Genoa (or Genova, If You're Italian)

This morning I finally checked out of my little one-room haven. I overslept a wee bit* so I had to rush to make the check-out time. Once I had turned the keys in and paid up, I made my way to the train to head north to Genoa. Only after I had been sitting there for almost 15 minutes, did I realize I was going to take pictures of Vernazza today. Oops. That’s what happens when you don’t stick to “the plan”. So even though I spent the most time there, I have the fewest pictures (doesn’t it always seem to work out that way?)

I boarded my train and alertly counted off the stations until Sestri Levante. The ticket dude told me I would have to switch trains there. I decided to be efficient with my 15 minute lay-over and call ahead a the few cheap places listed in Lonely Planet. Perhaps this time I could avoid wandering around with all my earthly belongings for a few hours. Unfortunately the two I had numbers for were booked. Oh well.

Genova is a pretty big city (well, moderately so) so I had my choice of stations. I chose the first of the major two, checked my bags at the station for a few hours and headed out. After an hour of popping into hotels and having them laugh me out of the reception (apparently there is some kind of “boat thing” happening this weekend and everyone is completely full), I decide perhaps it would be best to try the hotels near the other station.

I think this is a great plan and congratulate myself on coming up with it, until I realize that in this plan, I have no place to leave my big bag while I search. D’oh! Minor detail. But I trudge on anyway because at this point – what else can I do? I try a few hotels and they too are full. But I’m pretty close to the station, so I try not to lose hope. I try a few more and this time I am in luck. There is a single available for 48EU. I had kind of been hoping I might save a few bucks here, but I’m learning that if you don’t book ahead, you get what you get.

After I drop off all my stuff and dump out the extra crap from my day bag I feel much better (and lighter!). I send up a little thank you prayer to God and head out looking for the Tourist Information. Unlike the previous cities I have visited, Rick Steves’ has no comment on Genova. So I’m stuck with only a few helpful facts from Lonely Planet and since it hasn’t planned out a walking tour for me, I don’t really know what to do with myself. So I head back to the train station. There I find a map and a woman who speaks English who draws out a basic little tour of the city. (Did you know Christopher Columbus was born here? Well that’s the rumor anyway, but it could be it was a little white lie he told to get financing…) In any case, I head out now with map in hand to see what I can see.

But, it’s a lot harder to tour a city when you know nothing about it and all you have is a cartoonish map to navigate around with. Soon I realize that not only has my slip has crept up under my dress so that it now resides around my hips, but my leggings have skooched down so it feels like the crotch (sorry) is down around my knees, and my feet are so sweaty that they’re cramming themselves toward the front of my shoes and I’m just not enjoying my “walking tour”. So I decide to get some gelato.

I make my way to the first gelateria I can find, desperately hoping they have Nutella (my current favorite!) and am disappointed to discover they do not. Oh well. Coconut it is. I sit down for a moment to give all of my undergarment calamities a rest and reorganize a bit and as I do, a man with a very professional looking camera takes a knee a few feet away from me. I glance at him, wondering what the heck he’s going to take a picture of around here, and continue about my business. I pause what I’m doing to take a monstrous lick of my gelato and snap! he takes a picture. I quickly look up and realize (mortified) that he has just taken an “action” shot of me eating my gelato. Up close and personal. He immediately reviews it, gives me a big smile and a thumbs up and says, “Grazie!” and walks away. What the heck….? I sit there and ponder what has just happened and am now convinced that what can only be a truly horrible picture of me attacking my gelato, is most likely going to show up in some random advertising campaign all over Italy. Me and my ravenous mug will be synonymous with: “Eat Gelato, Get Happy” to Italians everywhere. Oh brother.

I finish my cone, smile at my luck, and keep walking. I quickly stumble upon a whole network of streets that are extremely narrow and only open to foot traffic. It’s like a giant, permanent marketplace. People are selling everything from clothes to food to knick-knacks. I think, “If I weren’t so tired, I might really enjoy this.” Then I review that sentence in my head and decide to go back to my room and take a nap. Only I’m not exactly sure how I got where I am, so I do my best to wander back the way I came, but something is not quite right. I soon notice that there are quite a few ladies with their bras showing….and no nylons…and really, really tall shoes – aughck! This can’t be the right way! I spot a mom and two daughters and follow them out of “the prostitute ghetto” as I’ve fondly named it and eventually find my way home (don’t worry parental types – it was the middle of the afternoon; I was not in a sketchy place by myself at night).

So it is now post nap and my plans for the evening involve dinner and phone calls to find a room for the night in Milan. Tomorrow afternoon I will continue my journey north, but only after a more complete walking tour of Genoa in the morning.

*For the record, Italian hotels do not have clocks in them. Anywhere. So it’s up to me and my “internal” clock to get up on time…yeah. So far it is working mostly well. But it’s a good thing I don’t actually have any hard deadlines to wake up for; we all know I’d miss ‘em.