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It’s finally October in Southern California. This is always the first day of the holidays for me. It starts with Halloween, then Thanksgiving, Christmas and the grand finale New Years. I went out to do shopping and I was struck how bright and hot the sun was. Halloween was coming with it’s impending delights, short days and long, cold, starlit nights. Halloween was usually the first day of really cold weather. Along with holiday, came the cold, folklore and horror stories of Halloween. The holiday took the stage for a yearly celebration filled with madness and fun. All things of the night were about to arise and the first celebration of the fall to begin. This time of year brought back memories of journeys long ago. Memories of an ancient Italian city by the sea, mysterious and beautiful, where mariners had set off for voyages into the unknown. Where mysteries and the dark secrets of more than one thousand years lay in wait in the dark crevices of ancient stone and alley ways.

When I was young I was sent to work in Genova, the home of Christopher Columbus, who had discovered the Americas. I was sent there to dance with my troupe in a small nightclub overlooking the Mediterranean. When we weren’t working, we took advantage of the free time to discover and explore the old city and it’s mysteries.

Genova is an ancient city in a region that has been populated since a thousand years before the birth of Christ. It’s located on the Western seaboard of Italy and just South of the French Riviera. It’s magnificent and very, very old. The city is imbued with a heavy ambience and it’s multitude of passages are very dark. As night falls, the mists of the ancient Mediterranean sea creep over the stony beaches, up ancient stone sea walls and onto the cobblestones of the streets of Genova. The mist twists it’s way among the city passages and thickens as the midnight hour approaches. The moisture carries the aromas of sea life and jurassic flavors that thicken the misty soup with the daily remnants that local fisherman have left behind. It drenches the city, coating the walls, window ledges, rusted iron balconies and creeps into every architectural crevice. The streets of old Genova twist and intersect comprising a maze of history and life histories that have passed centuries before our time. The buildings are huge antiquities mostly filled with apartments. Apartments the size of small palaces. Small balconies are suspended from exterior patios, decorated with plants, laundry and other evidence of human life. During the day, along streets made of aged and black cobblestones, men gather and smoke or share an espresso.

Our apartment was located just a block from the beach, close to the port. When we walked downward toward the sea we eventually reached a man made stone parapice that overlooked the huge ships that were docked in the port. The port where Christopher Colombus had set sail and made modern history. I learned early on that the multitude of neighborhood bars served thick rich syrupy espresso with melted sugar blended into the richness. If there was milk, it came from a box that expired after one year.

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After we finished our work at two in the morning, we usually weren’t sleepy. We were on an adrenaline high of performing for almost four hours straight, with just small breaks in between. There wasn’t much to do in the sleepy port, so we would walk. We walked and we discovered the people of the night and the places that were alive through the hours of darkness. One of the nicest surprises were the bakeries. While the Genovese slept, the bakers and pastries chefs of the city worked through the night creating delicious breads and treats. We were a crowd of five young women, five foot nine and taller and slim. A baker’s helper all in white and a smile of icy white teeth, called out to us. “Eh Gazelle!” We stopped. He led us in to a large sparkling kitchen filled with clouds of the aroma of warm, fresh baked bread. There were trays of delicate pastries infused with custard, coated with chocolate toppings and small garnishments of mint leaves, fruit or candies in all colors of the rainbow. The head chef was pulling a huge tray of focaccia from the oven to be delivered to the local bars to accompany the morning coffee. He began to shove bread at us and filled white bags full of the treats. “Manga! Manga!” and then he pushed us into the street again and called out “adomani!” And we did come back the next morning and the next. The bakers became our friends and one of the girls even began dating one.

If we walked away from the old city away from the port and up towards the hills of northern Italy, the streets eventually widened and let in light. The stone became lighter, soft yellow and white. During daylight hours, glimmering and irridescent shop windows displayed the latest italian fashions in bold colors. Neon blinked on and off advertising fun shopping and cafes with gelato. If you changed your direction and headed east you ended up in the hills. The hills glowed and were dotted with olive trees and cypress. If you looked to the west the ocean glimmered in the sun and became sparkling and iridescent as the sun played upon the aqua waves. The city was magic and beautiful. A city by the sea filled with mystery and possibilities.

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