Genoa A VOYAGE of DISCOVERY
How Italophile Roslyn Dee fell in love with the earthy charms of Columbus’s intriguing home town
It’s a wet Friday night in November and I’m sitting at one of the tables in Trattoria da Giulia, a homely little restaurant tucked off Piazza delle Vigne and right at the end of a cobbled street. There’s nothing swanky about this particular Giulia. Formica-topped tables with paper tablecloths are the order of the day here, the welcoming basket of bread is simple and unpretentious stuff, and the waitress, when she has a free minute (and even when she doesn’t), keeps plonking herself down to talk to the locals. She reminds me of someone, this waitress, keeps giving me the feeling that I have met her somewhere before. I can’t quite crack it. And then the penny drops. This darkhaired, slender twentysomething, with her casual, unsmiling, almost take-it-or-leave-it air, could be straight out of an Elena Ferrante novel. Except that I’m not in Naples. I’m in Genoa.
Ask anyone to name their favourite Italian city and chances are it’ll be places like Rome, Venice, Florence or Milan that will be trotted out. And that’s fair enough, as all are wonderful cities, bursting with history, culture, and beauty.
Genoa, however, generally doesn’t get much of a look in. And yet it’s a city with loads to offer. Now, it’s not picture-postcard pretty; nothing is forced here, or dressed up to be something it’s not. A bit like the waitress in Trattoria da Giulia, the city itself has a kind of ‘this is me, take it or leave it’ attitude.
And after a long weekend spent in this absorbing place, I’m definitely a taker. In short, I loved it.
I wrote in my column on these pages a few months ago about Andrea Azzinari, the fantastic tour guide that I was lucky enough to spend some hours with in Genoa. To see his home city through his eyes was a highlight of my weekend, but even for the complete newcomer, and without the advantage of Andrea’s insider knowledge, Genoa is an easy city to explore. A mixture of gracious squares and widelaned boulevards, cobbled streets and narrow laneways, it’s essentially a tale of two contrasting cities. Add the fact that it is Italy’s most important commercial port (it’s Christopher Columbus’s home town, after all) and you then find that you have another layer altogether, and a similar kind of vibe that you might encounter in the likes of Marseilles or Naples. My first surprise comes when I arrive at lunchtime on the Friday. I’ve come by rail from Milan, on the train that runs to the south of France.
Out of the station I head, and grab a taxi. ‘Hotel Palazzo Grillo’, I tell the driver, settling back in my seat. Just a few minutes later and we are turning in front of the cathedral of San Lorenzo with its magnificent black and white striped marble facade, and then bouncing down a narrow street over the ancient cobblestones. From there we take a left into another street and grind to a halt. The taxi can go no further, as my hotel is even deeper into the maze of medieval streets that form the heart of Genoa and, as such, it’s in pedestrians-only territory. I had no idea that this was the case in Genoa, that so many little streets, the ‘caruggi’, are a complete no-go to traffic. It’s a great plus when you are just wandering around and helps, of course, to preserve the essence of the place.
My hotel, a beautifully restored ancient palace, looks out over the lovely Maria delle Vigne parish church and the locals come and go all weekend, in and out of the church, or sitting outside one of the little cafés on the square, just shooting the breeze with friends. It’s just up around the corner from here that I stumble into Trattoria da Giulia out of the rain for my Friday-night encounter with the Elena Ferrante waitress.
There are two definite boxes to be ticked when you visit Genoa. The first involves a stroll along Via Garibaldi, the city’s grandiose 16th century ‘Strada Nuova’ and the place that is home to so many of what are designated ‘Palazzi Rolli’.
When Genoa was a republic, these palaces were the stately homes belonging to the Genoese nobility and there are still some 120 plus noteworthy palaces in the city, with those on Via Garibaldi with its UNESCO World Heritage status giving you the best flavour of these magnificent buildings – all spectacular staircases, stunning courtyards and private gardens.
It’s also museum territory here, with three of the palaces falling into that category and replete with magnificent art. The three in question are Palazzo Rosso, Palazzo Bianco and Palazzo Doria Tursi.
And my favourite? Palazzo Doria Tursi. Beautiful in itself, I find myself fascinated by the rooms dedicated to composer and violinist Niccolo Paganini. I stand in wonder at the glass cases there, just looking at his instruments and particularly at his famous ‘Cannone’ violin.
The other box to be ticked on any short stay in Genoa is actually the city’s most popular tourist attraction – its aquarium, one of the best in Europe. Not particularly my
A MIX OF GRACIOUS SQUARES AND WIDE BOULEVARDS
thing, I have to admit, but I find it mesmerising nonetheless, and really well designed, with loads of space for the marine life to frolic to their hearts’ content.
In the end, though, what I love about Genoa is, well, just Genoa.
The city itself – its slightly down-at-heel atmosphere, its medieval streets, and its fantastic food market, heaving with locals on a Saturday morning.
And I love the way you can jump on a street elevator to reach the city heights to catch some great views, that there are so many churches with a story to tell, and that there are specialist shops in profusion, shops that have been family-owned for generations and still retain their old-world charm.
I spend ages looking at the famous ‘mezzari’ fabrics in Giovanni Rivara fu Luigi and tasting the confectionery in Pietro Romanengo which has been part and parcel of the Genoese streetscape since 1780. And then there’s my Elena Ferrante trattoria.
On my formica-topped table that Friday night I am served one of the best dishes of ‘spaghetti vongole’ I have ever tasted. Even throwing in the mopping-up bread, a couple of glasses of house wine, and a pannacotta, it is still ridiculously cheap. And the sideshow – my great view of the antics in the kitchen, the waitress conversing passionately with the locals, the owner appearing every now and then with a newspaper in his hand, surveying the scene, and then disappearing again – is absolutely free.
The next day, I return for lunch and sit myself down at the same table. I’m after some of their dolphin-sized prawns this time. Elena, as I have come to think of her, emerges from the kitchen to take my order. This time, she even manages a smile.