Eataly in Italy: My Genovese Adventure

I learned at age 19 that the phrase “I just returned from Europe” is in fact one of the more depressing sentences someone can utter. It seems like a chic and jet-setty thing to burble out at a party, but really, if you’ve been to Europe, you know that the worst thing about it is having to leave. And come home.

To your job.

And your regular life.

Which is pretty devoid of hot European men.

And Nutella.

So here I am, just returned from Europe. And I am sad

The beautiful boot

Quick note: I know my photo game is usually on point, but I couldn’t find a common theme or filter for all my pics, so I’m just going to let each one stand on their own, so excuse the non-uniformity of the photos. What can I say? Italy is too diverse for just one photography style!

For the past six days I was on hand for the maiden voyage of the MSC Preziosa, a state-of-the-art, over-the-top luxurious cruise ship that sailed from Genoa to Naples then on to Sicily.

Nice ride!

The week-long celebration was hosted by Sophia Loren and catered by the chefs at Eataly. Admittedly, cruise ships are not usually my thing, especially if the weather isn’t warm enough for laying out and swimming. Plus, when I was eight we took a cruise to the Bahamas aboard the Disney vessel, and it caught fire. We had to abandon ship. So, not a great experience.

But when I received a press invite to this particular cruise–around Europe–I knew I couldn’t turn it down. I have had only great experiences in Italy. It’s the leaving I couldn’t handle.

You may not know, but I lived in Florence when I was four and then studied abroad in Rome during college. My time in Rome was perhaps the most formative experience I’ve ever had. It’s always just seemed too painful, cleaning out the house of a dead loved one.

In a way, Rome was my first introduction to true, grown up sadness. Those few months in Italy were the best of my life, truly, but they were like a decade–full of fast friendships, thunderous fights, love won and lost–condensed down into half a year, thrust into tight Italian pants, and coated with Parmesan cheese. Coming back to the states was pure torture, so much so that I haven’t been back to Italy since.

But how could I pass up this trip? I couldn’t. Something in me had been waiting for just the right way to revisit my beloved Italy, and this was it.

It’s not just the boys who are beautiful in Italy

It was absolutely magical, truly wonderful. Actually, in a strange way, it was disappointing. I was struck by how un-foreign Europe seems to me now that I live in New York.

The problem is, Manhattan is a thousand countries in and of itself–a myriad of languages, food options, small snaking streets and historic buildings. Not even the overseas shopping, which once had an almost heroin-like effect on me, was particularly diverting.

Oddly, the most foreign place on earth has become my SoCal hometown, Irvine, with its uniformly fragrant streets, lush manicured landscaping and equally well-groomed citizens. It’s as if a luxury spa got a bee in its bonnet and decided to become a full city.

Anyway. Genoa!

The Genoa harbor: stormy and stunning!

It’s one of those Italian cities that gets overlooked in favor of the Beyonce’s of Europe like Rome and Florence. Genoa is Michelle. And you know what? Michelle is worthy!

If it ain’t Baroque, why fix it?! (sorry)

Genoa (like Michelle) is quiet and unassuming so it’s easy to think she doesn’t have much to contribute. But she boasts secretly stunning churches, teeny little pastry shops and a harbor that can be quite lovely if you run it through enough filters.

With the right filter, it aaaaalmost looks like St Tropez! (almost)

But admittedly, it’s not worth seeing unless your itinerary makes you. The harbor is grimy, the worthwhile shops few, and not much in terms of museums or culture. If anything, see it first thing when you arrive in Italy so you won’t have anything else to compare it to.

The other girls I met on the press trip—who I can already tell will be my girls for life!—had interviews and tastings and whatnot to conduct aboard the ship, so I struck out on my own, meandering around and eating like I was going to the electric chair. No carb left behind!

Some people bring home tee shirts. I bring home diabetes.

I also became exactly what I detest and morphed into one of those tourists who INSIST on using public transit. In NYC, this baffles me.

“Just take a cab!” I plead with them, but no, they are hellbent on navigating the greasy bowels of the NYC subway just so they can save $10 on a taxi to Ground Zero.

But I realized, it’s not about being cheap, necessarily. It’s a challenge and you feel compelled to conquer it. So, I trotted down to the Genoese subway and forced myself to figure it out.

Subway warrior!

And I did. I know it sounds like such a simple, almost laughable “victory” but when I emerged from the tube station to see those medieval streets greeting me, my heart soared. I just got the chills at how lame that was but it’s true. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. I felt like I was home, back on the continent, back having adventures, growing and exploring the way I used to!

I stumbled upon some amazing churches!

This church’s mildly grimy exterior gave way to one of the most stunning cathedrals I encountered!

Even better, I was pleasantly surprised at how well my Italian held up. Although it’s nothing like it used to be. I used to be practically fluent, and now it’s deteriorated into a mumbling patchwork of un-conjugated verbs and skittering nouns. But, I still got along just fine.

We spent the next few days at sea, quickly growing bored with the ship and it’s not-quite-fully-operational food options. Advice: avoid a maiden voyage. It’s better to wait until the kinks have been worked out. But even with the kinks…this floor:

Diamonds on the soles of her shoes

Overall, if you find yourself on this particular ship and in this particular city, fine. But don’t go out of your way to make it happen. While you want to love Michelle, there’s a reason Beyonce is the queen.

And then, before I knew it, the trip was over and I was headed back to NYC. And yes, I’m sad, but in a way laced with accomplishment, like muscle soreness after the gym. Yes, I missed Europe, but I’d finally conquered my decade-long anxiety about returning. I had faced my grief and come out the other side. And on the other side is Nutella

Shallon the adventurer is back.