Pause for Pride

Although the rest of the family wasn’t quite up for the schlep and the crowds, Trofie Wife really wanted to experience Genova’s turn at hosting Italy’s National Gay Pride march (as noted several months ago, it rotates from city to city each year). Martello pulled himself away from the pool to join me as official photographer. Apparently he was quite inspired, as we have many pictures of various floats and revelers. We were stationed at the start of the parade, by the train station, so we don’t know if they encountered any unfriendliness as they drew deeper into the city and passed some of the churches. However, the news didn’t seem to report any trouble with protests. All in all, it seemed to be a successful event!

Enjoy!

The event kicked off with a not-so-environmentally-friendly rainbow smoke explosion. It was kind of cool, though.

This adorable little train carried all the kids participating with Famiglie Arcobaleno (the COLAGE of Italy). Check them out here: http://www.famigliearcobaleno.org/

We think that nostro nipote di Cleveland might have enjoyed taking a ride.

We think this was the Ecuadorian float. We're very international here.

No explanation needed.

Check this out, il Capitano di Vicenza: This is the atheist group that wanted to advertise on buses in Genova but were banned after pressure from the Church (we think the posters successfully ran in London). Loose translation: the bad news is that God doesn't exist; the good news is that we don't need Him/Her/It.

Plenty of anti-Vatican (and anti-Berlusconi) signs, this being one of the tamer ones, simply asking that the Vatican "leave us alone!"

This is the float from Agedo, Italy's PFLAG-like group (each of those blue ribbons signfies the different relatives/friends/neighbors they're/we're all supporting). They can be found at http://www.agedo.org/. Trofie Wife clapped extra loudly for these supportive relatives and friends (my fellow sidewalk revelers joined in suit). More allies are certainly needed all over the world.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

La Famiglia Arrivo

As the weather warms up, the rain fades, and the beaches populate with wrinkled, orange-tinged women and Speedo-clad, beer-bellied elderly men, Trofie Wife and Martello’s popularity quotient seems to be rising; everyone wants to visit! The last week of June it was finally time for some of Trofie Wife’s parenti to find their way to the Mediterranean. I genitori were the first to arrive (after some transportation snafus). They just happened to get here on yet another holiday, La Feste di San Giovanni (aka the Feast of St. John the Baptist, patron saint of Genova), which meant that Martello could join us. We had a quick lunch at one of the beach clubs and later that evening, dinner at our favorite restaurant (we’ll take you if you come!), which always outdoes itself each time we visit.

Martello returned to work on Thursday, while Trofie Wife led her parents on a halting tour of Genova (my padre, il Capitano di Vicenza, has a bad leg at the moment, but the real hold up is my madre, la coniglietta, attempting to take pictures, wherein heads of people, tops of buildings, and the general gist of things will inevitably be missing). I genitori were able to get the general flavor of Genova, aided by the subway system and some benches. It’s always interesting to gauge people’s opinions of the city. Trofie Wife thinks Genova is akin to anchovies in that it’s an acquired taste (I’m riffing on an old Tori Amos quote, but it works!). Just as Martello and I have grown to enjoy and admire anchovies (though we know they will never be the same outside Italy), so too have we come to love Genova, despite its grittiness and nonsensical layout (which a German acquaintance of ours said would be razed by German city planners if it were positioned in Deutschland).

The weekend brought the arrival, over the Alps, of Zurich sister and her brood. The volume got very loud, and we thank the local restaurants, hotels, and shops for tolerating it. Martello had to work past child feeding time, so he was unable to join us for dinner, which Zurich brother-in-law, quite the foodie, deemed superb (and where we dined was far from a fancy joint). Saturday morning and early afternoon was spent on a group pilgrimage to the park (where the peacock was kind enough to strut his stuff for the kids) and the grocery store (note: do not ever go to a grocery store with more than three people, especially if those people are prone to wandering through aisles and getting lost (and those weren’t the children!)) to get provisions for the rest of the weekend.

Zurich sister and Trofie Wife hit the beach.

La coniglietta reminds us that "the sun is not your friend" (the best way to break off that toxic relationship is with an ugly, SPF-repelling hat); Zurich brother-in-law and niece instead choose to embrace the warm star around which our planet revolves.

Martello shows the younguns how sandcastle building is done.

Aside from one interlude (see the following post), we spent the rest of the weekend cooking and eating and sitting by the pool or beach (the whole clan even got to meet Mrs. Furley, a brief and fleeting event which she has already felt the need to discuss with each of us several times in the near month since it occurred). We made fresh pizza (including the dough, which was incredibly easy) Saturday night and then pulled out all the stops for Sunday night dinner—whole fish and risotto. We were also able to celebrate Zurich nephew’s birthday with two torte (one ice cream, one yellow cake; it’s important to diversify). Sunday evening was capped off by an impromptu late-night walk around town with Zurich sister and brother-in-law.

Our whole fish extravaganza

Frank Lloyd "I Still Don't Know My Left from my Right" Turns Four! Trofie Wife manages to carry the lit cake from the kitchen to the dining room/living room/office without setting the house on fire/fainting from fear.

Flirty Josephine Chestnut decides that Uncle Martello is incapable of feeding himself cake; she sets to work showing him who's boss (yo, niece: he's going to be completely bald by the time you're old enough for him, so I'd just move on...).

I genitori, Martello, e Trofie Wife alla terrazza.

Trofie Wife sent off everyone early Monday morning, as they continued on to their next destinations—the folks to the rovine di Sicily and the others, back to Svizzera. I parenti, used to Trofie Wife staying in bed for as long as possible, were certainly impressed that I left the house before Martello was even due at work. Looks like I’m learning about time management in, of all places, Italy!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Wherefore Art Thou, Cicciarelli?

The third weekend of June, we finally made it to Noli, a small medieval town west of us, just past Savona, in order to hunt down the amazing fried anchovies—known as cicciarelli—which we heartily shoveled at Slow Fish. We didn’t find them, which was disappointing. Perhaps it was because we were looking for cicciarelli and locally they are known as lussi or lussotti (the people selling them at Slow Fish could have added that to their awning sign!). Either way, we had a lovely time.

Noli is known as one of the best-preserved medieval Ligurian villages. It still boasts its original city walls (which we walked) and which are capped by a stunning stone castle (strangely enough, we couldn’t find the entrance). Check out these truly astounding views:

We also stopped by the Romanesque church, which is touted as the loveliest Romanesque church in Liguria (it’s hard for churches to compete in this country, so they have to find their marketing niche). We ended the evening with a lovely outdoor dinner (its only flaw the droning Tom Waits background music) and strolled back through Spotorno (the neighboring town that houses the train station) as the sun set. It was in Spotorno where Trofie Wife discovered the winning flavor combination of fondente e violette gelato (dark chocolate and violet; it’s great!). Somehow, we just caught the train (if we hadn’t serendipitously bounded up the stairs when we did, we would have had to wait a whole hour for another one.) Yet another lovely way to end the weekend.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Assorted Outings

The Genova Poetry Festival came to town the third week of June, coinciding with Bloomsday (June 16, the date on which the action in James Joyce’s Ulysses takes place; fans all over the world spend the day revisiting the work in public settings, notably with much fanfare at Symphony Space in New York City). Trofie Wife was excited for what she believed would be a staged dramatic reading in Porto Antico, but it was little more than a bookstore reading (in Italian; Ulysses is difficult enough to understand in one’s native language!).

The week continued to bring us good food and fun. One of Martello’s colleagues invited a group of us for an awesome dinner, which was capped off by a beautiful walk home along the beach under the glistening stars. We joined co-workers (some of the same ones; some different) for a fun outing the following night, and we made some fantastic meals for our own enjoyment.

And that Saturday morning Martello finally made it to the Genova synagogue. He arrived without notifying the powers that be in advance, so he had to answer a few questions, but the regulars were quite happy to see a new face there, especially since they were running low for a minyan (the ten worshipers (in this case, ten men) needed for a prayer quorum). As Trofie Wife had read elsewhere, the synagogue follows a Sephardic style and is strict about the place of women (upstairs, in the gallery, though Martello said there was one kibitzing in the back of the men’s section). Needless to say, Martello confirmed that it wasn’t my type of prayer experience, and I would have been frustrated, so it was best to let him go solo. Martello can write more about it on his own, but it’s essentially a dwindling community, as members move to other parts of Italy, Europe, North America, or Israel. They expect the synagogue to not be regularly functioning within a generation, which is, of course, sad. Martello had a chance to speak with the medical student who organizes gatherings for Jewish students and young adults, and we’ve been added to their e-mail list and Facebook group. Provided that we’re here long enough to take advantage of it, it would be nice to meet some new people. Perhaps if we’re here even longer, Trofie Wife can find her way to one of the WUPJ synagogues in Milano!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

The Best Monday Ever

Martello spent the second full week of June on major deadline, so following that, he needed some serious downtime (luckily, he could use Monday as a comp day). We capped off a lazy Saturday by attending a local beachfront party for a departing colleague. Even as the night crept into the wee hours, it stayed just warm enough so as not to freeze.

We decided to spend the weekend further down the coast, exploring the fabled shores of Portofino, Rapallo, and Santa Margherita Ligure. Despite Trofie Wife’s usual queasiness for the sailing life, we opted to take a boat from the Genova port down to Portofino. Luckily, the waters were calm, and even if they hadn’t been, the sights were gorgeous enough to warrant some nausea, had it been necessary.

We're on a boat!

View back to Genova

San Fruttuoso

View of Portofino from Castello Brown

Portofino Marina

We didn’t disembark at San Fruttuoso—the picture you see above is the entire town—but we hope to return again to tour the famous abbey (sweet deal for those monks). Our boat finally landed at the fabled Portofino. It is a lovely marina with stunning views as you head into the hills (especially the Castello Brown, which was a fort at one point, later turned into a sprawling residence by a Brit and now stands as a museum), but there isn’t a beach, so it’s best enjoyed from the sundeck of your mega yacht, should you have one. Cruise season has apparently commenced, so we watched as tender after tender arrived for the short port of call, unloading the largest number of Americans we’d seen around these parts, saying such things as “we’re in Italy—we’ve got to be able to find some pizza around here somewhere!”). We did find a hidden charm—the Portofino Sculpture Garden. Martello particularly enjoyed this place and took some fabulous pictures:

We eventually boarded another boat that would take us just a few minutes down the shore to Rapallo, another well-known beach town. We had a lovely dinner by the water (featuring, in Trofie Wife’s opinion, the best olives ever) and rounded out the evening with delicious gelato.

On Monday morning, we found our way to the funicular leading up to the Santuario di Montallegro. The ride itself, which dipped us up and over a colony of lush green trees made us feel as though we were descending into some middle earth, or New Zealand (it’s the same thing, right?). The peak was incredibly peaceful and featured a gorgeous view of the sea below. After fortifying ourselves with a surprisingly delicious pasta lunch, we hiked down the mountain. We got a little lost, but Martello enlisted the assistance of an elderly woman who was clandestinely feeding some neighborhood goats. Although our detour made us miss the boat to Santa Margherita, we took a quick train ride so we could enjoy some beach time before heading back to the homestead.

Martello declared it the best Monday ever (I’ll forgive him for not declaring that the Monday following our wedding; we knew well in advance that we’d be off work that day, and much as we love New York, a warm Mediterranean beach it is not…)

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

L’Aqua del Sindaco

For those of you who may have missed this story in The New York Times, it’s a great one about trying to get the Italians to cut down on their bottled water consumption in favor of tap (as Trofie Wife may have mentioned at some earlier point, our grocery store has an entire room devoted to bottled water; it’s quite insane).

In Venice, they’ve delightfully denoted it "L’Aqua del Sindaco," or the mayor’s water. Martello and Trofie Wife bought a couple of bottles on our first grocery run in October and just refill them with tap water. It’s not only tasty (and good for bagel making!), but reportedly it is loaded with lots of minerals (the good kind). We must admit that when we are on the go we often end up purchasing a bottle or two, but we’re trying our best to reduce our plastic foot (mouth?) print!

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/12/world/europe/12venice.html?_r=1&ref=world

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Table Tennis Tourney

Here is Trofie Wife’s promised recollection of the Para Table Tennis European Championships!

It wasn’t quite Murderball (that’s a documentary about the US Paralympic Rugby team—see it if you haven’t; it’s amazing), but the competition was certainly fierce.

The event was held at the Valliant, which is a medium-size event space on the grounds of a planned redevelopment that also includes housing and a mall (which was designed so that enough light would come in through the roof and windows such that the Italians could keep their shades on indoors and features a store called “Sonny Bono—Born Trendy”) and is adjacent to the Genova Sampierdarena train station. At least 15 tables were set up around the floor, with little fences keeping the players (and errant balls) penned in. I found a good spot in the viewing gallery, right in front of a singles match, Israel v. Italy (I wasn’t sure who to root for! I ended up clapping for both, which probably confused everyone around me). The Italian player won that match and then teamed up for doubles, sweeping Israel yet again. (At least as far as the EU Paralympics committee is concerned, Israel and Turkey are part of Europe.)

It was pretty amazing to watch the competitors maneuver around the table. I was watching the players in wheelchairs, but there are others who have use of one or both legs, aided by braces or other devices; some players have trouble with their arms. Some of the players in chairs keep a hand on one of their wheels so that they can easily move around, and they are not shy about making each other lunge for cheap drop shots.

I was also able to catch some of the matches between Slovakia and Great Britain (I recognized several of the players from our shared flight and was happy to hear their teammates shout out such encouraging words as “Well played, Jane!” which brought me back in time to camp, where we were surrounded by BUNAC staff); unfortunately for the Brits, the Slovakians cleaned their clocks (I would not want to run into a Slovakian woman (in a wheelchair or not) wielding a paddle in a dark alley; they were fierce!).

Certain countries appear to be really good at this sport—Italy, France, Spain, and Slovakia were winning lots of matches that day. Matches (three games played to 11; must win by two) can go very quickly, especially if one side loses focus. Each game was monitored by a line judge and scorekeeper and boasted a ball girl or boy (who darted after errant balls after each point, just as in tennis).

The only bizarre thing about the event was seeing a large number of the athletes smoking outside the venue in between rounds of competition. That just seems wrong. But I guess, afterall, Trofie Wife must remember that we are in Europe!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife