Christmas holidays in Genova

(In Europe, Santa gets creative)

What you might experience if you were in Genova in December 2010:

- panettone-flavoured gelato at the local artisanal gelateria (panettone being a fantastic sweet Christmas bread filled with nuts and candied fruit)

can't get enough of this stuff

- the local 65-year-old lady accordion busker playing Jingle Bells

- illegal Africans trying to sell knockoff Vuitton bags on the main shopping streets, jostling among the well-off

- a giant Christmas tree in the main piazza, and, if you’re there at the right time, Perry Como’s “O Come, All Ye Faithful” purring from speakers nearby

- a little cafe called Barbarossa, with a statue of Elvis in front and four menu pages devoted to different kinds of hot chocolate, so thick you can stand a spoon in it

- protest upon strike upon protest regarding highly controversial reforms to the university system

- midnight mass on Christmas Eve, where the biggest cathedral in town is jammed full of people and the fragrant notes of the organ music and the incense waft into the air

- burnt brownies baked by friends who love you more than they can cook

- a large hand-crafted presepe (nativity scene) at every church, some office buildings and even the local library

- high-powered spray from a salt truck that welts you in the knees

- ice-skating on the ocean!

at the port

- twinkling white and blue Christmas lights strung across the narrow alleys and streets

- giant kisses on each cheek and “Auguri!” (Merry Christmas + happy holidays + all the best + have a great time, all rolled into one)

- on a windy night, church bells that ring themselves

And of course, concerts.  Christmas is unthinkable without them.

I saw a poster advertising a free concert the Saturday before Christmas with the choir Coro Soreghina at Chiesa di San Donato, a church in Genova’s medieval centre, just off the awesomely- named Vico dei Tre Re Magi (Alley of the Three Wise Men). 

I invited a couple of friends and took my trusty, and worn, map with me; after four months here I’m still not sure of my way around in the ancient maze of veicoli (alleys).

 

For once I didn’t get lost. I arrived early enough to read the blurb about the choir, which was comprised of (mostly retired) men from the Alpini branch of the Italian army. That’s the one that patrols the mountains and gets to wear really cool hats.  

Also exciting was that I recognized only two songs on the program: Silent Night and Adeste Fideles (O Come, all Ye Faithful). The rest were ancient Christmas songs from Trentino (Italy’s northeast mountainous region); Piedmontese hymns (the area north of Genova that includes Turin); old Latin verses, and a few antique songs in Genovese, the local dialect that not many people speak or understand anymore. (Speaking of understanding, no, unfortunately I didn’t! Guess I’m not at stage 2 yet.)

 

The concert was quite enjoyable, yet during the singing I found myself thinking about the oddest thing: WD-40. See, it was inside this small stone church, where everything from the bricks to the archways looked like it had been carved right out of the mountains. There were only about twelve rows of pews, and when the church began filling up, I thought the high-pitched whines I heard were the door hinges opening and closing as people entered. Yet even when people stopped coming in, the whining continued. Baffled and totally distracted, I looked all around the church...and found the culprit -- actually two of them -- on four legs and leashes. Yes, two animal- and music-loving attendees had brought their dogs with them.

“Siamo in Italia!” (We are in Italy!) -- this is what people say, with a shrug of the shoulders, when something happens that defies logic.