This Is Not How I Had This Planned

I'm having a devil of a time with the Italian calendar.  Unlike in the US, the Italian calendar starts on Mondays, not Sundays.  So Thursday, when I was in a rush, I glanced at my Google calendar, saw an appointment on the 5th day of the week and off we went...a day early.  This wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't the second time in 3 days that I've done this.  Ollie is not pleased with me.  He is about to have one, or possibly two root canals and all he wants is to get it over with.   Thus, he was particularly displeased when we got all the way to the dentist's office before I realized I had erred once again.

After we returned home, my daughter Jessica, who's here visiting from California, and I decided to go to the Museo d'Arte Orientale Edoardo Chiossone.  This is an exceptional exhibit of primarily Japanese arts housed in the Villetta di Negro above Piazza Corvetto.  Edoardo Chiossone was employed by the Japanese government in 1875 to set up and manage the engraving section responsible for printing Japanese currency.  During his 23 years of residency in Japan, he collected a stunning collection of various art forms from Japan and Thailand which he bequeathed to the city of Genova.   I love Oriental art, especially kimono and porcelain,  so I was very excited to see this exhibit.  Of course, the museum was closed when we got there. This fit in perfectly with the way this week has been going.

Instead we decided to check out the lovely park that surrounds the museum.  

Looking down at Piazza Corvetto

At one time the park was a small zoo.  Remnants of those buildings are still in use, although there are no longer any animals here.
 

The park is also the home of the Gardens and Forests Service of the city

Grottos were built into an ancient city wall.

A view of the city elevator at Spianata Castelletto.

None of the original villetta is still here.  It was destroyed by English bombing during WWII.  Too bad they missed this.

Wildlife...in the city!

After spending a lovely afternoon wandering around the park, we decided to head for home via one of Genova's funiculare.  This required walking through one of the galleria or tunnels that cut through the city.  The first is the Galleria Nino Bixio.  

It is guarded by two very impressive sentinels.

Art Nouveau, called Liberty Style in Italy, and Art Deco statuary is very common in the newer sections of town.  These two have been here since 1925.

It is moments like these that I remember how fatalistic Italians are.  This tunnel is commonly used by pedestrians.  Note the narrow sidewalk.  Note the lack of any kind of barrier between pedestrians and rampaging Italian drivers.  A little speed walking was definitely in order.

A sense of self preservation convinced me not to walk through the twin tunnel Galleria Giuseppe Garibaldi, but to take advantage of the Funicolare Sant'Anna.

A great way to travel.  Note there is only one track.  The uphill car and the downhill car are synchronized to run at the same time.  Midway up the hill about 25 feet of the track is doubled allowing the two cars to pass each other.

Today is another day, and we're heading off to the dentist...again.  I have an inkling something will intrude in Ollie's dental plans again, but perhaps we'll get to see the museum.

St. George and the Dragon

St. George, or San Giorgio, is a very important figure here in Genova.   The symbol of the city is the Saint George cross, red cross on white background, as seen in the right hand column of this blog, not to be confused with white cross on red background which is the symbol of Switzerland.

The cross dates back at least to the time of the Crusades. The use of the cross as the symbol of Genova, probably dates back to the same era when the flag of the Genovese garrison, the red cross on white background, was taken as tribute to the small church of San Giorgio in the ancient Roman market square in what is now Via Giustiniani.

In 1190, around the time Richard the Lion Heart sailed for Sicily on the 3rd Crusade, the City of London and England requested the use of the flag to fly on their ships when they sailed in seas controlled by the Genovese fleet.  This at one time meant almost the entire Mediterranean and the Black Sea.  The Genovese were so respected, or more likely feared, that pirates were often unwilling to attack ships which flew her flag.  For the privilege of flying this flag, Richard paid an annual tribute to the doge of Genova.  This is not to suggest that the English were not already familiar with this flag since armed English crusaders were probably wearing it in the battle of Antioch in 1098 during the first Crusade.

Symbols of St. George are everywhere, but the most beautiful is this fresco on the front of the Palazzo San Giorgio in Piazza Caricamento.

It's really difficult to get a decent picture of this because the world's ugliest freeway, the Sopraelevata, runs right over Piazza Caricamento and in order to get a good shot, you'd have to stand on the freeway.  Something I'm not willing to do, even for you.

That's the aquarium on the other side of the freeway.  An absolute must for visitors.

This beautiful building sits directly in front of the Porto Antico or ancient port.  It was originally built in 1260 by Guglielmo Boccanegra, the uncle of Simon Boccanegra, the first Doge of Genova.  (If you are an opera lover, listen to Verdi's opera Simon Boccanegra and think of Genova.) Interestingly, the materials used for this building come from the Embassy of the Republic of Venice in Constantinople.  Given to the Republic of Genova, or more importantly to the virtual dictator Guglielmo Boccanegra, by the Byzantine Emperor Michael VIII, it was a reward for Genova's assistance in the Byzantine battle against the Latin Empire.  300 years later, Venice and Genova, traditional enemies, would join Spain and others in defeating the Ottoman Empire's incursions into Europe at the battle of Lepanto.

The Palazzo is actually two buildings.  The original one made of brick from the Venetian Embassy.

When Guglielmo Boccanegra was deposed and forced to flee the city, the Palazzo was turned into a prison.  It was here, during his year of captivity as a prisoner of war, the Venetian Marco Polo dictated his memoirs, The Travels of Marco Polo to Rustichello of Pisa.  I can't help but wonder which of these windows Marco Polo might have spent his days looking out of.  I'd chose one with an air conditioner.

In 1407, the Palazzo San Georgio became the headquarters of the Banco di San Georgio, one of the oldest banks in the world, but also the most powerful.  Run by a quartet of consuls, the bank was effectively it's own country within a country.  The bank had greater wealth than it's clients and for 400 years it financed the ambitions of foreign and local princes including the King of Spain.  Much of Spain's gold and silver from the Americas found it's way into these vaults.  It was only in 1804, that Napoleon forced it's closure.

Today, the Palazzo is the home of the Port Authority.  Situated as it is in Piazza Caricamento or "loading Piazza", it's not difficult to transport yourself back to the days when ships unloaded their freight at these very docks to be assessed dogana or customs.

 Wish I could say this was an original galleon, but in reality it was built for Roman Polanski's film Pirates.

Unfortunately, the interior of the building is no longer open to the public, but I was able to get this picture of an antique embroidery showing the city's symbol with recognition of the importance of the sea.

I was going to post this on April 23 since that is the St. George's day, but I found myself caught up in some conflict on a Scottish Facebook page, that completely distracted me.  As you may or may not know, St. George is the patron saint of England.  Not Great Britain, England.  But this is way too complicated to get into here.

As it turns out, it's a good thing that I didn't post on the 26th.  I kept waiting and waiting for something special to happen around here.  Afterall, it's St. George's saints day, isn't the city of San Giorgio going to throw a bash.  As it turns out, St. George isn't the patron saint of Genova.  People think he is, but in reality, St. John the Baptist is the patron saint of Genova.  At least it gives me something to look forward to on June 24, or maybe August 29.  I'm really not clear on this concept, but apparently John the Baptist gets two saints days, one on the day of his birth, and one on the day of his death.  We shall see what the city of Genova does with it's options.

** For those of you who were really disappointed at not seeing Garibaldi in his red cape, I've posted this picture of Garibaldi who is for some reason still wearing his cape.

I realize this looks really fake, but I promise I didn't Photoshop this picture.

5 Maggio

Today, 5 May 2010 is the 150th anniversary of the departure of Garibaldi and the i Mille (the Thousand), from Genova Quarto to Marsala, Sicily in a successful campaign to crush the Napoleonic army in the south.  This was one of the last great campaigns to unify what we know today as the country of Italy.  Garibaldi is one of modern Italy's great heroes and probably the most well know representative of the Risorgimento (unification movement) outside of Italy.  Even within Italy, there is a special place in the hearts of Italians for Garibaldi.  He wasn't a statesman, but a soldier, and an exceptional soldier at that.  Even Abraham Lincoln recognized his talents and offered him a commission in the U.S. Army in 1861.  Garibaldi declined stating that he would serve the cause of the United States only as it's Commander-in-chief, with the power to declare the abolition of slavery.  Something Lincoln wasn't prepared to do at that time.

Garibaldi is also one of Genova's favorite sons, even though he was born in Nice.  Actually, off and on, Nice was part of The Republic of Genoa and in 1860 it was part of the Kingdom of Sardinia which included Liguria, Piedmont and the island of Sardinia.  Garibaldi was seriously annoyed when Nice was ceded to France in 1860 since he believed that all territories peopled by Italians should be part of what would become Italy.

So, I had big plans for today.  I wanted to go to Quarto where I thought there would be a huge celebration.  Maybe there was, but when I got up this morning it was pouring.  There are limits to my willingness to get wet, so I decided to hang around the hill this morning in the hopes that the weather would clear up.  It didn't.  At least not until late this afternoon when I went down to Via XX Settembre to do some quick shopping.  There in front of the Carlo Felice opera house is an enormous statue of Garibaldi on his horse, today swathed in a red cape.  The fountain in Piazza de Ferrari is a spouting a lovely shade of green.  Perfect for great photos, except for the fact I forgot my camera.

So here's a great shot of the Garibaldi statue.  Imagine it with a red cape looking at green water across the street and you've got a good idea of what I'm talking about.

At the next holiday commemorating the unification, I will write about my family secret, hidden in the archives for lo these many years.  It will probably explain a lot about me.

It's a Dogs World

Italians love their dogs.  Most of the dogs you see in the streets are small dogs.  Maltese, Pekinese, Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, and an extraordinary number of beagles.    I don't know why so many beagles, makes me wonder if there's a Italian movie out there staring a particularly adorable beagle.  Perhaps one that doesn't bark at everything.  In general, I think portability plays a large role in the selection of dogs in Italy.  Not dog as accessory as is so popular with the young celebrity crowd, but the practicality of having a dog that can go on the bus with you, or the train, or in the restaurant.  Large dogs are a challenge on a crowded bus, but the little guys just slip under the seat or are carried by adoring owners.

The only place dogs aren't allowed is in the supermercato.

It's not that there aren't large dogs here.  I've seen more mastiffs in Genova than in any other city I've ever visited, in particular a family of what I believe are Neopolitan mastiffs that live in the centro storico.  Each of these dogs is the size of a small Fiat.

Sometimes this love of dogs takes an unusual turn. Several days ago while riding the bus, we stopped at San Nicolo'.  People get off, dog gets on.  Large, very large, mixed breed about the size of a tank with fur, climbs on the front of the bus unaccompanied by any human companion.  He walks slowly through the bus checking out all the interesting smells, then climbs out the back door while the bus driver waits patiently for him to descend.  Could this be a regular routine for our furry friend and can you imagine this happening anywhere else.

 Even mimes have dogs.

Other than my on-going fear that I'm going to step on one of the little guys, my biggest dog concern has been my sweet little dog Morgan.  Morgan is a champion Old English Sheepdog currently shaved down to spare us both the grief of having to groom him out every day.

 Hi.

I guess at 75 lbs it's not exactly accurate to call him little, but he's my baby nevertheless.  Morgan, who just celebrated his 7th birthday, came to Italy as a whole male.  I am a strong advocate of neutering all dogs, male and female, but because of a contractual obligation to his breeder, I did not neuter him when he finished his championship.  In fairness, that's not the only reason I didn't neuter him.  I'm also a coward. Having lost a dog to anesthesia, I was loathe to take the risk of losing another. What I was unprepared for, however, was Morgan's reaction to other male dogs when we arrived here.  Having been used for breeding, he was unhappy to find that Italians don't as a rule neuter their male dogs.  As a result, every time you encounter another dog on a walk, the first question asked of the owner is "maschio o femmina", male or female.  This is not good.   Neither he nor I were happy with our walks, so early in December I took Morgan to our new vet and told her I wanted him neutered.  After recovering from her shock that someone actually wanted to neuter a male dog, we agreed that I would return after the new year.  That's when the problems began.

Problem, I'm no problem.

Shortly before we were due to return to the vet, Morgan began to have blood in his urine.  Of course, this completely freaked me out, so off we went to visit Dottoressa Silvia and began our adventure into Italian veterinary medicine.  What was unanticipated is the degree of "do it yourself" in veterinary medicine here.  Case in point, the owner collects her own dog's urine.  Understand that this means standing on the sidewalk, avoiding other pedestrians and various motorized vehicles, not to mention watching out for other dogs, with a plastic cup in your hand trying to collect a urine sample without getting dog pee all over yourself.  Even with a rubber glove, this was a challenge I was not up to and required a mad dash back to our apartment to wash my hands.  Ollie, of course, stood by to give me encouragement. 

So, for the last several months, Morgan has taken a very expensive medication to deal with a prostate infection, undergone several tests including a sonogram from which we finally got a definitive diagnosis of hyperplastic prostatitis.  Remedy...castration.  At least we're headed in the right direction.

Last week, after months of waiting, it's finally time for surgery.

What???????  You're going to do what??

Surgery was scheduled at 7 pm on Thursday night, so around 6:30 pm we walked down to the vet's office for the procedure.  Around 7:30, the surgeon showed up on his motorcycle, poor Morgan got hoisted onto the table...and chango, presto, 30 minutes and the deed is done.  Except, and this is where the next DIY moment occurs,  they're sending me home with a 75 lb. semi-conscious dog.  I've had multiple dogs, cats, birds, horses and various rodents my entire life, but I have no idea how to care for a anesthetized animal, I've never needed to before.  We'd been told to bring a blanket for him, which I assumed was to keep him warm while he recovered.  But now, as he begins to stir, the real reason for the blanket becomes apparent.   It's going to be used as a sling to carry him in.  A quick call to a taxi and the vet and the surgeon are taking my dog, now nicely wrapped in the blanket/sling and putting him in the back of said taxi.  Before I realize it, motorcycle helmets are firmly in place, doctors are on their respective motorcycles and we're on our way home with a still, semi-conscious dog and we've still got a whopping challenge in front of us.   There are two flights of stairs, one small, one quite large from the entrance of our apartment building to the elevator.  How the hell are Ollie, who's already had 4 shoulder surgeries, and I going to get him up the stairs.  Fortunately, the taxi driver took pity on us, for an extra 5 euros, and helped us carry our still semi-conscious dog to the top of the stairs.  Now all I needed to do was to drag him on his blanket/sling/sled into the elevator and then into our apartment.  Except, Italian elevators are built for Italians, and not very many Italians at that.

Three Italians to be exact and even that is a snug fit.

There's no way that Ollie, I and a prostrate Morgan are going to be able to fit in this thing, which makes me a little nervous under the best of circumstances,  so, since Ollie can't use his shoulders without risking a new surgery, I shove Morgan into the elevator and climb in after him.  Except now I can't close the inside doors.  After a few minutes of maneuvering him around I finally get the doors shut enough so the elevator will run.  Of course I still have to get out of here,  pinned in the corner as I am.  But ultimately we reach our floor and with Ollie's help I'm able to open the elevator door enough so I can leap over Morgan onto solid ground.  (I'm really not fond of this elevator.)

Once again grabbing the blanket, which has remarkably survived this abuse, I drag poor Morgan across the landing into our apartment.  After one tentative attempt to get up, he sinks back into what is now "his" blanket and lapses into sleep...or possibly unconsciousness.

 Zzzzzz

For a few hours of watching to make sure he's still breathing, I collapse into my own bed, completely exhausted, but relatively confident he'll still be breathing in the morning.

Today, more than a week later, Morgan is happy and healthy, and no longer asking maschio o femmina?