Holiday in Transition # 6: Mediterranean Adventure Begins

And so at last the cruise is underway.  Everything went well with the bus transfer from Rome out to Civitavecchia ("Ancient City"), about 75 kilometres northwest.  It's a pretty small artificial harbour sheltered by breakwaters, but there are a number of superferries running to Sardinia and other Mediterranean ports, a cargo wharf, several cruise ship berths, a military ship moored against the outer breakwater -- and plenty of fishing boats returning to port at sunset, trailing their clouds of seagulls behind them.

The ship actually sailed while I was having a late dinner in the ninth-deck buffet, and I didn't even realize that we were moving until I felt everything shift position slightly, first one way and then the other!

The bad news?  The sun forgot to hop on board with us.  For the first time since London, I woke up to cloudy skies near Genoa.

Princess Cruises has achieved a pretty respectable booking for this long positioning cruise to North America, about 600 people out of a possible 670 according to the announcements.  Many have been on board for several weeks already, from Cape Town, and some came even before that from Dover.
One thing I've noticed right away, though, is a major change from my French Polynesian cruise in January/ February on the same ship.  Then we had a respectable mix of age groups.  Now, I seem to be in the bottom 10% by age -- I'm feeling younger by the day!

Genoa proved to be a fascinating port city, built on a series of steeply-sloped hills around the semi-circular harbour.  At first glance the harbour looked far too small to be a major port as we came crawling in, but it expanded to a surprisingly large space, busy with cargo ships, drydocks, a sizable ferry port, and the cruise terminal where Ocean Princess presently moored.  And as I later discovered, there was a larger new port farther west, next to the oceanside airport.

My tour of the day was a bus drive around to the old port district, where buildings crowded close alongside narrow twisting lanes, making a confusing maze.  Our guide was a Genovese-born lady who knew the streets like the back of her hand.  She showed us many fascinating details of the buildings as we walked through the narrow laneways. 

Her best joke was when she was showing us two palaces: one with genuine carved and sculpted window details and pilasters, and its next door neighbour where all those details were painted on in very fine trompe l’oeil.  She told us that it’s a running gag that the Genovese are to the rest of Italy as the Scots are to the rest of Britain: famed for being cheapskates.  And other Italians point to Genoa’s famous trompe l’oeil tradition as proof that the Genovese are too cheap to hire a sculptor!

As we snaked our way uphill, the guide pointed out how many of the buildings have shrines to the Virgin Mary built into them at the street corners.

She also showed us how the laneways are so narrow that the cornices at the tops of the buildings sometimes seem to touch!

Our first major stop was the Cathedral of San Lorenzo, a fine example of Tuscan/Ligurian Gothic architecture, with the characteristic stripes of contrasting stone used on the façade and in the interior.  Much of the building is close to 1000 years old and a good deal of restoration work was underway inside.  Fortunately the work areas didn't block the view of the spectacular chapel dedicated to St. John the Baptist.

Farther up the hill we wandered into the loggia of the Palazzo Ducale, which – despite its name – was actually the residence and working headquarters of the elected Doges of the Republic of Genoa.  It’s now a combination gallery, museum, and performing arts centre.  We entered through the beautifully carved eastern front...

...and came out through the trompe l’oeil northern front onto the Piazza del Ferrari with its huge fountain.  This marks the dividing line between the new and old town.

The streets between the domed buildings are two of the main shopping streets of Genoa, so here the tour broke ranks for an hour and a quarter while people whizzed off in search of shops or – in my case – a late morning snack.  I watched another couple in front of me race into McDonald’s with cries of joy.  I’m glad to report that I am certainly not that desperate!  But I soon found a nice little café and had a filled roll and bottle of water.

Back at the Piazza, we carried on down to the Chiesa del Gesu, the Jesuit Church.  It’s smaller than the famous Mother Church of the order in Rome, but every bit as ornate.  One of the artists represented is Peter Paul Rubens who actually came to Genoa as an ambassador, but then got commissioned to paint two huge altar pieces for the Gesu as soon as the wealthy patrons realized who had turned up at the Doge’s court!  One of the pictures resulting from this commission depicts the Circumcision of Christ, while the other depicts St. Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuit order.

Every altar in the church has a similarly large painting.  The ceilings and domes are lavishly decorated with gold leaf – or it may even be solid gold.  A little of it is very beautiful, but the overall impression I get is of overkill, and after a while it just gets to be way, way too much of a good thing.  I remember having the same reaction to the Chiesa del Gesu in Rome back in the 1970s.

One last walking leg took us around to look at one of the two old gates from the medieval city walls which are still standing, and next to it the very modest house which is said to be the boyhood home of Cristoforo Colombo.  

Some of the Americans on the tour were a bit affronted at how tiny it was – which made me chuckle.  This is a fine example of what happens when popular mythology takes a firm grip on history and twists it all out of shape.  Following a short drive we returned to the ship where I had a late lunch after 2:00 pm (which is really late for me), and then relaxed the rest of the day away.

One thing I learned, our guide wasn’t kidding when she told us that tourism in Genoa was still a fairly recent phenomenon.  As we gathered back at the bus, I heard many people commenting that shopkeepers, restaurant staff, etc., never seemed to have any English – and that certainly never happened in Rome.  No matter where I went in Rome, there was always someone who knew some English.

However, at dinner I overheard a gentleman telling the others at his table of something he had seen that morning as we sailed in.  I had missed it, being on the wrong side.  So I went up to the top deck, watched as the ship cast off at about 7:45pm, and then stayed there, leaning on the rail as we glided slowly down the harbour.  And as we came parallel to the dockyards by the exit to the ocean, there it lay: the sad remains of the Costa Concordia, slowly being reduced to scrap.  I hadn’t brought my camera, partly because it was so dark, but mainly because it was something I’d rather not have a lasting visual reminder of having seen.