Friday, 6 March 2026

A day in the perfume capital of France

 Do you like makeup and perfume? 

That's probably a silly question. Of course you do or you wouldn't be here!

Last week I went to the small hilltop town of Grasse in south-east Provence. It's a pretty place with some nice little shops, and a fine view over the surrounding countryside.

Grasse is also the perfume centre of France where traditional plants such as lavender and rose were grown and transformed into perfume. Nowadays, the perfume industry gets natural fragrances more cheaply from exotic locations or in chemistry labs so although it's still the home of companies like Fragonard, the industry is no longer what it was.

They've set up the International Perfume Museum to record that history and the human use of fragrances and makeup. It's a huge, rambling yet well laid out museum and you need a couple of hours to see the thousands of beautiful artifacts. Of course, they have a lot of perfume making machinery, too, but I confess I'm not much into industrial heritage. I was, however, mesmerised by the thousands of perfume bottles and makeup items, and not just modern ones either but lovely Roman glass bottles and beautiful Greek sculptured and painted earthenware ones. I felt there were a few omissions but the topic of posh pongs is so vast they have to be selective.  

Maybe it's simplest just to post a basic commentary with my favourite photos (click to enlarge) ...

... like this stunning ancient Greek perfume bottle in the shape of a warrior's head that you could hold in your clasped hand and would have contained scented oil.

 

Below, kohl pots and applicators from ancient Egypt (top) and mid-late first millennium Byzantium and Syria (bottom). 


I like to use kohl myself, although I appreciate the modern formula is different from the traditional ones. Lead-free is good! Perhaps the best known kohl wearer was Jezebel in the Bible who painted her eyes with it just before her assassination she knew was coming. This is the sort of pot she'd have had on her dressing table. (Another famous queen whose makeup set was her undoing is mentioned below).

The eighteenth-century has the best artifacts, though. Like this box containing beauty spots and an applicator brush. 


Everything in the eighteenth century was not merely functional but beautifully decorative. Like, below, this lady's beauty kit (top) and gentleman's grooming kit (bottom). Obviously, these items were for the very wealthy, but decoration was deemed an essential part of life. I can't help feeling we've lost a lot now that things are functional but 'design' has replaced decoration.



Below, exquisite perfume bottles (top) and steel and gold grooming kit in a column (bottom).

 

 

Early nineteenth-century blusher sets. Not so handy as today's plastic ones which fit in your handbag. But that's why you have a maid!


This one belonging to Hortense de Beauharnais, married to Napoleon's brother Louis, who was King of Holland from 1806-10 until his big brother took the kingdom off him. Napoleon was first married to Hortense's mother, the famous Joséphine. Keep it in the family, eh. 


Perfume bottles from the same era. Just wow!


Pomanders from (left) Austria and (right) India. We don't use these any more but you would carry them and sniff them if you came across any bad smells, like undrained streets, people with the plague ... or the lower castes. 

And now for the thousands of perfumes of the last century in case after case arranged by year (left) or style (right: 1920s spray bottles and modern miniatures). 

 

Just a handful of favourite bottles below. Of course, the designer bottle can be as much part of the allure as the contents. Having worked for one well-known fragrance company, I can tell you that the bottle and packaging can represent more of the cost to the customer than the liquid within. The glass and packaging, although machine made now, is often finished by hand.

I'd not heard of Shocking before, but I like the whole look. It's a very expensive fragrance launched in 1937.

 

Calèche by Hermès, as was. Love the chunky bottle, love the colour. Like dousing yourself in absinthe! 

Below, the upper bottles from the 1920s are shaped like cicadas. I couldn't help thinking of the line from Silence of the Lambs with its symbolic moths, "You use Evyan skin cream, and sometimes you wear L'Air du Temps, but not today." 

Love Guerlain's La Petite Robe Noire (Little Black Dress)

Perfumes from Vietnam in national dress bottles.

Beautiful blackberry shaped bottle and case. Good enough to eat.

Two of the items took me back. One was Brut for Men! Advertised in the UK by boxer Henry Cooper with the slogan in his rough, manly voice, "Splash it all over! It freshens you up and makes you smell nice," in a series of adverts in the 1970s with other sportsmen in changing rooms that all the celebrities involved insisted were totally not homoerotic! Some claim the original formula was a chemical hazard!

 

And girls, there's Charlie too (4th from left), which was always something of the female equivalent.


Brut and Charlie together: like Brotherhood of Man in bottled form!

Anyway, the museum has given a special case to the ultimate classic, Chanel no 5, rendered iconic by Marilyn Monroe and Andy Warhol.


As far as the history of local perfume making goes, I was moved and enthralled by these photos of Grasse perfume workers, the first showing women knee and elbow deep in rose petals in the late nineteenth century, the second sorting flowers in the inter-war years. Can you imagine the heady scent of fresh flowers, the delicate petals between your fingers and those wonderful Victorian dresses or the cute hairstyles of the 1920-30s. I can think of worse factory jobs and workwear than these.

 

The most significant item of historic interest there is Marie Antoinette's travelling case, with tea, coffee and chocolate pots as well as necessities for her hair, face and general toilette.


The item is not just a beautiful and precious product; it was her tragic undoing. They made two of these sets and she was dithering which one to send to her sister whilst preparing to flee France as the monarchy lost control over the pace of reform. This was the second set, not quite complete at the time, hence her dithering over which to use herself and which to give away. A maid became suspicious of the queen's motives for sorting her travelling cases, reported her to the revolutionaries and she and the king were intercepted during their escape. They both lost their heads. There's an alternative history to be considered if Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette had successfully made it out of France. As it was, her vanity was their undoing, and here is the awful if elegant proof.

The museum has a pleasant garden with roses, oranges and other fragrant plants in. 


They also maintain a large working fragrance garden you can visit a few miles down the road at Mouans-Sartoux.

In the basement there are rooms dedicated to temporary exhibitions of modern artists. There was a pleasant enough exhibition of local landscapes in watercolour by Ferdinand Springer.


Here's a link to the museum website in English: MIP

Well, it's a beautiful facility full of stunning stuff and the entry fee of only €6.00 is exceptional value. And, as I said, the little town of Grasse itself is worth visiting, with its quirky cathedral in many styles, its walls and old towers, its shops and cafés and other museums. Here's the view from the top over the countryside that was once largely given over to plants for perfume.

 


More on things to see in this area of the Maritime Alps and the Côte d'Azur in my post this time next week.

Smell you later. 

Sue x 

Tuesday, 3 March 2026

And the Queer Prize goes to...

 I'm back home from my trip to France. I went away partly to avoid the chaos of the Sanremo Music Festival which makes life impossible in this area. Don't take my word for it: Meri the checkout lady at the supermarket, Laura my friendly newsagent and our condo porter were all grumbling today about the restrictions on movement last week and how the council can spend millions on this show every year yet the pavements remain in need of repair. So as the city centre becomes a ghetto for music executives, pop fans and TV cameramen, the rest of us have to put up with the inconvenience. Nice fairy lights, though.

Anyway, this years winner was Sal da Vinci (no relation to the Renaissance genius) who wins (in increasing order of importance) the "Golden Lion" trophy, first refusal on representing Italy at the Eurovision Song Contest, a bunch of local flowers (to be treated with reverence as our winter flowers are the pride and economic mainstay of this, the Riviera of Flowers), and a brass drain cover with his name, song and year that will grace the lengthening line of covers in the centre of the high street.

 


The idea is that when it rains, the water plus any leaves, cigarette butts and other detritus flowing down the grating should make sounds that mimic your song. A cover version, if you will.

It is possible that I made that last paragraph up.

Anyway, to get to the point, there is now a Sanremo Queer Prize, instituted last year by various LGBT organisations, to note and reward the most LGBT-friendly Festival artists, songs or messages. This year's festival wasn't anything like as camp, queer or gender flexible as other years, as it happens. So the Queer Prize was given to Dittonellapiaga for what the jury described as the most "Prideable" song, her Che fastidio! (How annoying), which won third prize overall and which describes everyday frustrations like fashion choices, snobs, politicians, tax forms and (with irony) spiked drinks that give control of you to someone else. Not strictly LGBT themed yet it resonated with the strictly LGBT jury who saw her discomfort with losing bodily autonomy as something that many queer people can identify with. Her choice for her duet evening song, The Lady is a Tramp, made famous by Frank Sinatra, describes someone who accepts her own way rather than the conventions of supposed respectability. There were other honourable mentions among other contestants, too. 

This is her performance on the first evening. I love her makeup ... and what legs! Not sure about the skirt, though ... it makes her lower half look like a mushroom! (OK, that's enough catty remarks, Sue!)

 

 

Sorry, I can't find an English translation yet. Here's The Lady is a Tramp with TonyPitony. Great drag queen wig ... and those legs again.


 

The one thing I will say about the Sanremo Music Festival is that it shows European popular music is alive and healthy. More out of laziness and cheapness than desire, Europe has been importing US films, music, foodstuffs, style and other cultural items but I think the interest is rapidly wearing thin thanks to the current crass US regime. Native productions and produce, which have often taken a back seat these last 80 years, could well move back to the mainstream here. If the US wants to keep exporting its stuff, it needs to change its tune. I think the interruptions of the English text in this number with Italian dialogue is one sign of this change, as well as a bit of the artists' characteristic irreverence.

 

March 1st

I was suffering from hay fever and I forgot to exclaim "White Rabbits!" on waking, which is supposed to bring a lucky spring. Never mind. As part of my series on odd local customs, I'd like to point out that in the mountain village of Calizzano near here, March 1st is heralded by anyone who has a horn, trumpet, shell or other item that can make noise. Half the village goes up the mountain and greets the day by tooting as hard as they can from there, with the other half of the village replying from the settlement below. Traditionally, it's supposed to encourage snowmelt and fertile fields over the growing season. 

So I missed my annual white rabbit ceremony but I did see the first butterfly of the year, a little pale blue/lilac thing. In many European traditions, the colour of the first butterfly indicates the mood of the summer to some. I'm not sure I've ever seen this colour in my first butterfly before so I don't know what it signifies. Maybe it will just be a pretty year. As Tove Jansson, in that most beautiful of children's books, Finn Family Moomintroll (original title, Trollkarlens hatt), put it:

 And suddenly they caught sight of the first butterfly. (As everyone knows, if the first butterfly you see is yellow the summer will be a happy one. If it is white then you will just have a quiet summer. Black and brown butterflies should never be talked about - they are much too sad.)

Moomintroll and the Snork Maiden spot a golden butterfly. This can only mean the best possible summer, as it turns out. They've already found some tame clouds to float on.

Meeting Moomintroll in London. Happy butterflies in my tummy.

Sue x

Friday, 27 February 2026

The quiet lanes of Provence

 Hello little blog. Just a short post. Checking-in, as it were.

I'm enjoying a relaxing yet very full stay in Provence, enjoying the quiet higgledy-piggledy lanes and squares of old towns, palm-fronted promenades, some amazing exhibitions and a lot of really good food.

 

Luggy the LGBT Crab and Lizzy the Lesbian Lobster on the beach at Cannes. 

It's good to be away from noise and the news so I really have no idea what the Orange Toddler may be raving about right now.

The aim. Get off the closed world of the phone. Sculpture in the harbour at Antibes

A few early photos ...

At a tea shop by the fountain in the Place Des Aires in the pretty hilltop town of Grasse

My hotel is just off the main square in Antibes and yet is totally quiet at night. Comfy spacious room with typical provençal décor.

Magnolia in early spring, Provence Art & History Museum

Shoes and designer bags ...all made of chocolate

Jodie Foster was here, Cannes film festival. Lizzy the Lesbian Lobster approved monument.


Comedy cactus invites comment

But this is not a holiday blog so, once home, I will be writing in detail about the stunning International Perfume Museum, which is a must-see (and smell), the Sacred Feminine exhibition, and some other items of trans/LGBT interest.

Sue x 

Tuesday, 24 February 2026

Escape from Planet of the Mixt-apes

 I hope you enjoyed the Winter Olympics. "Now," as the late comic Les Dawson always used to say (usually dressed as John Bull rather than one of his classic drag roles) "it's melody time, folks," before launching into cacophony on the piano. Yes, we've just seen off the Olympic skiers and skaters but the fun here in Italy continues with the huge annual Sanremo Music Festival which I have referred to many times since I moved to the area. The press is full of little else and the texts of all the songs are reprinted in practically every magazine and paper and you can get all this year's entries on CD and other media already. Hours of live musical variety TV every night for five nights, starting tonight. But the festival really started on Sunday with a laser and fireworks display from the harbour and from the giant cruise ship tiled all over in LEDs, and a light show from the town centre. I can see all this from the Mountain Lair that is my home. All my cameras are hopeless in the dark but it looked something like this. 


It's quite camp as most of these pop contests are (look at the Eurovision one) and this will doubtless lead to the local bishop's annual hissy fit, usually involving him waggling his finger from his lace sleeve and turning away in disgust, the skirts of his pink robes flapping menacingly. If only he had some pearls to clutch. 

What's actually a regular scandal is that most of the tickets for the event go to media industry executives and their families, not locals. Although locals get their own back by renting out their homes for the week at exorbitant rates. One thing is sure, it's impossible to live normally here at festival time. Ever since the small local branch of my bank closed I've had to go to the main branch in the centre of Sanremo. Only I can't right now because the bank turns into a radio studio for the Festival. Many businesses in the city centre rent themselves out as pop star hangouts and pop-up record shops, which is galling as there's no longer a permanent record shop. The council is afraid of losing this national event that is a giant boost to the economy of a small city/large town that has a mere 50,000 inhabitants so everything is now given over to it and us locals literally get turned away from the centre.

That's why I've taken to going away at this time. Well, since the pandemic ended, I mean. Last year I went to Monaco. Now I'm packing for a few days in the South of France where it should be quieter and I can enjoy some good food and the early spring sunshine. Naturally, there are some things I want to see that I think should be of interest to other trans/CD people, too, notably to do with the perfume industry, queer celebs and their homes, and historic women's costume. I'll be reporting back.

[Update 10:20 pm: Well, the first night of the Festival is under way and I have to say that, although one of the presenters, Laura Pausini, a singer who won in 1993, was very nervous to start with, she is relaxing. She is also wearing the most gorgeous classic plain black velvet off-the-shoulder floor-length dress and I am spellbound by it. The women - Arisa, Mara Sattei, Elettra Lamborghini, Patty Pravo (yes, indeed, the Patty Pravo) - have generally opted for some very lovely long dresses too so far. None of the boys have appeared in a dress yet ... You can tell I'm not watching for the music!]

 

Ukraine

It's the fourth anniversary of the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine. I have followed this war every day since and there is not much that has left me so dismayed. Rather than discuss it now, I simply wish to say that my heart goes out to the brutalised Ukrainians, some of whom are now neighbours, and to the poor Russians forced to fight.

 

Slimming

Since New Year, I've lost eight kilos or nearly 18 pounds. Obviously, it'll be harder to control the slimming while I'm away but the main trick is zero alcohol. And more fruit and vegetables than usual. 

Yay! Cuter frocks on the way. 

 

Springing

I'm so grateful for the mild winter we've had. I've hardly had the heating on at all. In fact, I just received my gas bill for December and January and it's about a fifth as much as last year. 

Yay! More money for cuter frocks.

Pretty rosemary flowers


Sue x

Friday, 20 February 2026

The trans ghetto

 This post is about sex workers. It's also about the trans ghetto of Genoa. There is an overlap between the two communities.

This is also the last of my posts on my trip to Genoa in January. The previous three are:

Moby Dick and the Holy Grail (with cake)  (about art, hot drinks, vintage clothing and Columbus)

Lady? Maid? Or creepy old man? (about palaces, food and music)

Old new things and new old things (about shops, jeans and St George)

You may also like to look at my post two years ago about leading female Renaissance painter, Artemisia Gentileschi, whose rape as a young woman influenced her depictions of put-upon heroines, and this compliments today's topic:

Turning the tables on male violence - a lesson from a lady 

I am indebted to the journalist in my daily paper, which is published in Genoa, for some of the historic information on sex work in the city in response to a reader's letter earlier this week. The reader was complaining about certain ladies plying for trade within a stone's throw of the magnificent Rolli Palaces that I described, and what the tourists must think of Genoa as a result. But as I pointed out in my second post, the palaces themselves are full of suggestive art, and as the journalist's reply explains, Genoa is a busy, working port with far more serious eyesores that need attention. Let's face reality, too: big cities have always been a haven for the oldest form of entertainment, and as for sailors ... well, they have always had a reputation on shore! 

In Italy, prostitution has never been illegal. Indeed, sex work is protected under articles 2 and 13 of the current Constitution as it is an "inviolable personal freedom." There was a time when the local brothel was as much a fixture in any town as the bakery or the church and the Madam was a respected member of the community. 

Incidentally, the word casino means "little house", which was originally the brothel and then became a place for cards and other gambling games, too. Presumably a bit like those classic saloons of the Wild West where cowboys and miners would go for a drink, a card game, a girl and maybe a fight. Except here the Madams tended to keep good order in their little houses. The authorities used to tax the workers and the casinos, and there were state regulations governing the trade. Indeed, the prostitutes of Genoa of the 14th and 15th Centuries paid a levy to the port authority of 5 soldi a day which funded new harbour walls. A soldo was a silver coin similar to an English or German shilling. That was quite a lot of money 500 years ago so presumably trade was good. Ironically, given that they'd paid for it, solicitation was not permitted in the area of the harbour itself. A plaque at the old harbour today acknowledges sex workers' contribution to its construction. My journalist points out to the correspondent that the square right by the Rolli Palaces is called Piazza delle Fontane Marose, meaning Amorous Fountains Square, precisely because people would go there looking for a bit of loving. 

This all changed in 1958 when the Merlin Law came into effect, which closed the brothels in order to combat human trafficking and the exploitation of the prostitution of others. The Merlin Law (named after Lina Merlin, the first women to be elected senator, who introduced it) reflects the 1949 UN resolution on the same theme and similar moves earlier in France. Government regulation and taxation of the trade was replaced by this law. It was controversial legislation, beneficial in many ways, damaging in others: a brothel did provide physical protection, greater financial stability and health checks for its employees who nowadays have to ply their trade on their own with greater dangers from clients and disease. Yet current news suggests that trafficking and exploitation still go on - and how! - and yet despite all these protective laws, prosecuting well-connected and morbidly wealthy men for the crime of exploiting (mainly) women still seems to result in lenient sentences for that. You usually have to try other charges, like tax evasion (in the case of Al Capone), industrial espionage, misconduct in public office and the like.

Moving on. The large and ancient ports of Italy - Naples, Venice, Genoa, Taranto and so on - have very old trans communities. Where there are big cities you will find more trans people able to meet up and form a community. And ports, with their exchange of cultures and the social acceptance that results, are more inclined to be tolerant towards different people than a close-knit inland community. So there has been a trans community in Genoa since who knows when. Of course, that doesn't mean that the community isn't full of people who have arrived there after being rejected by family, spouses and friends and many have had to live by sex work in the narrow city lanes, the so-called trans ghetto. 

Back to the past, and spare a thought for Rolandina, a trans sex worker in Venice who died in 1354, the earliest record of such a person. Previously living as male under the name Rolando, her wife died in the Black Death and she then lived as a woman, selling eggs by day and joining the other girls in the streets at night. She carried on her work for 7 years before she was denounced to the authorities and was condemned to death under the sodomy laws. The hypocrisy is that a man could get a light sentence for buggery if he was "active", i.e. a top, the more masculine position. Poor Rolandina, being very feminine and therefore deemed "passive" in her relations, was given the harshest sentence permitted by law. See comments above on leniency towards men in sexual cases.

The best known lady of the trans ghetto in Genoa today is Rossella who had her own run-ins with the law in her early days. She has been the trans community's mother hen for decades and is the go-to barometer of the health of the community. Everyone knows her, she's frequently interviewed and she even has a blog, although it's only in Italian.

I myself am still struggling to find a trans group in this region to socialise with. One problem is that trans life in Italy has this long history linked to sex work and I'm not going to go down that route, even if I could build some harbour walls with my takings. So I haven't made contact with the community in Genoa, I just went to take a look.

 

This photo is one of the classic ones taken by Lisetta Carmi of a Genoese trans sex worker with a potential client and I would like to end this by inviting you to take a look at some of the fabulous photos she took of the "travestiti" of Genoa in the 1960s that I posted previously. 

The 2023 Carmi exhibition in London, "Identities"

And in 2020 on the more general theme of Trans Lives in the 1960s


Both the photos I've put up here are extracts from the fabulous Identities exhibition catalogue. 

That concludes my series of posts on Genoa. I'm sorry they've been rather long but there has been a lot to say of relevance. I will return there for more sightseeing when the weather improves. 

And just as a final word, I mentioned the origins of the word casino. The word ghetto comes from Venice and it meant the foundry or copperworks that was, inevitably, the polluted, grimy end of town. It was there that, in 1516, the government relegated the Jews of the city, thus forming the first ghetto in the modern sense. 

Sue x 

Tuesday, 17 February 2026

Licence to dress

 You are hereby licensed to crossdress and no one can criticise you. This is because Carnival season is in full swing. 

Like so many other occasions that have arisen over the centuries - Roman Saturnalia in December, medieval Feasts of Fools, mumming and pantomime at Christmas, or modern Hallowe'en - Carnival time is a time when people traditionally get out of the routine and requirements of their culture and can be themselves, or anyone else. Crossdressing is standard. Indeed, the nearby Nice Carnival is offering free access to anyone fully dressed up, illustrated by a bearded man in a ballgown, and there's a special evening when the carnival turns specifically LGBT. I've mentioned before how the Venice carnival with its traditional masks and cover-all costumes, means you can easily disguise yourself as anyone or any gender. All this has been a godsend to genderfluid people through the ages. 

 

(c) Progettato da Freepik

Today is Shrove Tuesday, or as they call it here in Italy, martedì grasso, meaning Fat Tuesday (which I admit sounds like a nickname for a mobster or jazz player). English readers will have heard of the French equivalent, mardi gras. Traditionally, it's when you ate the last of the bacon, sausages, lard and other preserved meat that had seen you through the winter before the lean season of Lent. Hence the name Carnival, which derives from Latin caro (meat) and vale (farewell). Religious seasons often just reflect the practical realities of life before we invented battery farms, factory ships, greenhouses and soy milk for that essential figure-sculpting frappuccino we just can't do without.

 

Hay fever

I'm not feeling too great as I have hay fever. It's not something I've generally suffered from in life, thank goodness, but in the past two or three years something in this area is causing it. Cypress pollen is the main culprit at this time of year. I am surrounded by cypresses - there's one right outside my bedroom - and there are strong winds that don't help, so that could well be it. I'm not the only one I know who is affected. 

This is annoying as I had hoped to wear something a bit carnivalesque just for fun but with this red nose I might just have to go for a standard clown outfit! (No change there then, they snigger!) Thank goodness for antihistamine.

 

Lovers Arch 

In the heel of Italy, the famous Lovers Arch (below, left), a natural stone arch over the sea which is a favourite spot for declarations of love and marriage, has crumbled in rough weather. It's a great loss to local sentiment and to tourism but it's just natural erosion at work. At least it lived for one more Valentine's Day.

(c) Freddyballo

Sue xx 

Friday, 13 February 2026

Old new things and new old things

 It's Friday the Thirteenth and in some countries that's considered unlucky. But I'm not in one of those countries today so I'm safe! If you live in one, just keep hiding under the bed till it's over.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, which is a sort of commercial Licence to Love day. Years ago I went for a Valentine's dinner with my then partner to a local restaurant where we knew the food was good. And it was. Except that the place was packed and so it was busier, noisier and pricier than usual and, as a consequence, not very romantic. I vowed I'd not try the experiment again. But, hey, you do it your way.


The heart-shaped box of chocolates here was at Romanengo's chocolate shop in Genoa. Love has a price here: 88 euros to be precise. Eep!

Today's title is not a lesser known quote from Donald Rumsfeld (remember him?) but relates to more things from my recent trip to Genoa ...

 

Historic shops 

Genoa has over 100 historic shops which house ancient businesses, some of them 200 and more years old, from butchers to bookshops. Romanengo above is one and here are some others I spotted that haven't already been posted.

Café

Stationers

Cakes

Rubber stamps

In addition, some ancient buildings house new chain stores, like OVS that sells cheap clothing but is in an old palace. It's odd to browse the racks and come across this fountain with a heroic statue of Hercules clobbering the Hydra. 


Hercules famously wore a lion-skin cloak (and not much else) and here he is surrounded by cheap jeans! This sort of incongruity appeals to me. 

 

Jeans

Talking of jeans, the garment originates in Genoa and is an anglicization of the French name for the city, Gênes. I wrote about the development of jeans here a few years ago: Jeans, the garment that made the modern world.

 

St George  

And talking of incongruity, there's a story that the English flag, which is identical to the Genoese flag, was borrowed from Genoa by King Richard the Lionheart in the late 12th century when he went off on crusade.

 


I say borrowed. The story is that the Genoese, with one of the largest navies of the time, let English crusader ships use their flag when sailing through the Mediterranean to afford them more protection. King Richard had to pay for the privilege and then subsequent kings seem to have forgotten this nicety. Some or all of this may be Ye Medievalle Fayke Newes. St George is a military saint who appealed to crusaders and medieval soldiers generally.

You have to wonder at contemporary English nationalists' possessive obsession with St George and his flag. Given that Saint George came from Cappadocia in what is now Turkey, fought in the Roman army, allegedly killed a dragon in Libya and was buried in what is now Israel; is also the patron saint of Ethiopia and, of course, Georgia (the country named after him, not the US state), and one of the patrons of Portugal; is a saint in Islam as well as Christianity; and killed a dragon, which was a favourite Anglo-Saxon symbol, there's nothing English about him at all. You don't have to be dim to be nationalist, but it certainly helps. 

St George is painted on the beautiful palace that used to be the government house here. 


Sadly, 1960s urban planning being what it was, they put a flyover right in front of this building. 

It's by the harbour, which was revamped in 1992 for the 500th anniversary of Columbus's first voyage and has a lot of modern attractions such as the aquarium and the maritime museum, both very large. I saw these in 2019 so I didn't repeat my visits this time but they are excellent. There's also this warship, the Neptune, which is not old but was built for 8 million dollars in 1980s money for Roman Polanski's movie Pirates. I hadn't heard of it ... apparently the film, despite (or maybe because of) its being a comedic tribute to pirate movies of yore, was a flop.

 

That concludes my sightseeing. I liked Genoa's competent and cheap public transport system, including its single-line metro that takes you to all the main points in the city centre. I'll go back when it's warmer as I'd quite like to take some of the funiculars that hoist you up the steep hillsides of the city, and visit the Great Wall of Genoa, which is the strongest and longest city wall in Europe. 

Next week, though, under the principle of saving the best till last, I'll be concluding my thoughts on Genoa with a few paragraphs on the city's centuries-old trans community and the trans ghetto.

Have a nice weekend.

Sue x