Farinata: What Sailors in a Storm Can Do With Chickpeas

The cold wind slices it's way through the narrow alleys of the old city. It ruffles your hair and chills your ears until you can feel it through to your brain. It finds its way into any opening you may have forgotten in your clothing: down the back of your neck, up the bottom end of the back of your windbreaker, or even up through the ankles of your trousers.

You never know when to expect it. You leave home and it's warm out. You feel stupid walking around with a jacket - overdressed. After all, it's not Winter yet. So you leave home without it. Then out of nowhere the wind picks up and you stand there in your T-shirt freezing. This is Autumn, and surprisingly enough it has been a rather dry Autumn this year. It usually rains heavily for weeks and during that time the temperature drops drastically.

The cool air is still a novelty after the hot summer months, it seems to give you new-found energy (although you feel dead tired by the time evening comes). And at this time of the year there is nothing better than a piece of hot farinata to warm you from the inside. Better yet if you can eat it while you walk, taking in the sights and sounds of the city while you savor one of its most valued specialties.

If you have never tried it, it's very hard to describe. It must be one of the simplest dishes around, made only from chickpea flour, water, and a bit of salt and olive oil. It tastes heavenly. But be sure to eat it hot. It's still good when it's cold, but not as good as when it just comes out of the oven.

The recipe is quite simple: the Wikipedia page in Italian suggests mixing one part chickpea flour to three or for parts water in a terracotta bowl.

You then mix it in, making sure not to leave any lumps. The mixture must then be left to rest in the bowl for a few hours (from two to ten... apparently you decide). Mix it from time to time so that the flour doesn't settle on the bottom.

When you are ready to cook it, pour some olive oil in the traditional copper tray, called "teglia" in Italian. Again, the Wikipedia page suggests one part olive oil to 5 or 10 parts chickpea flour used in the batter (or you can just pour the oil into the tray, until the surface is covered with a layer of olive oil).

Traditionally, farinata is prepared in a wood-burning oven (like pizza), which must be hot. If you are cooking in a normal oven at home, 200 °C will be enough. They then suggest putting the tray into the preheated oven for a few minutes before cooking the actual farinata. This is supposed to prevent the farinata from sticking to the tray.

You then remove the froth from the surface of your batter with a spoon, and using a ladle you pour the mixture into the heated tray, starting at the center. The mixture should cover the tray with a 5-10 mm layer. It should not be thicker than 10 mm.

You then cook it until it turns golden brown, as you can see in the picture. In a pizza oven, the cooking temperatures are a bit higher so it takes much less time. A cookbook I have at home suggests 30 minutes at 200 °C in your home oven, obviously while keeping an eye on it to see that the color is right.

This is truly an ancient dish. There are records of ancient Greek and ancient Roman recipes for pureed legumes mixed with water and oil and baked to form a similar result.

One legend that Wikipedia mentions sets 1284 as the year of its creation. Apparently, that year Genoa defeated Pisa (both powerful maritime republics at that time) in the battle of Meloria. The prisoners they took were put to work rowing the ships back to Genoa, but the ships got caught in a violent storm. Sacks of chickpea flour and barrels of oil were thrown around, mixing together on the deck.

When the storm was over and the sailors discovered this mess, they had no other supplies and were forced to collect whatever they could off of the deck and eat it as it was. Raw chickpea flour and oil must have been quite nauseating, and many of the sailors left their bowls in the sun. When they gathered them later on, they discovered the mixture had baked in the sun, and tasted much better.

When they got back to the port, they decided to try baking it in the oven, and the Genovesi have loved it ever since.

A Tour of the Forts Surrounding Genoa - Part 3

Having rested and enjoyed the view for a while, you leave the Forte del Diamante behind and make your way down the hill along a path which, as you can clearly see in the picture above, follows a zigzag route down the mountainside.

Your destination now is the Forte del Fratello Minore (in English: Little Brother Fort). As you come to the end of the zigzag stretch down from Forte del Diamante, you come to another fork in the road.

You take the path on the right, heading uphill, through the bushes as you can see in the picture. At the top of the hill you come to a relatively flat area. Here there was once also a Big Brother Fort (Forte del Fratello Maggiore), and you actually walk right over its ruins, without even noticing it if you're not careful. You'll see there are traces of brick walls at ground level, but nothing sticking up anymore. From here you get a good view of the Forte del Fratello Minore.

As you can see, the path from here is quite clear. Unfortunately, when you get there, you find the actual fort, just like the Forte del Diamante, is closed, and you can only look at it from the outside. However, there are plenty of interesting corners and things to explore around the outer walls.

As it is, what was once the entrance to this place now looks like this:

You leave this fort the way you came, but you'll notice on your way back that the path splits into two. Instead of heading back up towards the ruins of the Forte del Fratello Maggiore, you now stay on the right and head in the direction of the  city. This part of the walk is mostly in the open and in spring you'll find lots of wild flowers adding their color to the mountainside. Even in late summer, splashes of color are not as uncommon as you would expect, especially after the August heat.

The path now follows the top of the ridge, heading to the next fort in the tour, Forte Puin. You can see both the path and the fort here:

Forte Puin was built between 1815 and 1831, in the place of a previous fort dating back to 1742. It has been private property since 1963 and is reported to have been restored more than once in that time. The name Puin is said to come from "du Puin" in the local dialect, which in Italian would be "del Padrino", and in English "of the Godfather" - although that's as far as the local tourist brochure goes in the explanation, and you are left to figure out for yourself why it should be called that.

Having walked around to the front of the fort, you can walk right up to the gate and have a look in, and then head down the very grand stairway that leads away from the entrance towards the rest of the path. You then come to a point where the path splits again. This is marked by a large brick and rock thing in the middle, a larger, pointy part sitting on top of the smaller part - I suppose it was meant to be a signpost of some sort at some time, but there's nothing written on it. From here you'll see a fort surrounded by antennas up ahead, the fort eventually hiding behind the hill and leaving a lone antenna as a warning.

You can go up there to explore if you wish, but if instead you turn down to your left, the path takes you down a steep hill through what the signs advertise as the "valley of butterflies". There are truly millions of them. Obviously if you go in Spring there will be even more. The overall effect is quite magical the first time you walk through there, and along the way there are signs telling you what types of butterflies there are in the area so you know what to be on the lookout for.

This part of the walk comes to an end very quickly, and you find yourself, all of a sudden, next to a trattoria, with a barking dog down on your right and, if you're lucky, you may even get the chance to meet this horse who apparently belongs to the lady from the trattoria. The two of them kindly accepted to pose for a photo together.

You now come back to the path you first followed, and retrace your steps all the way back to the Funicolare station in Righi past the rescue dog training center and the archery club.

Overall this whole walk will only take you 3 or 4 hours, depending on how fast you walk and on how long you stop along the way to explore your surroundings. I think that makes it an even better walk because it doesn't take the entire day away from you and you get to see so much in that short amount of time.

You can also get a small pocket guide to a number of different walks among the forts (there are many others) from the local tourist office in via Garibaldi for about 50 cents. If you do happen to travel to Genoa sometime, take the morning to go on this walk, you won't regret it!

A Tour of the Forts Surrounding Genoa - Part 2

So you've reached the end of the first part of this tour of the forts in the hills surrounding Genoa. By now, you should have a good dose of fresh air in your lungs. That's good, you're going to need it. It felt like you were already on top of the mountain all this time. But there's a surprise just around the corner.

As you stand at the end of the path, turn your back on the road and the bar and look back the way you came. You'll see that there is another path going up to the right of the one you were on.

As you head up this pathway and disappear in the bush, you'll notice it just keeps climbing. Now, depending on how fit you are, doing it at a quick pace can be quite exhilarating. You feel like the mountain just keeps going up, and the further you go the more the North wind helps cool you down and seems to blow all your mental chatter away and soon it's just you and the hill. Here's what the path looks like during the first part:

The bush can get quite thick on the way up. The markings on rocks and trees are more confusing than anything. I've been up a number of times and I honestly think that it doesn't really matter which one you take, they all lead up the hill in the end. But to be on the safe side, I'd suggest always sticking to the path on the left hand side, since it seems to be the most direct route. After a while the trees and bushes start to fall back and you find yourself walking up the hill in what is usually long dry grass.

In the springtime the flowers in these parts of the mountain are incredible, but being autumn right now there are fewer of them. From this point on it is quite easy to follow the path up to the Forte del Diamante (literally Diamond Fort). As the wind constantly sweeps the mountainside and your heart races, as your legs start to feel seriously challenged for the first time so far, you look up and see this:

Yes, that's where you're headed, and it's further than it looks, but keep going, it's worth it. As you reach the top of the hill, almost at the same angle as the slope in front of you, you finally reach the outer rock wall of the fort, climb up the few steps leading up to the top of the walls, and take a moment to look around and catch your breath. The views that meet your eyes speak for themselves:

If you turn your back to the sea and look inland, you'll see both the Val Bisagno (on your right) and the Val Polcevera (on your left). These two valleys, which follow Genoa's two rivers inland, do not communicate much in everyday life. They are not directly accessible. To get from one to the other you either go all the way through the city, around the coast, and up the other side, or you get the highway (autostrada) which goes through a series of tunnels and gets you there much quicker. Yet from up here, they seem to all blend in to a single valley.

At 660 meters above sea level, you are high enough up to get some perspective on the city. Napoleon's troops were under siege in this fort in 1800 by the Austro-Piedmontese army. It was abandoned in 1914 and restored, to some extent, in 2005. You cannot go inside, but you can explore the outside for a while and just enjoy the views.

I'd suggest looking down that drop before lunch. It's a vertical shot with the lens pointed downwards. This is a great place to stop for a picnic and relax for a while before moving on with the tour. Also, the toughest climb is now behind you, so you can just think about enjoying the sites from here on.

If you go through the arch and around to the front of the fort (the part facing the sea) you'll get a breathtaking view of the Western part of the Ligurian coast. That's the part that goes towards the French border. The day I took these pictures it was a bit cloudy, but on a clear day you can see far along the coast, and from up here, on really clear days, you can even see Corsica on the horizon.

(to be continued)

A Tour of the Forts Surrounding Genoa - Part 1

Sometimes, with the help of the weather, the holiday vibe doesn't wait for you to be on holiday to try and take a hold of you. Fortunately, the weekend is always just around the corner. One of my absolute favorite one-day escapes is the tour of the forts surrounding Genoa in the hills behind the city.

One such area is the Parco delle Mura, a nature reserve on the upper edge of the city. From the city center it only takes a few minutes to get there. By car it takes about 5 minutes, up winding, sometimes incredibly steep roads, and once you arrive there is always plenty of parking. On foot, you can climb the hill in about 20 minutes, maybe half an hour if you wanted to take it easy.

The best way to get there, especially if you are exploring the city for the first time, is on the Zecca-Righi Funicolare. Now Largo Zecca, the lowest station on the line, is easy to miss because it is tucked away in a corner. The best way to make sure you find it is if you go towards Largo Zecca from Piazza della Nunziata. At the traffic light, on your left hand side, behind another little road going up the hill and one disappearing around the corner next to it. In that hidden corner you will see the little sign for the station.

If you are claustrophobic, this is perhaps not the best alternative, but it is really worth the ride. These tiny two carriages take you up the hill through tunnels and in between houses and gardens. Some of the stations are on such a slope that the platforms are entirely made up of stairs. It takes about 10 minutes to reach the top, you get an "inside" view of parts of the city you would not see otherwise, and the whole thing only costs you 1.50 euro for a standard AMT bus ticket.

When you reach the Righi station, at the top of the hill, don't leave the station without stopping for a second on the terraces on the roof of the station to look out over the city and see how far you've come.

As you exit the station, you will see two roads on your left hand side. One going uphill and the other going down. Take the one going down, and immediately turn on to the path leading through the trees next to the tennis court. This path will lead you all the way to the beginning of your actual walk, without having to walk in the middle of the road and dodge the cars.

This path is quite interesting itself, it takes you first past the local archery club, and later, after keeping to the right where you come to a fork in the road (seen in the picture above), past another club that trains rescue dogs. Finally, while skirting the old city walls, on the outside, you will spot the first of the forts you will visit during the day. This one is called Forte Sperone, and as you come to the end of this first path, you will keep Forte Sperone to your left and continue up the road to your right.

This road soon turns to a dusty mountain path, which follows a large pipeline. It's ancestor, an ancient aqueduct, runs along a similar route, but further down in the valley. You will find plenty of people out here, most running or riding their mountain bike, a few walking their dogs. Along this road, you come to a fork: on the left you will find a trattoria, and a route that goes more directly up to the forts surrounding the city. I like to take the other route on the right. It is a bit longer, and later on it is even a bit tougher, but I think it gives you a better idea of the countryside in Liguria (in case you're wondering, that's the name of this region of Italy).

An hour after leaving Largo Zecca, if you look back towards the city this is what you'll see:

Not long after that, as the number of trees surrounding the path gradually increases, you come across something really surprising: the ancestor of the modern ice machine. The system worked like this: you dig a deep hole in the ground out in a cool, shady area of the mountain, pack compressed snow inside it during the colder months of the year (which then turned to ice), insulate the whole lot with straw and dry leaves, and sell it down in the city, carrying it down block by block on the back of a mule.

The neviera, as it is called in Italian, originally looked something like this:

What you see today, of course, makes you feel a bit more like Indiana Jones. There is no covering of any kind and the stone walls of the inside of the hole are just recognizable through the creepers and other plants growing in and around them. But if you look closely you can even see the small stairway that goes down one side to the bottom of the pit.

Back on the path, after about ten minutes you come to the end of the first part of the walk, just above a place called Trensasco. You will notice an actual road where you thought you were quite isolated from civilization, and even a small bar just a little way ahead.

(To be continued...)

Summer Stroll

There are few things more relaxing than a stroll along the water's edge in the evening.

Generation after generation of Italians have grown up this way and lived this way their whole life.

The sun sets - eventually. It only really gets dark at about 9.30 p.m. in summer. The air cools. Tanned bodies in sandals and light summer clothing wander aimlessly. It's all about the pleasure of the moment. Ice-creams are eaten. Little children get to stay up late because their parents couldn't bear to stay at home when the evening is so cool. Teenage summertime romances are enacted each and every evening like an ongoing play - in episodes. Ice-cream parlors, arcades, pubs and restaurants with waterfront tables. The occasional event on a makeshift stage: singers, plays, TV comedians making a little extra money during their off season, or beauty pageants where teenagers get to parade up and down in front of the whole town.

The Porto Antico area in Genoa is a city version of all this. In fact, the coast of the city is lined with urban versions of this scenario. Corso Italia is the historical seaside promenade, and further up along the coast is the Marina Aeroporto area, which is quite recent.

I often go out for an evening walk in the Porto Antico since I live nearby.
On the evening I took these pictures, I discovered that my favorite relaxing place in the city - a group of barges with park benches on them I also discussed in the aquarium post - is finally back in place and open to the public.

Being the middle of summer, there is plenty of activity even well past midnight. This floating club is a good example (ok, a blurry example but you get the idea).

But it's not too hard to find quieter places - even just a few meters away from the clubs.

The western end, around the Galata Museo del Mare, is much quieter in the evening. During opening hours, this is a very interesting museum that deals with the city's historical connection with the sea and the maritime world.

The eastern end, on the other hand, is much more lively, with lots of pubs and restaurants. The streetlights are even brighter for some reason. Families walk up and down eating ice-cream (the famous Italian gelato). This is a national summer pastime - I can think of at least five ice-cream places in that precise area alone. Single people head for the clubs in search of company. The brave head for the outdoor karaoke place - here everybody can see and hear you.

On this particular evening, a group of English students decided to have an evening swim right next to the Coast Guard's boats - and right in front of the karaoke place. They stole the scene for a while, attracting horrified looks from some and amused looks from everyone else. The locals wouldn't be caught dead swimming in there - it is a port after all, so the water is polluted. Soon people got used to them and the karaoke drowned out the excited squeals in the background. I am almost sure most of the squeals were coming from the English tourists and not from the few old men hanging over the railing wishing they could join in.

Just past the karaoke area is a long series of buildings known as the Magazzini del Cotone (Cotton Warehouses - which is what they were before they were turned into restaurants, pubs, cinemas, etc.). On the front side you can walk along and look at boats I assume to be parked in order of increasing wealth.
Somewhere in the middle they become luxury yachts and toward the end, most of the time, I think they should be called ships and I'm quite sure they could easily house a family of fifty.
After the last and largest vessel, the buildings come to the end, and it is suddenly more peaceful and you can stand or sit awhile, looking out across the port, taking in the cool sea breeze.

And then, finally, like millions of other Italians all around the peninsula, you turn around and stroll back in the opposite direction.

Almost Tropical

The humidity hangs in the air like a heavy, suffocating coat. You wake up feeling hungover even though you had nothing to drink the night before. Your joints ache and you start to wonder if maybe your dinner last night had been poisoned somehow.

You get up, go through the motions like every other day. Willing yourself on. So much so that you forget to look out the window and up at the sky.

As you sit having breakfast, the first sign that catches your attention is when the lights flicker almost imperceptibly. You've seen and felt all the signs before, but as usual the heat and humidity, combined with the commitments of everyday life, distract you.

You leave the house, uplifted as always by the stillness of the morning air. Only this time the stillness is yet another warning that you fail to notice.

A giant drop of something wet lands directly on your head. Never a pleasant experience in the old city - it could be anything. You look up, scowling, hoping to catch the culprit as he silently retreats into his window (or nest).

That's when you notice that the sky is not its usual bright blue. It's dark, almost black. At that moment the next drop hits you square on the forehead, and you understand just as the heavens open and a wall of water hits the city from above.

Like so many scared  animals, people dash for cover. You notice people in Bermuda shorts and sandals already soaked from head to toe.

The force of the rain is so strong, gutters and drainpipes fail to do their job and turn into miniature fountains. Hitting horizontal surfaces, the water bounces right back up again, creating an interesting two-way rain effect.

Like many of the other people who live here, you do your best to avoid getting completely soaked by sticking to the upwind side of the street or piazza. It's no use, of course, but you'll at least be able to fool yourself that it could have been worse.

As fast as possible, you make your way to the portico near the waterfront. Here, you can finally stand, relatively sheltered, and absorb the massive energy of the storm. You just stand there for a while in the crowded shelter. About ten people ask you if you want to buy an umbrella. Everyone and everything seems alive, vibrating.

Then, after a while, just as  quickly as it started, it stops. The air is cool - frizzante they say here (like mineral water - sparkling). In ten or twenty minutes time the sky will have turned completely blue again. The sun will be as hot as ever. But just for  today, in the shade it will be refreshing and the air will be less sticky and humid.

The city has had a well-needed wash. People who have been soaked through to the bone stand there and smile, refreshed, and quickly drying off in the morning sun.

And you continue on your way, all aches and groggy feelings finally gone.

Extending The Largest Aquarium in Europe

It has finally turned in to a hot, sticky, energy-zapping August here. Summer kept us waiting this year, and as is usually the case when that happens, the heat and humidity it finally brought with it are barely tolerable (ask any real Genovese).

Anyway, it's a Saturday evening and after over-filling my stomach I decided to go out for a walk along the water's edge in the very “touristy” part of the port known as the Porto Antico – which is ironic because in its current layout it is rather modern, and probably the newest part of the entire port – the rest being completely off-bounds to most people anyway.

I think the original work to modernize this part of the city was carried out for the 1994 commemoration of the 500^th anniversary of Columbus's discovery of the Americas.

Among other things, the Porto Antico area is home to the city's aquarium, which happens to be the largest in Europe, as well as the main tourist attraction, even for Italians from other parts of the country.

As I headed towards the sea, I noticed that there were more people than usual out this evening, and that's when I remembered they were installing the new extension to the aquarium, in the form of a giant dolphin tank.

The aquarium is designed like a tanker ship, parked alongside a pier that sticks out into the heart of the port. This pier is one of my favourite parts of the city, but not because of the aquarium (impressive as it may be).

If you walk straight past the aquarium and keep going until you get to the very end of the pier, you would normally reach this favourite place of mine: a series of three six retired barges that have been transformed into three floating public decks with railings all around the edges and lots of park benches to sit on, soaking up the sun or staring dreamily into the water, while the waves gently rock you.

This is perhaps one of the quietest, most peaceful and relaxing places you will find anywhere in the city although I have never been able to understand why.

Unfortunately, for several months now my beloved barges had been moved off to some remote and inaccessible corner of the port while dredging was carried out to make way for the dolphin tank, which has now been dragged through after it was built in a boatyard somewhere else in the port.

The front of the “ship”, which usually houses a restaurant, a curio shop and another public area with benches, was moved to one side; the dolphin tank attached in the middle; and then the front was added back on again.

I am happy to report that the barges now seem to have returned, although they are still closed off for now and not yet in their normal layout. Some further dredging is being carried out in the same area, so it may be a while before they are actually reinstated, but at least I can see them there.

On the downside, I measured the total length of the new dolphin tank module (a large swimming pool with an enclosed glass corridor along the public side of the deck next to it), and found that it measured roughly 100 of my own paces, walking slowly. At a run it would no doubt take me much less. I can only begin to imagine how many seconds it must take a dolphin to swim from one end to the other.

I will keep my eye on the situation and let you know when the barges are definitively back and just how happy the dolphins are looking once they move in...

Top Ten Temptations for People with Wheat Allergy in Genoa

It's no secret that the food in Italy is exquisite. It is more than a simple cliché. However, for someone with a wheat allergy, living here can (almost) turn into a nightmare. The temptation to "treat" yourself ("Just this once...") is just around every corner. And before you know it your liver is giving you trouble, or that rash on your cheeks comes back and won't go away...

The following are my top ten teasers... you have been warned.

1) Brioche - the Italian answer to the French croissant, sometimes referred to as a "cornetto" or a "pasta", depending on the location and the specific product. It is THE companion to your breakfast cappuccino, almost a staple for the sweet-toothed.

2) Focaccia - no matter what anyone else tells you, there is nothing like the real thing anywhere outside of Liguria. It is the savoury alternative to a brioche at breakfast time, with onions on top or just plain. The other thing that makes it so tempting is that it can be eaten at any time of the day and is usually the cheapest solution to an empty stomach.

3) Focaccia di Recco or Focaccia al Formaggio - completely different from ordinary focaccia, it is even made with a different quality of flour. Two paper-thin yet elastic layers surround a hot, runny middle layer of stracchino cheese. Once you are aquainted with the standard version, try any of the infinite varieties of toppings, much like on a pizza.

4) Pizza, obviously - whatever the shape, size or thickness, pizza is and forever will be my favourite forbidden food. In some places you may find your pizza is made with stracchino cheese instead of mozzarella.

5) Pasta - trofie al pesto, to begin with, is THE traditional dish in this area. Then lasagne, cannelloni, ravioli (or the local version, pansoti), or just plain and simple pasta with a tomato sauce (no ketchup!), two basil leaves, and a sprinkle of parmesan cheese... I know many Italians who don't consider it a meal unless there's pasta in it (and even then, for some it has to be a specific type of pasta).

6) Bread/Grissini - grissini are bread sticks. You don't want those skinny white things that come in single-portion sachets at restaurants, you want the giant, rustic-looking things you buy directly from the bakery (a "panificio" is the place you're looking for). The bread is, well... bread. In all shapes and sizes. If it weren't for my allergy to wheat, I could live on bread and cheese alone, quite happily. There are thousands of different kinds, and most people know the specific name of the specific bread they are looking for. After nearly two decades in this country, I still just point to the one I want.

7) Torta Pasqualina - traditionally an Easter-time speciality (Pasqua means Easter), but usually available all year round, this is a local spinach pie with whole boiled eggs and ricotta cheese. There are various recipes. In many bakeries you can buy a wedge of pie and just eat it while you walk.

8) Crostata - a "pasta frolla" cake (judging by taste, I'd have to say the base is flour, butter, and sugar in almost equal parts), with just about any topping you can think of. The most common are with apricot or strawberry or cherry jam, with nutella, or with fresh fruit in a sort of gelatine.

9) Biscotti del Lagaccio - they look like oblique slices of baguette, only they are sweet and crunchy! The ideal dipping biscuit, it goes well with hot chocolate, or tea, or a caffè latte in winter, and easily passes the dunking test by reaching your mouth before it breaks... most of the time.

10) Panini - can basically be any kind of bread with any kind of filling. There are now a number of tiny (really tiny) shops around the city with windows jam-packed full of cold meats, cheeses, and various fresh or pickled vegetables to choose from. You just walk in, choose the single ingredients from about a hundred alternatives, and they put it all together right before your eyes. The original, and much older versions of these shops are to be found in the "sottoripa" area, just behind the aquarium. Try wild boar sausage (cut in slices, salame style) with the "misto piccante" (spicy vegetable mix), just for example. You will not regret it.

Of course, the list could go on and on, but these should give you an idea. As you can see, if you have a wheat allergy, eating can be quite challenging in this country , especially if you are eating out.

The irony in all this is that I had allergy tests just recently, and I have now been told that I do not, in fact, have a wheat allergy. I don't know if that means that I don't have one any more or if I never did, but it would appear I have tortured myself over this for years for no reason (other than having had other tests years ago that told me I did).

Maybe being surrounded by all this good stuff just made it go away...

Doing Battle... With a Pigeon!

Springtime this year has been unusual to say the least. The amount of rain and relatively low temperatures have left most people around here feeling cheated out of the most beautiful month in the year (everybody will tell you it's May, just not this year...).

In spite of this, and the subsequent difficulties the Italian agricultural sector is facing, I decided to try and grow some of my own food on my 95 cm x 25 cm windowsill. I know that sounds ridiculously small, and it is. But just out of interest, here's what I've managed to fit in that space (including four pots, in all different shapes and sizes):

• 8 pea plants
• 3 future laurel bushes (which are currently only 15 cm high)
• 22 bean plants
• 20 radishes
• Much more basil, which was originally planted in one pot but now keeps cropping up everywhere
• About 5 mini apple trees which came up from seeds from my supermarket-bought apples, and which I really didn't expect to do anything
• One small olive tree, which was already there last year.

Quite impressive, right?

But let me take a few steps back. Once I'd bought the pots and filled them with soil, ready to plant the seeds, I wake up one morning to find twigs and earth all over the place.

After standing there stupidly for a while, I decide that it was most likely the neighbor upstairs with her washing. Since my floor of the building is quite short, when she hangs out her bedding or towels or anything else that size, it very often hangs down to eye level in front of my window.

So I think, "Ok, she didn't do it on purpose". I pick up all the spilled earth etc. and put it back in the pots.

The next morning I wake up and it's the same business all over again.

I diligently clean up - again - and put the soil back in the pots, mainly just thinking "well, that's odd".

The next morning I wake up and it's worse than ever. Now, I try my best to be a calm person in my everyday life, but by nature I am somewhat highly strung, so by now I am not so peaceful about the whole situation.

The problem is, there's no washing hanging on the line upstairs, so how can I blame it on my neighbor? There  is no window opposite this one, and anyway who would dig up my little pots just out of spite? Could it be that the spirits are playing tricks on me for their own amusement?

Then I hear a familiar flutter of wings down below and I realize who the culprit is...

There he sits, two floors down and one building across, on an abandoned balcony among old forgotten blankets and other dusty remnants.

He looks at me sideways. He has that guilty look and I just know he's grinning inwardly. He's just thinking "So what are you going to do? Stand at the window all day? You're going to have to turn your back on me sooner or later."

So I get to work. I cut a long piece of thick cardboard with a jagged edge to fit along the top front edge of my pots. I then tie a piece of string along the front, a bit further up. I also glue two old CDs together and hang them from above, so they swing and sparkle in the wind.

That'll show him!

The next morning I wake up and almost immediately go to the window. Obviously, all my new "decorations" are still in place, minus the soil, which is all over the place again.

I go to shower. As I'm drying myself off, through the misty window I see the pigeon do a helicopter-style vertical landing, wings closed, right in the middle pot, through the space remaining between the window glass and the string.

With the veins in my forehead now bulging dangerously far out, I run over to the window, still dripping water all over the place, and BANG on the window.

The pigeon, as one might expect, leaves a reminder of his brush with death in my plant pot, and attempts a hasty take-off through the restraining string. He gets away fine, but takes the plant pot over the edge with him.

Now it's my turn to have a heart attack because, well... I live on the sixth floor and if a pot falls on somebody's head from that height it will probably kill them.

I open the window and luckily find the pot hanging by the string... perfectly upright!

So I get dressed, and sit down to make a homemade barbed-wire "cage" for my future plants.

I even tie a crow's feather to the front, thinking maybe he'll recognize it and stay away.

I then faithfully plant the seeds and wait for my plants to grow.

The days pass and no more holes appear.

The days turn into weeks. The seeds into plants. I feel I have won the battle.

Until this morning, that is.

I wake up to find my feathered friend on the very edge of the windowsill, his head through the tiniest square of space, tugging at the corner of the pot he can reach.

Now, by this point my window already looks embarrassingly like some sort of voodoo shrine. So I have decided, rather than freaking my girlfriend out even more by adding more rubbish to my window, I will have to admit defeat and let him keep his corner...

The Trattoria in the Country

One of the local traditions that I particularly like is going out into the country, to a relatively remote or isolated trattoria, for a large meal. This is typically a Sunday lunch, or lunch on any of the number of public holidays during the first part of the year, but can actually be just about any time of the week if you have the time.

This type of meal differs from eating out in a restaurant due to its limited menu. This sounds like a bit of a disadvantage, but the fact is that the menu is limited because normally they bring you everything they make...

These meals are so large that unfit stomachs can have problems finding space for all this food, but with a little practice, it soon comes easy to anyone.

It also happens to be one of the best ways of getting to know the local cuisine in its authentic version, since these trattorie are usually family run and rely on recipes that have been handed down from generation to generation.

A typical lunch at a trattoria goes something like this:

• If the weather is nice, you may very well be seated outside.
• The ambience is relaxed, nobody is in a rush to go anywhere, and if you have any hope of actually finishing the meal, keep in mind that this is most likely to take you something like three to four hours.
• Once everyone has wine and water and any other drinks, the starters are served. Usually there are two or three starters served one after the other. Typical starters around here could be carpaccio with grated parmesan cheese and rucola salad; or fried focaccette with soft, runny stracchino cheese inside.
• Then comes the main course... well, the main courses, since there are usually at least two main courses: trofie pasta with the original fresh basil pesto alla Genovese, or pansoti, a local kind of ravioli, with a "secret" herb filling and walnut sauce, just to name two of the possibilities.
• By this point, I assure you, you will think the meal is coming to an end. Or that your belly is about to burst. Portions are usually generous. Take some time to breath, have some more wine to wash it all down, and then brace yourself for the rest because you're only at the halfway mark!
• Then they serve the second course. Again, two second courses is usually the minimum, typical examples are: stewed wild boar (cinghiale) with potatoes; wild rabbit (coniglio)with pine kernels and olives; or fritto misto, which will change depending on the area, and can be in the mountain version or the seafood version, each containing a number of different ingredients, all served fried in batter and often hard to recognise until you taste them.
• Once the dishes from the second courses have been cleared, you start to feel quite drowsy.
• For dessert, there is usually some form of gelato (Italian ice-cream), maybe served with fresh strawberries, tiramisù, or fruit salad, just to name some of the alternatives.
• After that, an espresso followed by the local limoncello liqueur (or any other of the "digestive" liqueurs to be found behind the bar counter) gets your heart racing like you've been running a marathon.

This unique feeling of being drowsy while your heart and digestive system seem to be running full speed is quite pleasant, and when you finally manage to get yourself out of the chair, what better way to let the meal settle than an afternoon stroll in the fresh air and spring sunshine?

Getting Lost and Losing Yourself... In a Cemetery!

The Monumental Cemetery of Staglieno

I get off the bus. The sun is shining and it is quite warm in spite of a chilling wind making its way down the valley along the Bisagno river.

That same wind contributes to the "isolated" feeling that will accompany me for the following two hours.

I make my way around the Western corner and enter from the side entrance, past numerous stalls selling flowers and tombstones, as well as votive candles.

It's a Sunday morning, so there are many elderly people with bunches of flowers in their hands, heading in to greet loved ones and, I will later discover, lovingly change flowers and candles and even wash down their marble memorials.

The cemetery of Staglieno has been described as "an open air museum" for its wealth of sculptural art, dating back as far as 1850, and therefore spanning most of Italy's history as a single country (the 150th anniversary of the country's unity was only celebrated the year before last), but it is still a working cemetery, and among the graves that have evidently been there for at least a century, there are many much more recent than that, so it is a tour that should be taken on with the utmost respect for those who are there for personal reasons.

That said, the shear size of this place makes that particular part of the task easy.

Passing through the entrance, I immediately turn right into the "Lower Arcade", surrounding the original rectangular-shaped cemetery, which many vast extensions have now transformed into what strikes me more as a small village. There are even two bus lines in the upper parts of the cemetery, allowing people to get where they are going without having to spend an hour making the crossing.

As I turn in, the light grows immediately dimmer and I find myself surrounded by marble statues.

 

 

They are no longer "new and snowy" or "perfect", as Mark Twain described them in "Innocents Abroad, or The New Pilgrim Process". That was published in 1869 and the statues have since lost their snowy-ness, now various shades of light grey-to-black, and their surfaces have turned rough in the weather. No doubt they were beautiful when they were new, but I still find them breathtaking in their current condition. Perhaps even more convincing.

Time seems to slow down as I make my way past hundreds of unseeing eyes. I am usually a very fast walker, but here I feel my pace slow down increasingly the further I go on.

Luckily, I am taken out of my initial stupor when a very kind old man takes me by the elbow and points me in the direction of the one statue he thinks I really must see. He gives me a short version of the story. A lady named Caterina Campodonico, nicknamed "the peanut pedlar", worked her whole life selling peanuts and biscuits to pay for her own personal monument, built while she was still alive by a famous sculptor of the time, Lorenzo Orengo.

After telling me, again, that I must go and see it, the old man disappears through an archway and I continue my walk around the arcade. By the time I get to the end of my visit, I will forget to go and see that particular statue, which means I will have to go back there sometime and have another look around.

I continue my tour of the lower section, including a semicircular wing added to the Eastern side. It is quite interesting to see the difference between the various statues/monuments and their meaning, at least as far as the sculptor is concerned, although I am sure the messages portrayed here were subject to the approval of those paying for the work.

One tomb, for example, shows an old man, in all his frailty and completely naked, with nothing but a sheet to maintain his dignity, sitting at the bottom of a long, steep stairway leading up to God, and already looking very tired indeed.

Whoever this person was, they were obviously aware that they were taking none of their earthly belongings with them, unlike the many that took the trouble to point out that during their time on this Earth they had been a "lawyer", a "doctor", and "admiral", or even an "honest banker"...

Climbing the stairs of the Pantheon, there is a similar, though smaller rectangular layout, and the whole effect is very much the same. I don't get a chance to look inside the Pantheon (I don't even see if it is open), as I am busy following the many signposts pointing in the direction of Mazzini's tomb. If you get distracted and follow these sings, they take you all the way around the back and into the forest, where the tombs of various important historical figures are forever in the shade of beautiful trees.

Some of the monuments, in fact, are quite overgrown, to the point that you start to wonder if anyone remembers they are there.

It is at this point that it becomes easier to get lost. There are lots of dead-ends and stairways leading to fields in various phases of abandon and/or being dug up. Luckily, there are frequent signposts with maps of the cemetery and it's not that difficult to at least go in the right direction, although that doesn't necessarily mean you will see all the things you would like to see.

I eventually end up passing through or around the Jewish and Orthodox parts of the cemetery without even noticing the difference (and I was looking for them).
As for the Muslim part, I see no sign of it anywhere, although on my way down a stairway, through a hole in the rock wall on my left, I spot a whole other field, abandoned I'm quite sure, of more graves under quite a heavy attack from the local plant life.

At the end of the stairway I do manage to find the English part of the cemetery. Among others, there is the tomb of Mary Constance Lloyd, wife of Oscar Wilde as the grave itself states, although I have read that the whole reason she was in Genoa was to get away from him.

There is an Evangelical chapel in that part of the cemetery, as well as various signs reminding the Italians not to put votive candles and sacred images up in that area.

After that comes the military part of the cemetery, with many monuments to the various armed forces, and then, the same way I went in, I'm out again, standing at the bus stop in the wind two hours later.