I came to Genoa, locally it is called Genova, partly to enjoy some better weather, partly to take on the role of Chaplain at the English Church, the Chiesa Anglicana, and hopefully be of some use, partly because the in-house critic and I enjoy the continental lifestyle, the caffe corretto's, the G&T's in a bar in a sunny Piazza just watching the crowds pass by.
But on Friday we found ourselves sitting in the rising heat in a flat inGenoa
Outside there was torrential rain, thunder, lightening and chaos.
On the internet we saw pictures of flooded underpasses, the river which is normally a trickle became a raging torrent and, where it met a rough sea and high tides, had burst its banks flooding the underpasses and streets around Brignole railway station.
Then we received an email to say that Mayor has advised everybody to stay at home for their own safety, no one was to use private transport, the police were issuing fines if you were in town in your own car or on one of the ubiquitous scooters, and if you were on the ground floor or in a basement, the advice was move to an upper level.
The main shopping street was flooded and there were ten fatalities and numbers of injured. All night the sirens sounded as the rescue services ploughed backword and forwards.
You knew how bad it was when the football was cancelled.
The next morning as the clear up began there was more rain and the curfew was re-imposed for a further 24 hours.
Whilst the actual storm blew in and was beyond the power of any individual to control it, just along the coast inCannes
The Euro trembled in the strong winds.
The exchange rate floated, but managed not to sink and Berlusconi left Cannes to return to Italy saying that everything was fine, after all the planes were fully booked, the hotels were full and Italians were wealthy.
And of course in a strange way, whilst he is wrong at so many levels, he is also right.
By Sunday the Sun had put his hat on and was back out to play, the passegiata was resumed and the all the outside tables at our local cafe were full with people drinking Prosecco and eating delicious pastries.
An amusing footnote to all this was that at 10 30 during the evening of the storm, my doorbell rang I assumed it was someone wanting me to open the Church as a refuge, which we had offered to do, or a member of the congregation affected by the flooding taking up our offer of a bed for the night.
I opened the door to a delightful young lady holding a bottle of wine.
As she spoke, despite my non existent Italian, I realised that it was not a gift that I was being offered and so I invited her in and retrieving the corkscrew from the kitchen draw, opened the bottle with a flourish.
Thanking me profusely she went back to her own apartment rejoicing.
Always glad to be of service!
But on Friday we found ourselves sitting in the rising heat in a flat in
Outside there was torrential rain, thunder, lightening and chaos.
On the internet we saw pictures of flooded underpasses, the river which is normally a trickle became a raging torrent and, where it met a rough sea and high tides, had burst its banks flooding the underpasses and streets around Brignole railway station.
Then we received an email to say that Mayor has advised everybody to stay at home for their own safety, no one was to use private transport, the police were issuing fines if you were in town in your own car or on one of the ubiquitous scooters, and if you were on the ground floor or in a basement, the advice was move to an upper level.
The main shopping street was flooded and there were ten fatalities and numbers of injured. All night the sirens sounded as the rescue services ploughed backword and forwards.
You knew how bad it was when the football was cancelled.
The next morning as the clear up began there was more rain and the curfew was re-imposed for a further 24 hours.
Whilst the actual storm blew in and was beyond the power of any individual to control it, just along the coast in
The Euro trembled in the strong winds.
The exchange rate floated, but managed not to sink and Berlusconi left Cannes to return to Italy saying that everything was fine, after all the planes were fully booked, the hotels were full and Italians were wealthy.
And of course in a strange way, whilst he is wrong at so many levels, he is also right.
By Sunday the Sun had put his hat on and was back out to play, the passegiata was resumed and the all the outside tables at our local cafe were full with people drinking Prosecco and eating delicious pastries.
An amusing footnote to all this was that at 10 30 during the evening of the storm, my doorbell rang I assumed it was someone wanting me to open the Church as a refuge, which we had offered to do, or a member of the congregation affected by the flooding taking up our offer of a bed for the night.
I opened the door to a delightful young lady holding a bottle of wine.
As she spoke, despite my non existent Italian, I realised that it was not a gift that I was being offered and so I invited her in and retrieving the corkscrew from the kitchen draw, opened the bottle with a flourish.
Thanking me profusely she went back to her own apartment rejoicing.
Always glad to be of service!
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