A Visit from the West

The second weekend of May, Martello e Trofie Wife were very happy to play tour guides to our first guests since winter, i parenti di Boston, Nonno Fondente e Nonna Menta (because if you haven’t already noticed, this blog is at least 33.3 percent devoted to gelato). Martello was luckily able to sneak out of work on the earlier side, so we could meet them for a late dinner in the heart of Genova. Fondente e Menta were good sports as hotel recommendations from the locals weren’t quite as great as hoped for; any future guests planning on staying in Genova proper would do best to consult the guidebooks/travel professionals instead of us (via our Genovese peers)! Nevertheless, we had a fantastic, food-filled weekend; Martello and I were practically rolling ourselves around on Monday!

We walked around the main touristy highlights of Genova, stopping for lunch at a great pizza joint in the Porto Antico and enjoying late-afternoon window shopping. We parted briefly before dinner, during which time Martello and I ran into some interesting happenings, including a protest to save local, family-owned stores (featuring free focaccia; the Italians really know how to throw a proper protest!), another organized leafleting against the closing of vicoli (small alleyways) to prevent crime (which could, in turn, harm local businesses positioned around these streets and “privatize” the city), a conceptual art piece being filmed (the guys were all wearing shirts that said “Play” and had speakers on their backs, blaring static), and most charming of all, an a capella tour of the city. We were just aimlessly wandering when we heard several melodious voices break into the unmistakable “Ba, ba, ba, ba, Barbara Ann…” We looked up and saw these guys:

[We somehow got a picture of this, but neglected to get a picture of us with our visitors. Noi dispiaciamo!]

Turns out, one of the churches was hosting a concert of singing groups from various parts of the country. They were “rehearsing” (and advertising) through a progressive concert (the “Genova Jam Tour”), which entailed stopping at various points around the city to show off their skills and range. It was pretty funny.

We also found a really amazing food store (yes, yes, Trofie Wife knows, they’re everywhere, but this one—as we learned after ingesting—had especially tasty products, including pasta cioccolato!). We carried our future pantry items into yet another delicious meal at a restaurant down by the porto. We somehow managed to digest by the time Fondente e Menta found their way to Arenzano the following morning to see our home and taste some local gelato, which they agreed was excellent. We should add that they have been dubbed according to their gelato flavor selection. Now Martello e Trofie Wife learned rather quickly that it is de rigueur to select at least two gelato flavors even when you order the smallest of cones. Martello tried to school i parenti in this custom, but they were beholden to their preferred flavors and hesitant to let another taste sensation impinge upon their respective beloved gusti.

With gelato tasting now checked off the to-do list, we were ready for the next adventure. And a trip to our neck of the woods would be incomplete without a true Italian experience: a train strike!

Yes, we learned—after Martello had sprung for prima classe tickets (which are kind of a joke on regional trains; you get an extra inch or two in the seat and possibly another armrest)—that the train was quite slow to arrive. After lots of conversing on the platform and inquiries at the ticket desk, the potential passengers learned that there was, in fact, a mini-strike afoot (which apparently no one had bothered to inform the ticketing agents about) but that the next train would be arriving…shortly.

Once we finally arrived in Genova, the requisite confusion continued as Martello had the taxi driver drop us off at the residential instead of the business number where our dining destination was located (yes, Genova is that crazy: on the same street you can have the same house number twice—the black one is a commercial building while the red one is a residence and there’s no rhyme or reason as to how anything is arranged). Thankfully, after an appetite-inducing walk, we finally located the restaurant and had a delightful last supper before the departure of i parenti for more relaxing climes. Martello and Trofie Wife thank them for their good humor when faced with some of the absurdities of life here (which nonetheless make for great storytelling)!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Pasqua e Pasquetta

With the seders now over and a long Easter weekend ahead of us, Trofie Wife returned to exploring Italian culture. Being in Italy for yet another sacred Catholic holiday made Trofie Wife want to see some more examples of traditions that she would not soon view again. After some Googling and snooping around the cathedral provided no information about any impending passion plays or Stations of the Cross, Trofie Wife resigned herself to missing out on any unique religious displays; perhaps she'd make it to Rome for that sort of event at some point. And then the phone rang. It was Martello. He had missed the bus, and in the midst of walking home from the office, he ran into legions of parading Arezanans.




Turns out, they were reenacting the Via Crucis (Way of the Cross) at around 9:00 p.m. or so in the evening (I had thought it occurred during the day but perhaps the event corresponds to the hour of Jesus's death?). The camera and I swiftly met him just in time to document the procession. It was a very poignant display of devotion, with hundreds of people holding candles or just walking in silence and then singing after each station (as directed by the priest via megaphone). The town band played and various crosses and statues of the passion and its aftermath were carried by men with holsters (though I have to ask why so many elderly men were lugging things; couldn't they find any hulky youngsters to volunteer, or maybe it's an honor for a church elder...).




Our neighbors walked along the sea then up the hill and back to the local parish church, S.S. Nazario E Celso, which dates from the 18th century (I had previously only known it as the church on the way to the train station...); plenty of our fellow heathens walked parallel to the route, observing as we strolled. Just as the procession made its way back to the church, the skies opened and it began to pour. They quickly brought in the assorted crosses and statues, and everyone ran inside for cover; Martello and I followed them in order to get a glimpse of the magnificent baroque cathedral.




We saw a flier hanging in the cathedral announcing that all Italian churches would be collecting funds for the L'Aquila earthquake relief this coming weekend. (Note: Abruzzo is about 400 miles south and east of Liguria; we haven't seen or heard much about the earthquake locally aside from this solicitation. Of course, the major national media outlets are following the story closely; on Wednesday night our favorite news program, Exit, discussed the astronomical cost of rebuilding. This time around, Italy needs to take a cue from San Francisco and Japan on how to properly construct earthquake-ready modern buildings.)

As we were leaving the procession, Martello asked why Passover was called Pasqua Ebraica (Jewish Easter), since the two holidays, he said, have very little in common. Trofie Wife countered (thinking at the time that it would make a great academic paper) that beyond the seasonal overlap (and the similarities between Lent and giving up leavened products), there's a case to be made that both holidays center around dramatic historical reenactments of the central moment in each religion's history (the Crucifixion and the Exodus). Martello countered that the revelation at Sinai was the crucial historic moment in Judaism, yet I replied that Sinai was impossible without the Exodus (chicken/egg much?).

Aside from getting our much-awaited gas tank, not much happened on Saturday (aside from sleeping and catching up online). Trofie Wife expected Easter Sunday to be pretty dead, given everyone being off at church or eating with their families. Surprisingly (yet not to Martello, who had suspected it all along), things were open in Genoa. We finally made it to an exhibit at Palazzo Ducale, which Martello had been hoping to check out for a while (it was lackluster) and enjoyed our wanderings through the farmers market (again I ask, on Easter? in Italy????) and our gelato senza coni. We sat by the Porto Antico for a while and noted a sushi joint and microbrewery that we agreed to return to post Pesach. We returned home to make, by hand, chestnut flour gnocchi. It was quite the production, but the dish actually tasted quite good, especially due to chief saucier Martello's valiant efforts with the frying pan. We look forward to making gnocchi with real flour soon!


Pasquetta (or little Easter) is Easter Monday. It's a fantastic holiday, its sole purpose being outdoor picnics (Jesus rises, brings 80 degree weather?). We walked on the path from Arenzano to neighboring Cogoleto and enjoyed the sun in each spot, although we were overdressed for the beach and envious of all the folks in their shorts and bathing suits. Martello even spotted a small family of Hasidic Jews (probably down from Milan for the day and even warmer than we were, given their black trousers) who were also enjoying their Pasquetta. Sadly, the weather hasn't held up and any hopes for a return to the beach this weekend are slim.

Well, that brings us up to date with the wanderings of Martello e Trofie Wife. We are hoping for some fun, local adventures in the next few weeks with the arrival of the Slow Fish Festival and some visitors from near and far. Stay tuned!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Carnevale, Genovese Style

Fat Tuesday (martedì grassi) had technically already occurred on the prior Tuesday, yet Genoa conveniently scheduled its big carnevale celebration for the following Saturday, when our guests were in town. After failing to get moving early enough to take the old-timey train into the country, we set our sights on visiting the San Lorenzo cathedral prior to viewing a portion of the carnevale (but not before le simpatizzanto della destra and I took a nice walk to the grocery store, spotting a peacock a’courtin’, his feathers fanned and the female peacock completely uninterested in his display).  Upon arriving in the city, we slipped into the so-called Oriental Market (reminiscent of the Arthur Avenue market in the Bronx) and then made our way down Via Septembre XX, which was closed off, 5^th Avenue parade style and covered with costumed, silly-string-spritzing and confetti-throwing revelers (Trofie Wife especially liked the below dino get-up with optical illusion included).

After wending our way over to the cathedral, we strolled to the Porto Antico and cute Sarzano neighborhood (which houses the University’s architecture school through an imposing castle gate and stair and thus 1) an inviting architecture book shop and 2) a chic thrift store, which respectively await the return of Martello e Trofie Wife) on our way back to the Piazza De Ferrari for the conclusion of the carnevale festivities—an homage to Purim. We’re not sure if this is an annual occurrence or not, but the carnevale organizers decided to include a mention of the story of Purim and some Jewish music at the end of the general carnevale celebration. It was late in the afternoon, but the sun was not totally down, so (from what we think we understood), the Jewish community president couldn’t make it to the celebration, but a representative of the community wished everyone a good carnevale on his behalf and then there seemed to be an exchange of commemorative plates. A great band played a mix of old and modern, likely local and more familiar Jewish tunes. The crowd that remained, largely thinned from its mid-afternoon height, was grooving right along, and we’re pretty sure that only a handful of them had heard this brand of music before. 

A small gathering of protesters carrying Palestinian flags and distributing a lengthy explanatory handout soon wandered into the crowd. Trofie Wife couldn’t really digest it while dancing (and without her extra-large dictionary), but nearly managed to fully translate it a week later. [Note: Martello takes issue with the fact that the following description makes the protest out to be more impactful on our day than it was in actuality. To which I say, Trofie Wife spent an hour and a half translating said handout while he was watching some dubbed, dumb movie from the ’80s, and I’d like to put my effort on display.]

Theirs was a two-folded protest. The first reason they had gathered (and we’re not sure if they were present during the full carnevale celebration or only the Purim part) was to express their frustration that the Jewish carnevale was being twinned with the city of Jerusalem. Each section of the multi-stage carnevale was devoted to carnival traditions of a different country (for example, Italy, Croatia, Brazil, etc.). The protesters took issue with the fact that instead of pairing the Jewish carnival with a country, it was paired with a city (which they believed was done to avoid mentioning Israel following the Gaza operation), and, as they explained, an international city that did not solely belong to Jews. Ignoring the overall tone projected from such statements, at the most basic linguistic level, Martello and I were confused by this assertion, because none of the carnevale literature that we had received mentioned either Jerusalem or Israel (the twinned area was denoted “the Middle East”), nor did we see any Israeli flags, as the protestors had also lamented, meant to signify Jerusalem and the Jewish carnevale. This piece of the protest seemed to lack much traction (especially since protesters had apparently expressed their frustration to the organizers who didn’t quite understand their complaint either and thus chose to ignore it).

The second, more cogent, reason for their protest was that the organizers and Commune of Genoa had invited the Jewish carnival (which they noted was a “religious holiday”) and thus the religious Jewish community into the old city of Genoa while simultaneously attempting to prevent construction of a mosque in the old quarter where the bulk of the religious Muslim population resides. The growing movement to halt mosque construction throughout Italy is not only xenophobic, but incredibly foolhardy if Italy hopes to fully integrate Muslim immigrants into their communities as opposed to further isolating them. I’m not sure if there is any sort of Islamic carnival (and if so, where on the calendar it falls), but clearly if such a holiday were contemporaneous with Carnevale and Purim, the Genovese Commune should have welcomed its celebration. Short of such a fortuitous opportunity, the community should do what it can to make its newest minority community feel at home; issuing permits to allow them to construct their own house of prayer is as good a place as any to start. Of course, welcoming the new should not be done to the exclusion of continuing to celebrate the unique virtues of older minority and majority communities. The protestors—according to their literature, a mix of ethnic Italians, Jews, and Muslims—also should have pointed out that even if the connection has become looser as Italian society continues to secularize, carnevale has deep roots in the Church and thus along with Purim is a religious holiday, and therefore, in their eyes, its public celebration in the face of banning mosque construction should be just as frustrating as the public celebration of Purim, if that is, in fact, their main message.

All in all, while it was annoying to be handed fliers while I wanted to dance, it was a respectful protest, with viewers mainly ignoring the protesters and protesters not being verbally disruptive of the concert in any way (most of them hung in the back or on the sides while a couple worked the crowd with their handouts); I doubt a similar protest in the States would have taken on such a quiet demeanor.  

Following the end of the music, Trofie Wife finally got her hands on some zucchero filato (cotton candy! bearing a surprisingly straight-forward name as opposed to the fanciful French barbe à papa), after seeing it in the hands of way too many babes and not her own. It was delicious! 

We then made our way over to Piazza del Erbe for some aperitivo e stucchini (happy hour with free snacks!). We passed up going to a party thrown by Martello’s co-worker in favor of hitting the sack early so we’d make it to our Sunday destination—the fabled Cinque Terre— at a godly hour.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Gimmel Comes to Genoa

This past weekend brought the warmth of holiday cheer to our casa italiana, as we anticipated the beginning of Chanukah coupled with the opportunity to greet our very first visitor! The holiday cheer actually began for Martello on Friday evening, as an impromptu (well, at least as far as he knew; sometimes they forget to tell him stuff) Natale feste took place after hours at his office, which kept him late (and reportedly, dancing the night away). The wee hours of Friday night coupled with very long workdays this week kept Martello (and Trofie Wife, by association) in bed late on Saturday afternoon. By the time we finally got moving, the stars were beginning to shine, this being the shortest day of the year and all. Just before we headed out on a quick errand/walk through town, Mrs. Furley stopped by to make sure that our holiday decorations were hung (we did ours, then hers; matching dinky strands of tinsel unlike those of our neighbors across the way, who are displaying beautiful, fresh wreaths (as per Mrs. Furley’s protocol, we couldn’t hang ours until theirs were hung)). While we didn’t expect to be hanging Christmas decorations on our first married Chanukah (though we recognize that our doing so is providing Trofie Wife’s father with outsized joy), they’re at least more secular in nature than the iconography around the house! (In addition to the dinky tinsel, Mrs. Furley brought over a bouquet of faux poinsettia as well as a mini tree with gold balls and stars.)

The neighbor's fresh wreath

Our dinky tinsel

Sunday brought yet another lazy day, though Trofie Wife and Martello did manage to get on a train to Genoa prior to the sun setting. Since the September visit, Trofie Wife has been eagerly anticipating the Ellis Island exhibit at the Museo del Mare, located in the Porto Antico (Old Port) area, convinced that it told “the other side” of the immigration story (especially since the advertisements stressed Genoa’s importance as a departure point for so many Transatlantic ships). Unfortunately, Trofie Wife was deeply disappointed when it became clear that the exhibit was, in fact, a portable visit to Ellis Island (which she has visited several times in its rightful home). This exhibit also had a US Holocaust Museum twist, wherein visitors receive a passport upon entry, and they can follow the story of their “immigrant” and see where he or she landed (Martello wasn’t quite sure who he received, but Trofie Wife was assigned the woman in search of her lost baggage who was famously photographed by Lewis W. Hine; see http://images.lunaimaging.com/images/AMICA/Size0/NGC/ngc_.22901.jpg) The permanent collection of the museum was, thankfully, worth our visit. It tells the tale of Genoa’s rise as a port and describes the intricacies of the socioeconomic relationships (slaves, guards, rowers; see below pictures) within the system (though Trofie Wife believes that the role of women in port life—footnoted as merely members of the oldest profession—is likely severely underrepresented in the exhibit). 

A slave hauling luggage

The vigilant overseer

Other museum highlights include a vial of Christopher Columbus’s ashes and a great history on Andrea Doria, who was responsible for creating financially-savvy fleets of Genoa-based mercenaries and thus building great wealth for himself and the city (in turn, furnishing much of its great cultural legacy). Museo del Mare is definitely on our list of must-sees for Genoa visitors.

And speaking of visitors, on the First Night of Chanukah Alitalia brought to us, il cugino de Martello. We’ve had a great couple of days with him, the highlight being lighting all together our homemade menorah, which Trofie Wife fashioned (with design support from Martello) out of two small squares of cork board from the hobby shop and bullone (nuts) from the hardware shop (see pictures below). Via the Italian Jewish listserv that Trofie Wife subscribes to, she was able to locate some local tunes for candlelighting and other songs (note, however, that “Maoz tzur” sounds very familiar). For your listening pleasure: http://www.archivio-torah.it/feste/hanuka/accensionehanukia.mp3

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife