My last day in Genoa was the simplest. No Christopher Columbus theme, no giant aquarium. I woke up and, after two days of rainy and gloomy weather, there was this sun glowing smack above the sea kissing the shores beneath the apartment where I was staying. And after two days of a malfunctioning camera, miraculously, on the third day, it started to work again. I texted my friend that it was a perfect day to take photos before leaving for Florence.
My last day in Genoa was the simplest. But it was on this day that I tasted for the first time grandma’s home cooked “cima,” classic Ligurian stuffed breast of veal. It was all of a sudden Christmas in November at lunch with my Genoese friend’s family. Grandma’s cima, which literally means “peak” in Italian, had brought my short journey in this part of the Mediterranean to its rightful culmination. I realized that all throughout my travels, I have gained enough friends and family that home is wherever I was having lunch at any moment.
In that little weekend trip, my senses were re-opened to the real meaning of traveling, of going beyond the comforts we built around ourselves, and of discovering and re-discovering the world not only through the cities we conquer, but especially through the people we meet. On that sunny morning of my last day in Genoa, I reflected on my life as a traveler and felt the push to write about it again.