Left Denver on Friday afternoon on a Lufthansa flight stopping in Munich and then catching a shorter flight to Genoa. Flights to Europe are little more expensive this year than a couple of years ago, but I booked before the Iran War and the ensuing oil crisis. Seats in economy class are smaller and less comfortable these days, and I was not able to sleep after the pretty horrible evening meal. There are literally more than a 100 films you can choose from, including a lot of European and Asian, to keep you quiet and entertained during the nine hour journey.

It is Sunday evening, Genoa time, which is eight hours ahead of Denver. The ride in from the airport provides a good view of the city. The part I saw was very industrial looking; the cab drive, who had great English, says that the three kilometer harbor front pedestrian mall is quite delightful. I’ll have to report on it later, after I have seen it.

I am staying with a 79 year old widow in a large early 20th century apartment in the center of town. Neither eye-catching or charming, most of the people walking around the neighborhood are busy going about their daily lives—stopping at the supermercato and the pasticceria for coffee and brioche, with a side of gossip. I am pretty sure I am going to enjoy walking around and exploring.

My landlady tells me that I am only ten minutes from the language school which I will be attending these next three weeks. I am happy with my interactions with her. I have to work hard not to intermix Spanish words with the Italian, but she always gives me an off kilter facial cue when I do that, so I think my decision to stay with a local family is going to pay off. Classes start tomorrow at 8:30. I’ll keep you posted on how it is going!

My large well furnished bedroom is very comfortable, with its 12 foot ceiling and eclectic furniture. The terrazzo floor is a marvel. I think the bed will provide a great sleeping opportunity.

Tonight I finished my first day in Genova at a local restaurant recommended by Signora Toce. Just a block away, when I walked in at 7:30, I was only the second table seated. There was an interesting couple at the next table over. She was white and he Black. I eavesdropped for a while, but could not quite make out where they were from. I heard both Italian and English—so I settled on their being British. I finally got up my nerve to start talking to them—turns out Julian is from South Africa and Gloria is from Lake Como. He’s a business man, and she works for the Italian foreign service in the consular service. She was in Genoa for work and he came along. They were so much fun to talk with; and with their urging I ordered the panacotta with strawberry jam topping. Delicious. We talked for nearly an hour, and I enjoyed meeting them so very much.