Omega watches and gold jewellery.
On our various strolls around the area, we were approached many times by young men who secretly showed us Omega watches and gold jewellery. One young man was very persistent and wanted to sell us an Omega watch. Peter showed him his wallet that only held a minimum of money. He was very keen to sell this watch for a few thousand lire.
The watch seemed to be fine, but at home when we had a closer look, the Omega sign inside the watch suddenly slithered off it was only stuck on with glue. Then Peter took the watch apart and the Omega watch had only one Ruby. The next day, we were again approached, by an eager, very friendly, French-speaking young man, to buy an Omega watch. But as we had already made our experience and also paid for it, Peter took the watch from the young fellow and looked at it very closely and said to him, that this was not a genuine Omega. He asked Peter if he worked in the Omega factory and Peter said yes I do. The young fellow calmly took the watch back and hid it under his belt and then boldly brought out a few heavy look-alike gold bracelets for us to buy. Peter took the jewellery and rubbed it vigorously and then smelled on it and said this is not gold. This time, the young fellow nearly jumped out of his boots and ran to his superior crook, in his haste he spoke half French half Italian and cried… il est…Dottore…Dottore… and pointed towards Peter.
The boss, wore a cream fedora, dark sunglasses and white shoes, approached us slowly and from the inside breast pocket of his jacket took a heavy gold chain with a big, golden crucifix and said boldly with a little lisp in his speech, this one is real gold and you can buy it very cheaply. Peter said he would love to buy it but he did not have any money left as our holidays just finished and he emphasised this by opening his empty wallet. The fellow looked us up and down, then he turned around deliberately slow and withdrew to the place he had left to try his tricks on us. It felt a bit creepy, as shady figures seemed to congregate around us. We tried to look calm and nonchalantly strolled away. As soon as we were out of sight we walked faster and then Peter decided we make big detours on our way home in case the mafia was on our heels. The girls thought this was fun hiding in doorways and behind pillars like in a movie, as we hurried along unknown, small alleys.
The time is upMost of the holiday guests had left. Not many apart from us were still swimming and strolling along the beach. It looked already empty and we knew soon it would be our time to leave too. The sea had lost its tranquillity; hungry waves were pounding the empty beach. A jellyfish stung Marie-Louise. The grandmother smeared ointment on her foot and was telling us off not mincing her words about letting the girls swim in this weather.
The caretakers wanted to pack up and leave; they had enough and looked forward to quiet wintertime. We relinquished our borrowed blue deckchairs, the umbrella and the beach-cabin. The girls rummaged
the last time in the big bag of forgotten bikinis and we said our goodbyes to the bagnino and the bagnina who had looked well after us.
We strolled the last time along the Lido. The beach looked deserted and desolate. The wind whipped up the sand and swept it in ripples around the locked and shuttered cabins, all the colourful beach paraphernalia hidden within. The sea took its colour from a mud-smeared sky and uninvitingly lapped the grey sand oblivious to all changes. All friendliness had gone. The landscape, the people; the houses had gone through the autumnal metamorphosis, turned inside out, masked themselves in shades of woolly grey, moody brown and slivers of dusky purple.
The days before we left were chilly and rainy and the first snowflakes made a wavering announcement.
Our holiday mood went we were glad to move on, to our next destination the Galileo Galilei, that waited for us in Genoa.
In the early morning of our departure, the sky tried hard to give us a last glimpse of faint blue. The solid, opaque clouds, unsettled, moved and shifted, urgently helped by forceful wind gusts that loosened the last brittle leaves from the trees and the odd raindrops teased us when we were waiting outside for the taxis.
They took us swiftly and without delay to Viareggio where we boarded the train for Genoa. It was like everybody wanted to be rid of the tourists and guests to get back to their own lives and families.
The train that brought us six weeks ago took us back the same way along the Riviera di Levante that always brought a thrill to me as I very much loved this area and found it very special. Towards midday, we arrived in Genoa. We stayed there only for the day and night as the next day the Galileo Galilei was to sail. We should have made more time to explore Genoa, as this is such an ancient and important city.
It was in the fourth century B.C. known as a Ligurian port and town. Later around 200 B.C. the town became a Roman Municipium. In the Middle Ages since the tenth century, it was a free state and a very powerful commercial town and port. The monumental cathedral San Lorenzo, the churches and famous Palazzi Doria, Cataldi and Durazzo gave me a lasting impression how important and absolute fabulous Italy is, its melodious language, music and literature, its buildings, its art, the food and the flamboyant Italians themselves. XXXFB
The Galileo Galilei is waiting; outside the train station was a makeshift office located, announcing with big banners that this was the place to register for the Galileo. A couple of clerks gave advice about where to go and what to do.
Crowds of people and hectic traffic swarmed around us and I felt swamped by a throng of noise. By now the sun had emerged from her nest of cotton wool, heated up and emphasised the fumes and oleaginous smell of the never-ending honking cars and buses and the uncountable, swift little Vespas that zipped to and fro. It was an accretion of smudged, grimy blurs combined with fragments of hazy blue skies, shifting strong colours of greens reds and yellows, people went past, and milling around, shouted, yelled and laughed like it had all to end shortly in a big finale.
Slowly, pace by pace we advanced to the stand and we presented our tickets and travel documents. They had already booked us a room in a pensione, then they told us where to check in our suitcases.
Thanks to a nifty taxi driver we soon found the pensione we were looking for.
The room was very spacious and it was on top of a very tall and narrow, solid house wedged in between others of the same build and grey stone. From the window, the view was over houses and roofs with laundry drying and collected by busy signoras calling to each other from rooftop to rooftop. I saw cobbled streets and also a very small park, a tiny spot of greenery with a fountain spurting brilliant diamonds in the last rays of the sun.
In the evening, when we came into the dining room it was already full of people. The mood was pleasant in anticipation of a satisfying meal as the savoury aroma from the kitchen drifted into the dining room and titillated the taste buds. The tables were set with white, clean linen that came freshly laundered from the rooftop where they had caught all day long the wind and the sun like sails on an open sea. Maria, Mariaaaa… it called from the kitchen. Maria her hands and arms full of plates heaped with steaming pasta, fragrant with herbs and fresh, sweet tomato sauce, capably placed them before the hungry guests. The steady hum of conversation slowed down as everyone tucked into the food.
We were tired and excited at the same time and soon after dinner, we went up to our room.
The next morning we were early up, we had slept well despite our excitement. After a quick breakfast, we left the pensione full of anticipation to take the next large steps into our venture.
We took a taxi back to the wharf. We assembled with hundreds of other passengers in a huge check-in and check out hall. All our suitcases and hand luggage that we had left there the previous day were already checked, marked with numbers, letters and crosses and then left with thousands of others to be brought up into the cabins.
The hall was vast and roped into long isles and indicated with letters where people should queue. We followed the line with the letter S and arrived at a long table with four gentlemen facing us. Our passports with the important Australian entry visas were thoroughly inspected and checked, our faces searched and identified with the ones in the passports. I had never stood before a jury but it must feel a little bit like this, guilty or not guilty. Finally, we were handed our passports back and with a friendly wave, we were dismissed and sooner on our way out than we thought….next!
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