So I Get Off The Ferry . . .

The voyage from Barcelona to Genoa was pleasant and uneventful. Old but serviceable, the 9 level “MN/Excellent” cut through the rough seas with ease, delivering us an hour ahead of schedule.

Pa and I disembarked quickly and within minutes were in the queue for passport control, ahead of us just a gentleman and his dog. That’s when the adventure began.

Turns out, either the man or his dog, or both, weren’t liked. 30 minutes passed before we were checked through. They didn’t bother to inquire of Pa’s credentials. Shortly after, we were in the duty store on the lookout for a taxi. A sign directed us to the street, but there were no taxis, ever. Another 30 minutes passed and we headed out on foot, placing limited faith in the offline navigator app. Right off, it was confused. Fortunately, I’d taken a screen shot of the route,

and so knew the general direction. But knowing west to east only gets you so far.

Good fortune struck, however. A taxi driver stopped to inquire if we needed help. Opening up Notes, I showed him the Palazzo Zecchino spelled out and the address in Italian. He assured us he would get us there. 20 minutes passed. I wanted to believe we were closer, but really had know way of knowing. The kind man finally admitted that he didn’t either. He did promise to get us as far as the Piazza Caricamento, beyond which only pedestrians are allowed. Beggars can’t be choosers so we stayed with him another 10 minutes then exited. With a warm Genoese smile, he wished us well.

The adventure continued. One kind person after another offered to help. The last, a kindly old man closing his book shop for the day, walked us as far as the Basilica del Vigne. Taking my hand, he offered assurance that the Palazzo Zecchino was just on the other side. A good 15 minutes passed and we were back at the Basilica.

Trusting T-Mobile to put a call through, we made contact with Leonardo. He assured us we were close, but to stay put. 15 minutes later his young associate arrived. Another 10 minutes and we were there.

The Palazzo Zecchino is ancient, possibly as old as the Colloseum. Built to withstand the centuries, no wood was used in its construction.

After Leonardo’s associate instructed us on the use of each of four keys, she escorted us up eight flights to 10A.

Utilizing the last of the four keys, we were in. A lovely room, but very cold.

The associate having departed, we located the steam radiator,

and turned the knob counter clockwise. A gurgling noise suggested it was alive.

But 5PM came and went and I was still in my down jacket. I called Leonardo. He promised to come over. And he did, on his black Vespa with matching black helmet and jacket. After sometime Leonardo diagnosed the problem and made the repair. He assured us it was working but that we probably wouldn’t notice an improvement for at least an hour. We might want to go out.

The sun long set, it was really dark out. The dilemma - risk frostbite, or risk getting lost, never to be found again. We chose the later, determined to take the advice of a good friend: “If you’re unsure, or even unsure if you’re unsure, take photos of landmarks.”

We set out again. One little street, then another, propositioned at one point by a woman who called me handsome. She took it back when I said no thanks.

We finally made our way onto a fairly well lighted street, taking a peek into a most amazing space - the Oratory of Saint Fillipo Neri.

The lights on and door unlocked, we entered.

It had the look and feel of a miniature Sistine Chapel.

A little man came out, introducing himself as Giorgio Giovanni.

For the next while, he proudly recited a history lesson in great detail.

Finally, our stomachs growling, we asked if he might know of a good restaurant nearby. “Certo”, he said and proceeded to walk us across the street to his friend’s place.

Perusing the menu, I ordered and was soon served a very authentic plate of ravioli.

Well satisfied and confident in our landmarks, we made it back to our pleasantly warm room and very comfortable bed.