Harvey Latte

With i ragazzi off, retracing our steps through Switzerland, Trofie Wife and Martello returned to our daily routines, grateful for the visit and change of pace. I relished the opportunity to take in an afternoon flick in English in Genoa, my second time doing so, first time alone. It was a rainy Thursday and thus the perfect time for a cinema break—and an excuse to take the Metro from the train station instead of undertaking the usual 15 minute walk (especially since it was a rare occasion on which I didn’t have my umbrella in my bag; I had decided not to turn back to grab it, even though it appeared that precipitation was afoot). When I arrived at Piazza De Ferrari (you should know that Genoa’s subway has less than 10 stops; it’s really more like a theme-park trolley in its practicality), I hopped on the up escalator. Within one minute, the escalator stopped moving. As if on cue, all of the riders (myself included) looked around quizzically to try to figure out what to do. And then, again in tandem, we all started hiking up the stairs. So much for modern conveniences.

As you can likely guess from the subject heading, I went to see Milk. I left in tears, which increased my sogginess, since it was raining pretty hard on the way back to the station (this time I walked, since the ticket machine appeared to not be working, and I wasn’t sure how to ask what to do and just wanted to get home). The Thursday afternoon movie crowd is pretty thin, and the majority of viewers are actually Italians seemingly annoyed by the dubbing of American films/wanting to practice their English comprehension.  However, I did have the opportunity to eavesdrop on one English-speaking pair (a rare event in Genoa). They were not a couple but each in their own relationships and were discussing their partners prior to the movie’s commencement and during the lengthier-than-usual “intermission” during which the projectionists change the reel. (Trofie Wife isn’t sure if American movie houses have made greater technical strides in switching reels or if the Italian projectionists’ union just figured out a way for their workers to get additional concessions for their artform… .) Anyway, the older of the two men was explaining the different frustrations that he and his partner encounter in Italy and the United States. While in Italy they do not yet have any official standing as a couple, they do have healthcare. However, in the United States, while they could register as domestic partners (or possibly marry/enter into a civil union depending on where they live), the man’s partner would not be eligible for healthcare there. Presumably in his mid-50s, during the intermission the americano noted to his Italian friend that he remembered when the historical events depicted in the film occurred and sadly, how far we still have to go in the struggle for equal rights for LGBT people and families. Not yet a twinkle in anyone’s eye when Anita Bryant and friends were waging their hateful campaign, I could not overcome the sense of eeriness that 30 years later, the exact same arguments were being waged all over the country and LGBT folks and their supporters were being forced to counter them, once again.

With a little Googling, Trofie Wife has just learned that Genoa will be hosting Italy’s Gay Pride celebrations this June! A different city gets the honor each year and this year—the 40^th Anniversary of Stonewall, the Web site notes—our fair city will play host (we’re taking reservations now). Check out http://www.genovapride.it/. These events could potentially be fascinating, and Trofie Wife looks forward to documenting them. I’m particularly interested in seeing what, if any, pushback there is from the Vatican and the country’s conservatives. I have a hinting suspicion that even the most close-minded persons within Italy are nowhere near as bad as the ignorant forces working vehemently to undermine families in the United States (yet again, that American work ethic puts us on top every time…).  Stay tuned.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Getting Tough on Crime

Some readers who follow Italian news extra closely now that Trofie Wife and Martello are stationed here, may have heard about large arrests of members of crime organizations in Southern Italy in recent weeks. We, too, have been following this news and were particularly intrigued by the police’s latest attempt to stem the flow of crime—by driving impounded Ferraris and Porsches around the gang-filled neighborhoods from which they were seized (see http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7796096.stm). So, by nationalizing these vehicles and adding them to the police pool, instead of advocating on behalf of the “broken windows” theory they’re adhering to the “breaking the sound barrier in this Ferrari 512 or Porsche Cayenne” theory? Can’t wait to hear about the first time one of these babies goes “missing” after a shift!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Madonna’s Immaculate Conception (As Opposed to Madonna’s “Immaculate Collection”)

Given our religious upbringings, Martello and Trofie Wife are not well versed in all matter of Catholic practice and dogma. So when we learned that Monday, December 8 was the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, we scratched our heads and remained befuddled but thankful for any holiday that creates a three-day weekend with Monday off. (While we thought that the holiday referred to the immaculate conception of Jesus (which would be kind of quick given the 12/25 birthday), it actually refers to his mother’s “pure” conception, which, although undertaken by her parents au natural, rendered her free from the original sin with which everyone else supposedly is born. Jesus’s conception is apparently “virginal,” not “immaculate.” Thank you, Wikipedia!) We had originally considered taking another three- or five- hour train ride somewhere (just like Trofie Wife’s sister in Zurich was seven whenever she traveled somewhere in Europe, any train trip that Trofie Wife takes in Europe is three or five hours away—sorry for the bit of insidery family lore for those unfamiliar with the story). But yet again, the computer screen called to Martello, so we decided to stay put and explore our Genoese home base.

Well, we didn’t make it outside on Saturday (well, Martello did make it to the grocery store to pick up what was supposed to be just eggs (for the molten chocolate cake mix) and steel wool; he returned nearly two hours later with two full bags; he just really likes supermarkets (as do I). We then vowed to spend Sunday in a more exploratory mode.

And explore we did! Although we hit the snooze one too many times and missed the train that would take us to the old Casella railway (a very old scenic trackway leading to walking paths on the outskirts of Genoa, northeast of our home in Arenzano), we did make it to a branch of the Parco Beigua, a beautiful protected regional park (kind of like a state park), in our usual, roundabout manner. Trofie Wife found Googlemap directions to the park administrative center, which we figured would be at the head of the park. We still don’t really know street names here, other than our own (we find our way by visual aids—lamppost, staircase, bakery), but from the map we saw that the offices were over the train tracks and across the highway. Martello thought they were on one side of the tracks and on the side of one highway; Trofie Wife thought they were on the opposite two sides but since Martello usually has the better sense of direction, followed him (getting winded along the way) up a steep incline of steps (there are many in this town) to what we thought would lead to the park, but only left us across the street from the local hospital (and somewhere near the legendary canile—the organizers still haven’t called…). So, we decided to throw in the towel and just take the train into Genoa to hopefully catch a museum and dinner. But while approaching the tracks, we found a street sign that corresponded to the Googlemap directions. To hurry this story along, we ended up circling Arenzano to find this park. While we managed to locate the administrative offices, they did not, in fact, lead to the park, but luckily, we eventually found a sign that indicated that some sort of aviary outlook was “up ahead.” “Up ahead” turned into a two-mile or so hike up the steep incline that was the auto road to the park, not the hiking trail proper. Since Trofie Wife doesn’t regularly Mousercize (or perform any traditional exercise other than taking long walks), she strained the top portion of both legs in the process of getting her relatively stumpy limbs to more or less keep apace with Martello’s long strides. But no pain, no gain, right? And what a view from the top, which we proudly display below.

We hiked back down the actual marked trails to the famed Bambini church behind our house (that's its belltower in the above photo). So, we essentially followed in the footsteps of famed Genoese Christopher Columbus, accidentally circumnavigating (or in his case, attempting to) to find that what we were looking for was just straight ahead. We plan to return to the park in coming weekends for the fresh air and exercise.  But next time, we’ll avoid the hike before the hike!

Soreness aside, we managed to make it into Genoa for dinner and a glimpse of the Christmas tree in Piazza Ferrari (think the Rockefeller Center Tree as a fetus, see picture below). 

We spent the actual holiday in another sleep- and design software-induced fog, but made it out just before sunset to wander through the local park and see what we thought were decorations (a mistranslation of the flier—it was a craft fair). This weekend must be Italy’s equivalent of “Black Friday” in terms of it being the official kick-off for holiday decorations and shopping in all the small towns (turns out we missed the local tree lighting on Saturday night). We hope to take in some more (adopted) holiday cheer in the coming weeks in our adopted home.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife