San Giovanni di Genoa

Arriving in Genoa on the name day of its patron saint, Giovanni, was like being gifted a city. A very old, silent city, filled with tall, elegant stone mansions side by side from the hilltop to the sea.  


The streets were empty. No traffic. No pedestrians.






Shops were closed.  Chocolate tortes remained behind glass windows and wrought iron bars.


The few others who chose to wile away the afternoon in the shade on a bench overlooking the town were silent as well.  We were each lost in our own reverie, the wind through the pines wafting memories of lives here over the past 2,000 years. I was imagining 1889 here.




Following the Siesta and the World Cup, folks poured down to the seaport for a low key, African fair trade festival.




Afterward, I stopped in at a small restaurant and had by far the best spaghetti I have ever had.


Yet another statue of Christopher Columbus. Genova was his birthplace.