It's 8:45 am and we're gathering at Centrale for a daytrip to Genova, or Genoa if you prefer, although the Italians, not surpisingly, don't. It's a Space Cadet Special, so we expect to encounter a monument to disorganization. (See Venice Trip. Also Como Trip. Note to self: figure out how to put in links for cross referencing.) So far, we are not disappointed. The Space Cadet herself is rushing about madly and mindlessly. She is not, it turns out, going with us. She may genuinely have a conflicting appointment (more poor organization for the "Organizer") or she is staying here out of a sense of self-preservation. You decide.

Since she, herself, is not going, she puts Our Benevolent Dictator in charge, largely because she was the first to arrive. Ms. Dictator is not happy about this turn of events. I think OBD is lying, as she loves to be in charge. On the other hand, this trip was "organized" by the Space Cadet, her information and instructions are hazy at best, and OBD hates to be in charge of failure. Our Benevolent Dictator, if nothing else, will not be so eager to show up early next time, methinks. I was deputized to perform shepharding duties along with Herself, however, which was no big deal. Two head counts are better than one and all that.

I turned up my customary 10 minutes before departure, with my customary first class tickets for Angie and myself, and so am spared the worst of this. What I do find is Angie, with an Italian woman whom we do not know that managed to latch on to Angie anyway. This woman is part of the trip, but does not know where to go or what is going on.

Welcome to the club, Sweetheart.

She also doesn't speak English well. A chance to practice my Italian! Added bonus: she does not know I am practicing, and my Italian must be improving, because after a few minutes, she picks up speed and uses several slang terms and idioms that I have never heard, although one or two (in regards to Space Cadet, who has abandoned her and who she just now finds out is not going on the trip) sound quite interesting. I also find out that she signed up on this trip to practice and improve her English. I admire that. I should do the same-- on an Italian speaking trip, of course.

I suggest she get on the trian subito, as it's about to leave. "But aren't you coming with me?" No, I've purchased my own tickets, and am going first class. Her ticket, of course, is with the rest of the group, who are hopefully somewhere on the train, in second class. She responds, quite huffily, that she sees no reason to squander money on first class for a one hour trip. I say whatever, as the trip is, in fact, 1.5 hours, and that the total extra cost is 10 Euros, including seat reservations. Worth it to me anyway.

I find out later from Ms. Dictator that when our Italian friend did catch up with them, she complained that the second class car was disgusting, and wanted to upgrade to first. I found this hysterical, as did OBD as she was getting rather tired of keeping track of our Italian friend, who has a habit of wandering off and getting lost, then getting annoyed at us and OBD in particular. I also find out that the Ms. Omniscent was also annoyed at the Cadet, for not providing a ticket for her. Ms. Omniscent had not paid for a ticket, however, so it's unclear whether the Cadet actually told her she would. Ms. O should have known better and made sure, especially as she knows everything, in her mind at least. Everyone did have seats, as M. bought the tickets. (People are learning!) Ms. O bought hers on the train and paid the penalty which is no big deal. She bought a return ticket at the station in Genova. First class.

But once we got to Genova, the poor organization part of the trip was over. Our guide was excellent, even if she did have us tromping up and down and back and forth all day, and even if she did think a quick sandwich was an adequate lunch. We disabused her of that notion. Given the first half of our forced march, and contemplating the second and what time it would be before we got home, there was just no way a panino was going to cut it. She gave in to that with good grace and possibly some relief. I think the Cadet had told her that a sandwich would be just fine, personally. Of course, the Cadet thought that pastries at 2:30 in the afternoon was adequate substanance in Venice, even if the group wouldn't get back to Milan until after 8:30 at night.

Our guide is an architect, which meant that we trooped around all day looking at buildings. If you're going to do such a thing, Genova is as good a place as any. It was heavily bombed during WWII, and they're still rebuilding and restoring. In some cases, they've grafted a modern building on to and around the still standing portions of the fortresses and churches, and on the whole they've done a good job. It's fascinating, actually. And they've restored some medieval churches that are just unbelievable. And our guide was able to get us into buildings that the public in general, much less tourists, don't get to see. It's amazing some of the palaces that have been turned into government departments and universities and the like. It's like Palazzo Litta here in Milan, which is now the executive offices for the Italian railway. Unlike when we went there, however, there were actually people at work in Genova. We saw one rococco horror of a meeting room in the Department of Agriculture and So Forth that blew my mind. All those guilded curliques! It was worse than the baroque of Palazzo Litta, and it gave me a headache even faster. Impressive, yes, but I can't imagine thinking and coming to important decisions in that environment. In the case of the railroad, of course, it explained a lot. But in the case of agriculture etc? They're better men than me, although the guy said that you get used to your surroundings, don't even notice them anymore. I did notice, however, that they had covered the long, mirrored board table with a cloth. It's too much to have all that guilding and overblown art looking up at you as well as covering the walls and ceilings, I guess.

Dickens (who lived there for a while) wrote that Genova had the most beautiful women in all of Europe. They still do. In fact, they seem to be the very same ones. Problem is, they forgot to replenish the supply. This may have something to do with the attractiveness of the men who fathered the current crop. And, unlike the rest of Italy, the Genovese, in the main, appear to have no style. This may have something to do with the shoe issue.

Genova, they say, is a very "vertical" city. This is a euphanism for "holy shit, are these streets steep or what". Like most hill towns, it has it's share of staircases masquerading as streets as well. The store windows are full of flat, sensible, rubber-soled shoe monstrosities. I shouldn't have worn high heeled boots, in retrospect. Also, they were hot. But all my cute outfits that will tolerate low heels (and there aren't many) are all either wool or at the dry-cleaners, so what can you do. My feet survived far better than they probably should have, though, and I managed not to fall down in a spectacular and embarrassing manner, which was my real worry.

Genova has a few other drawbacks as well. In the flurry of restoration and rebuilding, many of the houses that did survive have been allowed to crumble, especially in the historical center. Of course, Genova began decaying when they lost their seafaring empire shortly after they refused to finance Columbus, long before the bombs of WWII.

That said, I like the historical center, it's a warren of narrow streets and tall narrow buildings, with the air of the Medina or a souk. It's full of life, and I love that. I like to wander around, just looking at shops and people and buildings (of no particular architectural merit despite their age). On the other hand, it's dangerous, especially after dark. Yesterday, I saw three people shooting up in the atmospheric little piazza in front of San Matteo, which is a medieval church with comes complete with a gold Byzantine mosaic of Christ Pantocrator on its facade. I saw this at four in the afternoon, in full daylight, and they were anything but furtive. In comparison, the junkies in the Hauptbahnhof look like paragons of moral rectitude.

So that's Genova, then: one sprawling, rather unlovely paradox.. Dynamic, rebuilding, restoring, decaying, declining, dangerous. Planning for the future and trying to figure out how to survive the day.

Now, how did I get into such a pompous mood? Must be time for lunch.