The Italian Riviera
In Portofino, Rapallo, and Santa Margherita, it is the small things
When you travel, you often find that the small, odd things — the things outside of a day’s planned itinerary, are the most memorable, and that is no less true on the Ligurian coast of Italy.
These small things, just today, for example:
• A sign in a store window in Rapallo advertising “Jesus Jeans – Sizes for Every Body”. I wonder … does that mean if I pray really hard, I might fit back into size 10 again?
• A deli in Santa Margherita offers “pomodoro capriccioso”. I translate this as “impulsive tomatoes”, but I could be wrong.
• A trattoria in Zoagli has “homelettes” on the menu. In case you are missing your mom’s egg breakfasts, I guess.
• An orange-beaked mynah bird in Portofino greets passers-by with “Ciao, Bella. Ciao, Bella! I ponder, in passing, how is it that a bird can articulate the letter B if he has no lips?
Portofino is a rather snooty little oasis, but lovely for all that. The vista is iconic — immediately recognized. You have seen this bright little curved bay in hundreds of photos — the colorful buildings, the yachts, the cafes. Women stroll the Sunday streets here in winter costumed in fur coats and €500 shoes. Men stand around in small well-dressed gangs on the street corners, electronic gadgets pressed to their ears, tuned to soccer games.
This afternoon, four relatively dowdy, older women sit on a bench facing the sea. Their collars are flipped up against a chilly onshore breeze. Eyes closed, four wrinkled faces (one of them mine) turn to the west like faded sunflowers toward the gentle early November sun. One woman sighs. “Com'è bella la vita.” We all agree and sit for about an hour, not moving. Not much else to do in this bright little bijou town on a Sunday afternoon this time of year, and that’s just fine with us.
Cats have free rein in the coastal towns of Italy – actually, they have free rein everywhere in Italy. Fed and cared for by the general populace, they are civil servants – the rodent patrol. These cats find me. I don’t know how or why. They rub their whiskers against my shins and leap up to meet my outstretched palm for a head bump. The ones that like me best are the cats that spend their nights under parked cars, the ones most covered with motor oil, cobwebs, street grime.
This morning I take the funicolare from Rapallo to the top of Montallegro, a ten minute cable ride. I order coffee in a terrace café, and enjoy a remarkable sea view. A huge tortoise-shell cat selects me out of a crowd of nine strangers. Cat radar. He immediately jumps into my lap and settles down, no invitation necessary. He is introduced as Marcello and proceeds to eat half of my buttered croissant and leave behind half a pound of hair on my black trousers in exchange. I am such an easy mark.
In the little resort of Santa Margherita Ligure, there seems to be a festival going on as I walk by the church this afternoon. About fifteen nuns, dressed in their long black habits and wimples, have turned out to play. Each nun has about four feet of string tied around one ankle with a brightly colored inflated balloon at the end. Music starts up from somewhere and the nun’s begin trying to stomp on each others’ balloons to burst them — while at the same time protecting their own balloons. It is a mad dance.
Apparently, when your balloon is broken you are out of the game. They are all laughing hysterically, giggling like little girls. They are surprisingly aggressive, considering their calling. The last nun with a balloon intact wins the prize. I can see there is a lot of strategy to this game – offense and defense simultaneously. I detect a faintly disguised Italian metaphor for life in this game of stomp or be stomped.
Another beautiful post, Sharron - I loved every word!
I need to find some of those impulsive tomatoes - the boring old stuck-in-a-rut ones just don't cut it for me any more....
Thank you, Sharon! You have written a great travelogue. I enjoyed reading about the nuns, the balloons, and the cats - so many cats! Your writing made me want to revisit Italy. While I appreciate the beauty of spots like Portofino, the place that always draws me in is Venice. I love the tragic beauty of the city, its ruined and weathered charm.