retiredmartin

January 2026. Genoa.

Mrs RM could stand the constraints of the weekly Sheffield-Waterbeach-Tunbridge Wells shuffle no longer and booked a cheap flights (cheap to us, the cost to the planet is a different issue) to Italy and hoped there wasn’t a call from the in-laws for a few days.

And you know what that means; load of diary entry styled posts that don’t feature opening hours, chewy pints of bitter, and crispy Chinese takeaways.

We flew from Stansted, because we love standing in a queue for 35 minutes for security staff to inspect my (new) shoes.

Nice views over the Alps,

or is it the moon ? My geography is sketchy.

I know this is Genoa’s gorgeous Principe station, though,

our target after a 20 minute bus trip from one of our quieter European airports. Incidentally, lovely passport control staff at Genoa, who laughed when Mrs RM failed to provide a fingerprint for the new EU entry/exit system as they’ve worn away from too much blogging.

I named Italy my favourite country of 2014*, and it’s hard to fault a place whose hotels (B & B chain, reliable) have decided the essentials you’ll need aren’t toothpaste and an iron, it’s crisps and cheap bottles of red.

B & B Hotels is my favourite accommodation chain, if only because there’s so little excess stuff in their rooms that you can’t lose cables and teddy bears, there’s sockets near your ear, and the art is top draw.

This was my fourth visit to Genoa/Genova, a city I’d put in my Top 5 when asked in 2014, so time to see how it compares with all the great places we’ve seen since.

Principe Station is pretty much at the start of the three main walking routes through this magical place; seafront, hectic Via de Pré, and the grand palaces along Via Balbi, which is where we start.

But first, two (2) minutes into that walk, food.

Those flags of St George get everywhere, don’t they ?

We’ve been living off pasta (mainly spaghetti) in Sheffield, as there’s barely time to shop before heading south. The pastas in those little Ugo trattoria that dot central Genoa are something else altogether.

Freshly made behind the counter, served in boxed for under £6, washed down with excellent craft beer from the Ligurian hills.

Mrs RM had the strong one, I wanted the one with a squid on the bottle. Actually, I wanted squid.

I’ll accept that Mrs RM’s Pansoti (ravioli) and my Trofie (the thin twisted one that looks like green beans) don’t look great,

but they were, it was a proper start to a week of carbs.

And it would get worse, with bargains like this;

I don’t think some of these prices have changed since my last trip 12 years ago.

* _{I forgot to award “Top Country” in 2025, so let’s give it to Transnistria, in case the Russians are reading this.}