Genoa

 

Anyone who knew me as a kid would understand my fascination with Genoa, a deep-rooted longing that made this visit feel almost necessary. It all began with a 45-year-old Japanese anime series set in this very city during the economic depression of the 1880s, which I followed religiously as a child. Through it, I was first introduced to the idea of travelling the world, while also picking up bits of geography, especially about Argentina and Genoa, along the way.

 
As soon as I arrived on that quiet corner in Genoa, the cold darkness wrapped around me and made me feel strangely alone. The street did not feel safe. Drunk people wandered around without direction, and it made me uneasy. I did not have much time to explore, but I chose to be careful and wait for things to de-escalate. Sometimes, waiting feels like the only sensible choice when everything around, feels utterly unsure and unfamiliar.

Along the highway, I found the only open shop. I stepped inside for a bit of comfort. The attendant was an elderly man, busy and full of energy, like the kind of Italian father you see in films. I greeted him with my best buongiorno, hoping he would let me stay inside the shop for the moment. He agreed, though it felt like he was just being polite. The place was not meant for dining in, anyway. I stayed and had an early breakfast there. I had my first pizza of the trip, with a strong and satisfying cup of caffè. It was simple, but felt just right.

I sat there for more than an hour, watching the morning slowly come to life. There were small arguments, bits of laughter, and drunk customers coming and going. It was a mix of noise and routine that felt oddly comforting. Time passed quickly, yet outside it was still dark. Nights really do feel longer during this time of the year. And I started to think about how travel sometimes starts like this. Oftentimes, it means just sitting in between moments.

Even with the warning voice in my head telling me to wait for more and stay, I knew I would regret not exploring. At 5 a.m., I finally stepped outside and followed the places I had saved on Google Maps. It felt like a small decision, but also an important one.

I started at the quieter side of the harbor. I saw the Galeone Neptune, rows of yachts, and large cruise ships standing still in the early light. Then I moved deeper into the old town, where the streets became narrow and dim. I walked alone, and it felt like stepping into a different time, one I had only imagined before. I then sat on a worn stone staircase and paused for a while. I remembered the scenes I had watched so many times, of Marco Rossi running through the port and climbing these very steps. The streets, the buildings, the distant sounds, and the first light breaking through the darkness all felt familiar. It was almost unreal. I did not expect it to feel this close to what I had actually imagined.

Right there, I realized I had finally crossed out one of those heavily-prioritized items off my Euro bucket list. It was more than just a place. It was proof that time, effort, and a bit of courage can bring you exactly where you once hoped to be. And for that, I felt deeply grateful. Along with it, I realized how far I had come compared to my ten-year-old self, who once dreamt and yearned to stand precisely where I stand today. Another thing to be heavily thankful for.