To be concise and not to bore with the usual menial details of one's trip which are akin to sitting through two hours of a person's holiday snaps I'll divulge the last two weeks' livelier moments.
I was set to kill in the metro in Milan as no one would give you a straight answer despite speaking clear Italian to them (I reckon sadists). But nonetheless I kept calm for three minutes, recalling that Seinfeld episode where Frank Costanza rejoices 'Serenity now! Serenity now!' to maintain his sanity.
I arrived in Principe station (the one with the sweet statue of Chris Colombus overlooking on excited holiday revellers, people coming from work, economic immigrants and beggars) and found myself sandwiched on the AMT bus on the way to the hostel without a ticket. Yet upon seeing the man armed with his ticket validate gun and his question of "Where's your ticket?" I bailed, recalling a run in with the Polish secret police of undercover bus ticket collectors with my ex and how we had to hand over the equivalent of €20 blood money to them in order no to be taken to the police station. After jumping off the still bus (I'd hardly do an Indiana Jones on a moving bus) with suitcase in tow I hailed a taxi which took me to the hostel overlooking the city of Genoa which is quite captivating what with the colourful buildings, the old historical centre (one of the oldest in Europe), port and ocean as the famous Lantern keeps watch over the waves and the maritime peddlers. Bit of a walk to the city centre, mind, but worth it.
The following week I moved into my new place a few doors away from the uni and in the middle of the city when Adam arrived from Turin for what was meant to be two nights of galavanting in Genoa only for landlady issues coming to fruition over guests unbeknownst to me. Anyway's without putting a damp squib on proceedings we made tracks for my favourite watering hole Ca du Dria which can be best described as the old (and best) Roisin Dubh circa 1999 in a tiny cove of a bar with all the live music outside from Wednesday to Saturday. What entails for entertainment apart from the colourful punters and their constant banter and sipping of wine, coffee or beer while eating free focaccia (hhhhmmmm) is flamenco dancing (amazing), quirky acts (ala early dEUS) and what not with some Saturday night reggae to boot. Proceeding to another sweet haunt is bar Lucrezia hidden in a nook of a narrow street (as are most named i carruggi). They have bands from Wednesday to Sunday with some nights being DJ's but almost all of the punk, indie, hardcore, black metal variety from said acts and deck spinners. Getting drunk with the staff and their mates from Lucrezia they give us free shots from which I felt the next day. Also it may have contributed towards my (admittedly deserved) bitch slap from a Freddie Mercury impersonator from Bangladesh (only guessing). Long story though it had to do with me feeling as if I was getting ripped off for beers Adam and I were buying in this shop near the apartment. I didn't react as the rest of his Queen crew (tight shiny trousers and tops with Erasure type shiny bits) seemed to be excited as Adam recoiled though grinning with a face that wanted to burst out laughing at my idiocy ha, ha!
On the last note of worth I checked out the cemetery in Staglieno which has the tomb featured on the cover of Joy Division's 'Closer' record as well as the grave of Oscar Wilde's wife as well as being frequented by Nietzsche and Mark Twain.
ding a dang dong, eventfull few days
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