A Celebration ...

The wish to travel seems to me characteristically human; the desire to move, to satisfy your curiosity or ease your fears, to change the circumstances of your life, to be a stranger, to make a friend, to experience an exotic landscape, to risk the unknown …
Theroux

Sourced from Steve McCurry’s photography blog.

Sometimes the photographs, I take here in Genova, are a simple celebration of being back in this place that I love.  It’s not always easy living here, without language, without anything resembling huge amounts of money, without family ... but I keep coming back.  My camera loves me for it.  My photographer’s eyes appreciate it too. 

I find something of New Zealand in the sea and the hills.  I enjoy the quiet kindness of the Genovese met along the way.  These days, I am reading my way into their history.  Steven Epstein’s book covers the period between 958-1528.  Titled ... Genoa and the Genoese, it captures something of the complicated and rich history of this Italian city that so few people I know seem to know.

Hanna came with me this time and she surely fell for the city, hoping her plane might be cancelled ... just for a few days.  There was so much more she wanted to see, and do, and photograph.  I watch it happen… everyone who comes here with me has fallen under the spell of this city so far. 

It’s good to be back.

Holy Light, Genoa

We are lonesome animals.
We spend all of our life trying to be less lonesome.
One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say and to feel
‘Yes, that is the way it is, or at least that is the way I feel it.’
You’re not as alone as you thought.
— John Steinbeck

Quote sourced from the blog of the truly gifted photographer, Steve McCurry.

Yesterday, as we worked through our day, Hanna, Francesca and I found time to pop into my favourite church here in Genova ... located in Piazza Maddalena.

I was giving Hanna a little information about photography and explained ... there are all the rules but then you can break them and, sometimes, that’s where the magic happens.

This is one of those shots, for me anyway.  I was handholding my camera in an incredibly dark church, kind of falling in love with the light and voila, the light let me have a little of its beautiful self.

Cinque Terre Floods, October 2011, Italy

I arrived in Genova on Monday 24 October and, on the following day, we had rain here in the city.

It was the first in 3 months and I didn’t think too much about it, other than trying to deal with the problem of never knowing how to dress against the weather here.  There is this tricky humidity to contend with, one that sees me either over-dressed or under-dressed for the weather ... never correctly-dressed.  Wednesday a heavy cold hit.  I’m not sure that my inappropriate outdoor clothing wasn’t responsible.

Wednesday and news began filtering in about a massive dumping of rain over in Cinque Terre.

I won’t even begin to attempt to explain the story to those who haven’t heard of Cinque Terre because Alex explains all over on his blog, Italy Chronicles.  But for those who asked about how it was here in Genova, knowing how close we are to Cinque Terre, there are two videos and an explanation over on Alex’s blog. 

There were no problems here in Genova because the powerful downpour was fairly localised and truly terrible, as you will see.

One of the many things I love about Genoa ...

But perhaps I should begin with the people I meet here in this city I love so well.

Yesterday Hanna and I spent the day with Francesca.  We were putting together a project I have in mind and Francesca had kindly agreed to come along and translate.  She just fitted right in as we wandered and worked our way through the day.  Mille grazie, Francesca.  We had the most excellent time.

And in-between meeting the people we needed to meet, she introduced us to parts of the city we wouldn’t have known about and wouldn’t have dared enter.

Thanks to Francesca, we were able to wander the halls of this grand old house and voila, there was this room, puppet-show in place ... but of course.

There are always these unexpected magical moments here in the ancient city, also called La Superba ... It is also called la Superba - the Superb one - due to its glorious past.

Lesson learned on the road ...

When traveling you should always, but always, know the phone numbers you might need in a medical emergency.
Hanna, my lovely Finnish marketing partner arrived on Wednesday evening and experienced the misfortune of walking straight into my category 5 cold.  I was still imagining it might be an allergy at that point and so we went out for pizza. 

I couldn’t even finish the pizza and no red wine passed these lips of mine.  The misery of the cold was beginning to really press down on me.  We went back to the apartment and I crawled into bed only to wake with this terrible feeling of restricted airways ... very much like my old childhood nemisis, croup. My mother used to spend hours with me in our steaming hot bathroom, me ... the screaming toddler who couldn’t breathe.  The knowledge being that the steam would open the airways again ... if the child ever stopped crying.

I appeared in the lounge as a startled creature, realising that I didn’t really have a clue about what to do with this reappearance of a seemingly ancient ghost, and not really sure that it was anything to do with croup.  And voila, there we were in Italy where I had no idea about after hours doctors or emergency rooms.

I am incredibly fortunate in having a marketing partner who is rapidly becoming a much-treasured friend.  We worked through the problems of who we could ask for information after 11pm, and in the end, she went down to the bar near the apartment.  The guys in there were so incredibly kind, giving her the address of the nearest hospital emergency room, an after hours house doctor number, and they also offered to call us a taxi.  I was just so grateful for their kindness.

She returned with the news.  Knowledge is something special, and knowing I did have an emergency place to go if things got worse, we worked out that the situation wasn’t getting any worse, that it seemed more like my larynx having a major incident with flem and swelling, and it might be possible to go back to sleep if I remained propped up for the night.  It was a long night but it worked. 

Yesterday, some of my favourite Genovese friends emailed in with all the medical information I could possibly need and these last 24 hours have been about living quietly while catching up with a couple of good people. 

Stefano came to check on the patient yesterday and took us along the caruggi here, for the most delicious lunch.  The restuarant was cosy-warm and the food delightful.  Everyone was surprised that I was still saying no to red wine but I have been living on painkillers.  It’s not quite time for my ‘wine cure’ but soon, surely it can be soon. 

Later, Lorenzo caught up with us, and another piece of the photography workshop tour for 2012 has fitted itself into place.  You see, Hanna and I are here to finalise the details for a spring ‘come travel with me’ photography/travel workshop.  First the tour, then next week I begin work on the book.

7.30am and here I am, at the kitchen table, ready to work but still struggling with writing as you can read.  We have our first appointment at 9.30am and I’ve already decided that will involve a rather good coffee along at Bar Boomerang.

Photos and more lucidly written stories to follow in the days ahead ... she writes, hopefully.
Ciao from Genova.

Those details.  Hospitals vary on where you are located but:
Hospital Galliera
Taxi: 0105966

Emergency Number: 112

Guardia Medica (home doctor) 010 354 022 (8pm-8am)

Piano, piano ...

Slowly slowly ... that’s how I’m moving.

I seem have caught myself a cold en route.  Feeling sorry for myself is slowing me down, quite a lot.

Photos and stories will come, I just have to get through this phase of yuck.  Today, when I sneezed in the supermarket, this crazy guy gestured for me to step back from him.  I had my hand over my mouth, my germs were under control.  Truly. 

Later, when I went to visit Francesca, I warned her of my situation, she laughed and hugged me anyway.  She already has the cold, since Saturday. 

Sunshine and warmth today.
Ciao for now.

Jetlag ... and some stories from the road to Italy

Probably not jet lag ...
The flight to Milan was meant to be about 1 hour and 15 minutes.  We ended up arriving 20 minutes early ... a short-cut that boggles my mind.  How does a plane arrive 20 minutes early?

The alarm rang in Belgium 4.59am. 
Taxi at 5.54am.
Suitcase, the one that Brussels Airport broke last time I flew in there, revealed we hadn’t managed to fix it as I placed it in the hold of the Airport Bus ... 6.05am.
I may have said a bad word.

I arrived at the airport.  For a moment, I forgot I was in a country whose service providers often don’t care.  I confessed that my suitcase probably wouldn’t stay closed on the plane, due to being damaged last time I’d flown Brussels Airlines.  Fortunately, I said, I had managed to replace the suitcase strap they had lost but could he note its fragile status?
No.

Actually, the Brussels Airline check-in bloke pulled that face that Belgian service providers pull when they don’t really want to hear what you are saying because it’s YOUR problem and THEIR company and/or shop refuses to be held accountable.

Fair enough.  I’ve been there long enough to know the impossibility of anything close to satisfaction in this kind of thing.  I have lost the few battles I’ve attempted.  Raising ones voice doesn’t help.  These guys survived the Spanish Inquisition.  Raising ones voice is NOTHING.

I had an idea and suggested it to the Belgian check-in guy.  He warmed to me immediately. 
I suggested I get my suitcase plastic-wrapped so it would stay closed.
He led me there, abandoning his post even.
He didn’t mention the 5euro fee for plastic-wrapping.

However, there was the relief of having my suitcase secured. I returned to complete check-in.  He had handed my case on to the Belgian check-in woman.

I was early but you really need to be when you tavel from Antwerp to Brussels via the bus.  You have to allow for traffic jams when you travel morning or early evening.

I wandered off and bought a bottle of coke,, looking for that instant caffeine hit.  I thought the check-out chick insane.  She kept asking me for MORE money.  I knew we would work it out at some point.  She would laugh, I would laugh, she would apologise.
But no, that small bottle of coke really was 3.50euro.
I said ‘I’ll be sure to really really enjoy it then…’  And then we both laughed.
That is a robbery, isn’t it? 
It is $4.88us and $6.09 in New Zealand money.
I wish I hadn’t made those conversions now ...

On the plane and things began to improve. I met this lovely Mexican/American woman.  We chatted most of the way to Milan and so I noticed even less of the very short flight.

In Milan, the big heavy Belgian-frost-protecting jersey had to come off but ... oh no! I couldn’t put it into my plastic-wrapped suitcase because I still had a long way to travel and dared not interfere with its hold on my belongings - there were two train trips to be made.  I tied it onto my suitcase, hoping not to stand out as a peasant there in Milan.  Found a nasty sandwich, remembered too late that I knew how to purchase them in that shop because I had been a chicken last time too ... limiting myself to simple Italian when ordering food.  Sigh. 

I decided perhaps I could make this my rite-of-passage experience.  Each time I arrive in Italy I will have one of these disgusting sandwiches to appease the gods of travel and win myself a good visit.  I ate almost all of it while waiting for my train to Genova.  Breakfast had been quite some hours earlier.

On the train, I had the most incredible good fortune ... (so I’m thinking the sandwich sacrifice may be the ritual of choice on future trips).  I sat next to a lovely woman called Germana.  We began chatting after she very kindly alerted me to the fact that our number 7 train carriage had just become a number 6, and yes, we all had to move.

My seat was next to her in number 6 carriage and so we began to chat.  It turned out that this lovely woman had, like me, had spent some time living in Istanbul.  Well, that was that.  We fell into conversation, talking of the lovely places she had lived, talking of family, talking of life.  It was so excellent!  That train trip passed so easily that I didn’t even notice the million tunnels that we have to travel through to reach Genova.

We said goodbye at the station, I found a taxi and voila, here I am, back in this city I love so very deeply.

But that’s not all.  I walked into the apartment and Paola and Simon had arranged the loveliest birthday surprise.  3 bottles of truly delicious wine!  Really!

So there I was, back in Genova, having met good people along the way, my suitcase had managed to contain itself and not spill open and now ... there was red wine waiting for me!
A huge thank you to Paola and Simon!

Today it’s 9 celsius, it’s pouring down after 3 very dry months here in the city, and here I am, wrapped up warmly and smiling that big smile that I try to control whenever I reach this place.

I hope your worlds are behaving today and I wish you joy.
Ciao for now.

Cees Nooteboom, and a Genoa Image

Photography is a more intense way of “looking”. No photographer simply travels. He cannot allow himself the luxury of just looking around. He does not see landscapes; he sees photographs, images of reality as it might appear in a photograph.
Cees Nooteboom in 1982 in the Holland Herald, KLM’s in-flight magazine.

On the way 'home', when in Genoa

The question is not what you look at, but what you see.
Henry David Thoreau

Growing up in small-town New Zealand, the same town until I was 20, I had landmarks I knew when wandering home ...

I lived next to an intermediate school, the once famous Mosgiel Woollen Mill was nearby. Saddle Hill and the Maungatua’s gave me a sense of direction.  I knew my world there and yes, I have landmarks here in my Antwerp life too, but the angel creature in the photograph below is part of the remains of the cloister of Sant’Andrea, a Romanesque ruin that used to be part of an ancient church with the same name.  Sadly, or perhaps best for those people in that particular time ... it was demolished in the 1800’s, when Via Dante was realised.

The cloister ruin has become a very real part of ‘my way home’ when in Genova, Italy and I couldn’t resist stepping ‘inside’ with my camera last time I was there.  It was empty of tourists and locals.  I spent some time just photographing the details of that beautiful place.

Jess Knopp, talented artist and daughter

My daughter has this rather stunning ability to put together a business card that captures something of who you are, or what you do ... in a way that stuns and delights me.

I asked her about creating a business card for two of the artists I met in Genova and voila, she created this as one of two options for the lovely Amedeo.

You should think about whether you need her to work her magic for your image.

Karla Verdugo, Artist

Jessie Knopp also created a business card for Karla, using an entirely different font that, I felt, complimented the original artwork just so perfectly.

And Jessie doesn’t just make one version in these early stages.  She created two versions for Amedeo and three for Karla.  She is happy to work with you via the web to create what you need.  So let me know and I’ll put you in touch with her.

Franco Fondacaro at Work, Genova

It seems entirely appropriate to post this photograph of Franco waving to me…

He was the only artist set up when I wandered by early this morning. Today is a religious holiday in Genova.  It’s the day of their patron saint, Giovanni. 

We exchanged greetings then he took me by the arm and we strolled over to the cafe for coffee together.  And just like Roberto in Lerici, we didn’t have much language in common but it was lovely to spend time with him.

I wandered on down via San Lorenzo afterwards, veering right in search of focaccia, then on into the caruggi.  About halfway into that walk, I realised I was deeply exhausted and wondered why I was taking on a stroll that involved a rather steep incline on the return ... considering that I was operating on 4 hours of sleep.

I made it back to the apartment but needed to lie down for 10 minutes.  I may have used up almost all of me and have this wicked plan to sleep tomorrow away.  We’ll see, I recover relatively quickly usually.

So anyway, in the last few hours of travel, there has been the realisation that I left my favourite foundation and perfume back in Genova. My idea was to wait until the sweat had dried before applying it.  In all honesty though, I was cleaning right up until I left and the sweat never did dry.  Then there was the man sitting in my train seat on the train to Milan, but he accepted the bad news graciously and turned to be okay.  He managed to prevent my suitcase from causing serious damage when it rolled out into the aisle.  Italian trains often have those little rooms of 6 seats on each carriage ... I suffer.

Then the airport was reached in comfort and style (as opposed to being crammed on the hot and crowded airport bus), via the Malpensa train from Milan Central.

However then came the overweight suitcase ... 36 euros.  I’m blaming the gifts.  And there was the small matter of an abandoned suitcase up near check-in that had security waiting for the police, alarming the check-in woman who had charged me for my excess baggage.  I was happy to leave the area ...

Anyway, waiting for the plane, hoping I can sleep on it. I’ll leave you with Franco, out on Via San Lorenzo, in amongst all the artwork.