BEGGARS - TO GIVE OR NOT TO GIVE

Last summer I was watching an athletic looking guy at the traffic lights, near Brignole station. He was in the middle of the road, throwing up colourful balls and catching them circus style. His audience were motorists waiting for the lights to change. The young man did his party trick and timed it so that he still had perhaps 30 seconds to run in between the cars to ask for money. Very few people gave him anything, but some did and the young man repeated his act for the next group of waiting motorists.  I saw him  from a bus window, thinking that -  at least -  he is trying to entertain people.

Just like in any reasonable sized city, there are beggars in Genova.
Roughly speaking there are two kinds. The first group are people offering a token service, such as car window clearners or young men walking around selling umbrellas, flowers, packets of tissues or simple African friendship bracelets. Or people playing an instrument - some of them can actually play a tune or two. 

  Then there is the second type: beggars coming to commuter trains, leaving multilingual messages on the seats, only to return couple of minutes later to collect possible contributions. There also seem to be the same, regular beggars kneeling on the portico on Via XX Settembre with signs saying in Italian "I am hungry, please help". Some of them come with dogs and sleeping bags. There are old ladies wearing very heavy winter coats, walking slowly and rattling plastic cups asking for money. Or people, who stop you on the street or outside supermarkets to ask for money.
  The problem is that even if I would like to help in some cases, I hesitate to do so. The urban legends about beggars who earn hundreds of euro per day could have something to do with it.  It is sad, when the feeling of being taken for a ride or being deceived, is stronger than the willingness to help.
   I always look at the general appearance: surprisingly often, the beggar is wearing brand new looking sports shoes. Or they can be seen talking to a cellphone while sitting on a box in a street corner with a hat in front of them. Sometimes it is obvious that this is a highly organised activity. Or what should I think when a "beggar" refuses to take a loaf of bread instead of money, despite a sign saying "I am hungry"?
   And then it happens, that we are reminded about a genuine need for help. A friend told me recently, how he had been rushing to a bus stop. A middle aged man, clearly a foreigner, tried to sell him a packet of tissues. My friend simply brushed him aside and said no. But for some reason, he turned back to have a closer look at the beggar. The man had stopped and burst into tears, his whole body shaking with grief. My friend went back, tried to hastily find some coins and gave them to him.
  When I heard this, I felt really bad about being such a cynic. Perhaps not everyone is part of a criminal gang. Now I have started to make some exceptions. But I will still not give anything to people with brand new looking sports shoes and cellphones. 

MRS WILDE: THE TRUTH ABOUT HER ILLNESS

Many famous foreigners have lived in Genoa, but I have always been particularly intrigued by one of them: Constance Wilde (1859-1898). Recently, I came across an interview with her grandson, Merlin Holland in the Daily Mail (UK) http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2894289/Mystery-Oscar-Wilde-s-wife-s-death-solved-author-s-grandson.html and decided to go to Staglieno one rainy day, looking for her grave, which is in the English sector of the cemetary.
  Constance was a journalist and a feminist, but she is perhaps best known as wife of the Irish author Oscar Wilde. Oscar's homosexual relationship and subsequent imprisonment was a scandal, which forced Constance and her two sons, Vyvyan and Cyril,to leave London and live in exile. Constance spent her last years in Bogliasco and she loved the Ligurian Riviera. But what was the cause of her death in 1898, at age 40?

Oscar Wilde did come to Genoa to visit his ex- wife's grave. Despite the dramatic circumstances of their marriage and divorce they stayed relatively friendly with each other. It is worth reading Franny Moyle's biography "Constance-The Tragic and Scandalous Life of Mrs Oscar Wilde"

At the time, it was believed that she died of syphilis, which she was said to have caught from her husband. But according to the Daily Mail, Constance's grandson Merlin Holland (son of Vyvyan) says that new evidence has emerged which suggests that she had a different illness alltogether: multiple sclerosis.
  Together with Dr Ashley H Robins, a specialist at University of Cape Town Medical School, Holland has read all 130 letters, which Constance wrote to her brother, frequently mentioning her poor health. Multiple sclerosis was a known illness at the time and Constance had the symptoms, but her doctors did not realise what it was. She describes her aches and pains in the letters in great detail. So, this might come hundred years later,  but at least the truth can now be told!

Constance Wilde, una giornalista inglese, una femminista, moglie dello scrittore Oscar Wilde, ha vissuto i suoi ultimi anni a Genova, a Bogliasco, dopo il divorzio da suo marito. Constance aveva volute scappare dallo scandalo quando suo marito era stato imprigionato a causa di una relazione omosessuale. Constance è morta nel 1898, a soli 40 anni, e seppellita nel Cimitero Monumentale di Staglieno. Lei ha avuto due figli, Cyril e Vyvyan. 

Ma quale è stata a causa della morte di Constance? Secondo suo nipote, Merlin Holland, Constance non è morta di sifilide per colpa di suo marito, come tutto il mondo aveva creduto. Insieme a una dottoressa, Ashley H Robins, lui ha trovato prove che Constance aveva sofferto di un'altra malattia; sclerosi multipla. Questa malattia era conosciuta, ma i due medici di Constance non lo avevano capito. Holland ha parlato della nuova prova in una recente intervista con il Daily Mail (UK). 

WALKING IN THE AFTERNOON - ITALIAN STYLE

I have just been on a nice afternoon walk in a crispy cold February weather. After couple of days of rain, today was really beautiful here in Nervi. The sky was blue and there was a bright sunshine most of the day. Not totally unexpected then that the narrow streets were full of people: kids, mums and dads with pushchairs, couples and the elderly, who are often being helped by a family member. I am very fond of the afternoon walk, it is a great Italian tradition.
  Having said that, I also cannot help but noticing some interesting behaviour connected to the said tradition.
1. Stopping in the middle of the pavement to have a chat
Italians cannot pass by any friends by simply saying hello and moving on. No, they have to have a chat, however short. This means that they stop in the middle of the pavement effectively blocking everybody else who would ideally like to carry on with their walk without stopping all the time. At least here in Nervi, the pavements have been built decades, if not hundred years ago, when nobody had any reason to think that walkers could cause a traffic jam. They do. Normally you can pass by saying politely "permesso" and you will be able to move forward. I have bought the Nordic Walking Sticks, but I have not used them yet (partly, because they did not fit into the suitcase and are still stored in a different country altogether) but I wonder, if it would be wise to bring these to this environment at all, unless I would walk around 6.30 am instead in the afternoon?
2. Beaches are not only for the summer 
Even though the actual beach season has finished some months ago and there are no umbrellas or sunchairs around, this does not mean that beaches are not being used at all. On any given sunny day, there are people sitting on the beach, winter coats next to them and possibly wearing a t-shirt. It really does not matter that it is +7 C. The sunshine is enough.
3. The popularity of ice cream 
One might be forgiven to think that ice cream bars could not possibly survive during winter.  Wrong. Eating ice cream has very little to do with the seasons. It is eaten all the time. And yes, if it is a sunny day, every park bench & beach are full of people enjoying an ice cream. For me ice cream is so strongly associated with summer that having two deliciously flavoured scoops of ice cream in the middle of winter (even in a mild winter), it would not occur to me to have one. At least it didn't before moving to Italy. Now, I could consider it, but only just.