nawl

It was interesting to cross the border because it was immediately clear that we were in a different country. The landscape was the same Mediterranean idea as in France, but where France was empty countryside and urban areas, the Italian side was much more concentrated agriculture (terraced hillsides, greenhouses, light industry and the like).

We arrived in Genova (it's really hard to keep from translating that as Genève in French) and, well, the district we saw was a mess. Industrial area around the port (they even had a couple of the same cranes that the Oakland port has), which is normal, but the buildings were all mashed together, falling apart, already torn down but without signs of active rebuilding, and odd architectural decisions had been made regarding freeway pillars in the middle of roads. It took a while to figure out what the traffic lights meant: what do you do when the stoplight is red, but there's a faint green arrow below? (Answer: judging from the other drivers, don't stop.)

We saw signs for the aquarium, so we followed them. It was an ok aquarium. More interesting to see how civilization has altered the landscape (apparently before heavy population, there were oak forests going right down to the sea, but they were chopped down to make room for farmland, and continuous grazing has kept anything but brush from growing back) than the poor cooped up dolphins. Outside the aquarium was a sad little tourist oasis in the middle of the industrial district. We were continually beseiged by people asking for money - poor old ladies, guys selling cheap toys to cars at stoplights, a group of boys who had taken over the parking ticket payment booth (what do you do when an 8-year-old kid keeps trying to touch you? removing his hand and walking away didn't work, and when i tried saying "stop" in English they all started repeating me). I didn't expect the difference between France the rich country and Italy the poor one to be so marked.

On our way out of Genova we drove through what looked like a pro-communist/anti-capitalist demonstration. Reminded me of Berkeley.

We decided to drive down the coast some more until we found somewhere that looked nice to stop and eat. We ended up in a little town called Camogli, which had a lovely beach. We didn't see many non-Italians... a handful of French families, and some incongruous American girls, and that was it. Usually in touristy areas, waiters and shopkeepers will speak English to you the second they realize you're not from the country, but nobody there spoke English, despite the painfully obvious fact that I didn't speak any Italian. I think I actually prefer it that way. Ben would have preferred not to try to make efforts with the language. Buying a snack isn't hard though - the words all look like French or are recognizable from Italian restaurants (pomodoro, formaggio, foccacia, fragiola).

Here's some pictures of the town:a panoramic of the beach and surrounding hills, and boats in the harbor.