering into another's house of worship and snapping photos, giggling, and taking video of their mass and the people worshipping left me feeling incredibly angry the guards did nothing to stop them.  That's a lesson for tourists everywhere.  Respect the culture around you.
La Scala is a sight, but more a sound, and on a Saturday night we stood next to the front door and heard a long operatic note of Aida.  The Galleria, a long, ornate, covered shopping center, puts any mall I've ever seen to shame.  But all of it is in the midst of what seems like 2 billion people, mainly tourists, running into each other with shopping bags or trying to wobble their way on cobblestone in stiletto heels.  Fresh faced models, skin scrubbed clean, dressed in leggings and sneakers, fold up their endless legs for a cup of tea, and overdressed, over made-up tourists try and pretend they are the ones everyone is watching.  

The Duomo, even more beautiful at night

As excited as I was for the city, I was even more excited to return home and breath in the sea air.  The joy of public transportation ran out after a 35 minute wait for our tram to take us from the hotel to the beer fest.  The crowds got old after the 5,435 person ran into my shoulder.  The mess that is a city can be entrancing but only when it's one you are used to, like New York, but when you are a tourist too, stuck in the middle of the most tourist filled part, the city girl starts to desperately long for her little beach town.  It's nice to get away for a little bit, stretch my legs and explore, but its funny that after all this emphasis on how convenient the city is, I start to think that simply walking down the stairs to the shop on Via Fegina to buy my groceries is actually much easier.  All that convenience of the city, at the end of the day, is actually quite inconvenient.  Though I do sometimes miss the fast pace of a city and the stimulation it provides you, it's always going to be just a train ride away, be it Genoa or Milan.

The Galleria

The Duomo

My favorite view

It's no sweeping seascape.  You can't see Corniglia, majestic and romantic, hanging on the cliffs in the background.  The pink and yellow of Vernazza doesn't peek out from afar.  Punta Mesco isn't looming over a blue sea and a streaking sunset, competing for attention in their beauty.
It is, in fact, an old cave that was a cellar to keep the salted anchovies in.  Just off the tunnel, it sneaks through the rock that separates the Old and New Towns.  Coming from the New Town, it's on the right, and as your eyes have adjusted to the long, dim tunnel, and you start to see the houses of the Old Town, colorful and hugging each other on the other side, the worn metal door in the side of the tunnel is easy to miss.  Dark, heavy doors creak open, and the small cave just off the tunnel is shocking in it's shadowiness, but more so when the blue of the ocean and the sky at the other end are seen in contrast.
I love this view.

I love that it was an old anchovy storage place.  I love that my boyfriend's grandmother remembers keeping the salted anchovies here to cure.  I love that it feels like a secret, and the steep steps on the other end wind down to the pier.

But most of all, it's like a little surprise, and a reminder that breathtaking views are harder to avoid then to find in Monterosso.

No, not that kind of mimosa

Yesterday was International Women's Day, which is celebrated in Italy as the Festa Delle Donne.  Where in the U.S., I feel that it serves more as a reminder of women's rights and the lack thereof worldwide, and is full of speeches, letters to the editor, and commitments of money and renewed dedication to the rights of women everywhere.  According to an LA Times article yesterday, this extends to other countries as well - in Egypt, for example, women gathered to march for the right to help draft the countries new constitution.

In Italy, however, it's a bit of a different story.  The country celebrates with gifts of mimosa, a little yellow flower that grows wild around the area, especially here.  It's sort of like a combination of Mother's Day and Valentine's Day.  There were signs all over Genoa advertising "All You Can Drink" Women's Day parties, free champagne, flowers, and so forth.  The whole thing leaves me a little confused, as when someone greeted me with "Auguri!" yesterday (sort of like, happy-whatever-you-are-celebrating, be it a birthday, anniversary or, apparently festa delle donne), I responded with, "For what?".  Mimosa flowers were everywhere yesterday, and the trees that could be reached picked of their blossoms thoroughly.  The whole thing has a very lighthearted feel, which I wasn't used to, and is so widely celebrated I was really surprised.  A little digging produced text from a speech given by President Napolitano yesterday on improving the conditions of working women and families in Italy, so apparently Italy too is a fan of speeches and dedicating new intention and importance to issues when their day of the year pops up.

Personally, I think the whole thing would be better with real mimosas.

Like sun through the clouds

Where we were...

Via Roma, view from the foot of the street, two days after the flood on October 25th

Via Roma, October 27th 2011

Via Roma, Il Pozzo to the right, Fast Bar to the left, October 27th, 2011

Yesterday afternoon, sun through the clouds

 The sun has been stubbornly shooting rays through the cloud cover all day, creating these distinct slices of light through the blue on blue sky and water.  As I walked to the Old Town to check out the progress on Via Roma, I noticed some similarities on how the sun can peek through the clouds, and the progress being made here in Monterosso.  Like rays of sun, hardheaded and still making themselves seen through a cover of thick clouds, walking down Via Roma can also seem a bit like an overcast day.  There is work being done all around, as I've said many times before, and recovery and rebuilding a town is never a neat and tidy thing to do.  It's dusty, it's loud, it's full of noises and boxes and mess, but, like little streaks of sun, you can see more and more signs of progress peeking out of the clouds of construction dust.  New doors, glass sparkling clean, lacquered wood shining, swing open.  The clean, bring color of new asphalt on the newly rebuilt street provides dramatic contrast to the faded pavement next to it that remains.  Little tables with fresh, clean tablecloths make their way outside restaurants, displaying menus, as the town starts to shake itself off and stretch itself open, like after a deep sleep.
What a difference a few months makes...

Il Pozzo yesterday, open, new, and mud-free.

The new tabacchi

Via Roma, under the arch, the new street inching along (centimetering along?)

Quiet looking from here, but inside each door is a shop or restaurant full of people hammering, scraping, and painting away

La Superba

Mercato Orientale

When your nickname means, "The Superb One" you have quite a bit to live up to.  Genoa (or Genova in Italian) is a city that I didn't know much about until a few years ago when I started writing about Ligurian cuisine.  One of the phrases that burned itself into my mind was La Superba.  The other was a simple statement - Genoa was, at one time, considered the center of the universe.  I never forget this whenever I have the chance to come to the city, but, unfortunately, when I do come, it's for something other then sightseeing.  Ikea, for one, is a huge draw for Ligurians looking for cheap Swedish furniture, and like Americans, left with bags of spare screws and nails - but that's another story entirely.  Shopping and the American Consulate are other reasons I found to visit, but this time my draw was an amazing Van Gogh and Gauguin at Palazzo Ducale, right in the center of the city.

The port

Framed by a majestic fountain adding even more water to a rainy day, the buildings in the city center are intricately carved and tall, covered in typical Ligurian frescoes, reminding you of the combination of practicality and creativity of these sturdy people.  Narrow, empty alleyways wind through uneven streets, narrowly lit, which gives the whole city a feeling of shadows that filter out into a piazza with a giant church, or, if you go further, the water and one of the most active harbors in Europe.  Genoa has always been a port city, and like many cities with a constant flow of people in and out, you can certainly feel a sense of some unsavory characters, especially when they have so many nooks to hide.  It used to be quite unsafe, but has cleaned itself up quite a bit.  However, the tourists on cruise ship stopovers or breaking up a Riviera trip to France walk a little quicker down alleys where prostitutes smoke, bored.  Every time I've been here, it's rained, and the grey sky and dreary feel give the city a hue that seems to fit it.  Maybe because I've only seen it like this, but the white and red cross of the Genovese flag seem to pop even more when surrounded by so many shades of grey.  It's not a Disneyland kind of city.  It's a very real one, with very real people, habits, history and, of course, food.


As we wandered through the city, for the first time I started to take pictures and appreciate the real feel of a city with a pulse and, for good or bad, a personality.  Nestled off one of the main streets lies the Mercato Orientale, not named for it's outstanding selection of Asian goods, to my disappointment, but because when it was opened, over a century ago, it lay in the Eastern (or orientale) part of the city.  The produce and meat is incredibly fresh and beautifully presented, a symphony of colors, smells and sounds - and I'm a sucker for a good market.  Especially when it's indoor on a rainy day, and even more when I can find cilantro at a tent just outside.  The mercato is one where families have had their stalls for generations, and one where people clamor for their choice of produce from their preferred vendor, something I'm also sure is handed down through family and time.  In addition to the bountiful market, Genoa also is home to one of the Eataly complexes, a sort of super-mega-market of things that are delicious, authentic and amazing to eat and drink in Italy.  There is one in New York, which is a little more impressive, only in the fact that you can rejoice in finding obscure Italian products.

Inside the mercato

The famous lion of San Lorenzo,
guarding the cathedral.

In Italy, however, obscure Italian products are simply Italian products, but it's still a nice place to window shop and buy some Italian craft beers.
Eataly has a huge selection of these hand-crafted beers, which are ubiquitous in the States, but a budding movement here.  Genoa itself has breweries, as does Liguria, scattered across the coast, taking advantage of the endless supply of one of the main ingredients in the brewing process - water.  It's interesting to be in a country as a movement is happening, and like the craft beer movement in the U.S. when it first started, some beers are huge misses, but some are incredibly creative beers made with unique ingredients, like chestnuts or yeast from wine made in Parma, again, taking the new with the old.

My cilantro market, and Palazzo San Giorgio,
one of the most beautifully decorated facades in Liguria.
Also, where Marco Polo was held prisoner upon his return to Italy
from the Orient.  Polo was from Venice, which was at war
with Genoa.  Genoa took him prisoner.  And then won.

La Cattedrale Di San Lorenzo from outside.
Inside, we overheard a tour guide mentioning, lies a
bomb that landed here by British troops in WWII and,
fortunately, never detonated.  Underneath the cathedral lies
evidence of an old Roman burial ground.

Farinata.  Torte.  Stracchino.  Oh my.

Pesto.  Where it was born.  Can't go wrong.

Mixing these two is something that Genoa does particularly well, and something it's had to do to survive for so long.  Sa Pesta, where we ate lunch, lies nestled in one of the shady alleys, but is full of life and color for lunch.  The food is as Ligurian as you can get.  Farinata, a sort of flaky, but enjoyably oily pancake baked with chickpea flower, is their specialty, made in the huge wood oven at the front door.  The other food is along the lines of pesto, minestrone, and torte (vegetable pies or rice pies, with a flaky crust and filled with anything from cheese and beet greens to onions and rice).  Genovese is spoken, lightly mixed in with Italian, but the crowd is fully of ladies dressed to kill and businessmen in tailored suits, rubbing elbows over paper tablecloths, drinking house wine in pitchers, and happily inhaling Ligurian comfort food.

San Giorgio, at the right, and a grey line of buildings that have looked out to the sea, guarding the city for centuries, looking at the past and the future at the same time.

I'm sure it's even more enchanting when the sun is shining across the sea and sails, but for me, Genoa is La Superbia just as I've seen it.  Maybe it's no longer the center of the universe, but Genoa takes the news proudly.  The buildings still tower over streets and walkways with intricate tiling, the old stone work trickles into restaurants and shops bringing something new, but still keeping that incredible feeling of what is old and special.  A port city needs to bend so it doesn't break.  Genoa, like the sea, has to move with the tides as each ship into the harbor can bring a change in habits or thoughts, food or status.  With a shrug, it seems like Genoa is happily biding it's time.  It throws the new into the mix of the old, and what comes out is a very real city with obvious foreign influences, but one that absorbs them easily.  Content to be where it is, Genoa knows that it has it's place in history and has secured an important one in the future.
Now THAT is truly something superb.

Highlights from the past 48 hours

The tedious task of hanging the laundry outside is always easier
with such an amazing sky.

Homemade foccacia with stracchino cheese smeared on top,
my current favorite snack.

Suitcase smuggled Mexican products  - necessary for steak tacos.
Salsa, corn tortillas, cholula hot sauce (and, of course some Italian concessions,  such as the caponata and cheese) 

A beautiful sunset from the street that winds down into Monterosso.  The picture doesn't do it justice, as
you can see the Western part of Liguria in the distance, but it doesn't really come out in the photo.  The region hooks around like a boomerang, which means on clear days, you can see across the sea towards the coast of France and the other part of Liguria, towards San Remo and Imperia.  Combined with streaking shades of vivid pinks and orange peeking from behind the mountains, it's always a moment to pause and smile.