Genoa, a port city in northern Italy, is a seaport that can rival Venice.
Most travelers know Italy’s “Big Four” — Rome, Florence, Milan, and Venice.
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We move too fast, so fast that we can only skim the surface when abroad. Tourists leave their footprints in these four major cities, carrying their nostalgia for Italy as they hurry away, while Genoa fades away—just like the pulse of her lifeblood—lost in the tides of history and the hearts of people.
Genoa, a city that has stepped back from the currents of history.
There is a dusty metaphor: “Life is like a train, with people constantly getting on and off, and you never know where your next stop will be.”
Genoa was never on my travel list, but I ended up here through a university arrangement.
After more than three hours on the bus, by the time I felt Genoa’s cool sea breeze, it was already dusk. One advantage of visiting Europe in summer is that sunset comes very late, yet even so, the streets of Genoa were cloaked in a dull haze. There weren’t many pedestrians on the streets, and the ships lay neatly in the harbor.
Everything was so serene.
We arrived on a weekend, and like other European cities, weekend Genoa was as quiet as a ghost town. That day was also overcast, with thick fog enveloping this city full of ancient relics. Most tourists opt for another water city, Venice, but I found myself drawn even more to this lonely Genoa that lingered in my mind.
Our guide said that Genoa had been a thriving metropolis during the Renaissance, but as prominent families moved away and declined, so did the city. The traces of construction and the streets adorned with magnificent Renaissance-era carvings — a forgotten city, quietly standing in this dim evening.
There weren’t many pedestrians on the streets of Genoa; walking in this deserted place gave a sense of being on the “eve of a storm.”
Weekend Genoa, with few visitors, surrounded by grand architecture, only made me feel lost.
We got off at Piazza della Vittoria, Genoa’s landmark square, where a large arch stands in the center. The first time I saw the grand arch of Piazza della Vittoria, it reminded me a bit of the Arch of Titus in Rome’s square. But then I thought — every glorious ancient city probably has one such grand arch. A university professor once said that white symbolizes wealth, so it’s not hard to understand why Greek-style, Baroque, and Renaissance buildings all primarily use white.
Let greed, hatred, and ignorance be left behind in broken gravestones.
Our brief trip to Genoa included a visit to a local cemetery.
It’s not called a cemetery but a memorial park. It houses family tombs of prominent families from the last century, along with many exquisite sculptures, which is why people often come here specifically. On the day of our visit, there were only a few scattered visitors in the park.
The former state religion of Italy was Roman Catholicism, and the cemetery didn’t evoke fear, but rather a sense of peace and an almost unbearable stillness. Italians don’t use joss paper or spirit money; instead, they use electronic candles to accompany their ancestors. As a result, there wasn’t even the faintest wisp of smoke from white candles — everything was silent and orderly, as if time itself had been sealed inside a picture frame.
Some say the family corridor in Genoa’s memorial park is an open-air art gallery, a treasure of the Renaissance. Looking at the endless arched corridors painted in a pale yellow that symbolizes parting, I couldn’t help but think — eternal loneliness is just like this.
In Greek mythology, there are many stories of humans turning into statues. The corridors of the Staglieno Cemetery feature one after another lifelike statue, as if the living had been turned to stone after locking eyes with the Gorgon Medusa’s deadly gaze.
The Chinese emphasize feng shui in burial, but Italian noble families pay great attention to cemetery design. The sculptures on the tombs were all commissioned by the wealthy of the time from renowned sculptors of the era, with meticulous attention paid even to clothing details and symbols. Angel statues, crosses, and similar motifs are common religious symbols on tombstones. The most unique symbolism is the use of “doors,” representing the division between life and death — a highly representative motif that has also been used in later literary works to symbolize the fall of a life by way of crossing an archway.
On the journey of life, we pass through many different stages: starting school, working, falling in love, getting married, having children, retiring. When we step into a new phase of life, we may feel anxious or reluctant, but we usually have some hope. Only when it comes to death do people feel a strange fear and unease — many traditional Chinese people are especially superstitious about discussing death. But if you think about it openly, death is indeed like a door in those statues — the only thing separating the dead from the living is that one door. The creations of Italian artists are truly profound.
The Staglieno Cemetery is enormous — so big that you couldn’t walk through it all in a whole morning. The cemetery is divided into several sections, some old and some newly built. Looking at the sculptures on the ancient tombs, it’s as if time has reversed, taking you back to the heartbreak of those moments —
Elderly couples with white hair bidding farewell to their prematurely deceased children,
Widows holding their fatherless children as they gently touch their father’s photo,
An eldest daughter unable to bear watching her younger sister kiss their mother’s portrait...
The sculptors captured their reluctant expressions, but what moved me most was the sculpture group themed around family breakup. The hyper-realistic statues even gave me an illusion, making me involuntarily start imagining the fates of the orphans who lost their fathers or mothers.
Some graves were covered in dust, looking as if no one had visited for a long time. The decline of these once-prominent families has left these figures forgotten in a corridor of a neighborhood in Genoa, where through the ages, only the flickering candlelight keeps them company on countless lonely nights.
After the cemetery tour, there was time for free exploration. That day, I happened to encounter a burial ceremony and watched from under the shade of a tree as it passed by. I observed the living visitors bringing small stools, gently stroking the tombstones, whispering, or silently gazing—as if the departed had never truly left.
A song by Joe Strummer echoed in my mind:
“If you leaned close in the dark And you told her how to mend a heart”
In the darkness of parting and death, who can teach us how to mend a broken heart?
Walking through the new cemetery section, I saw shattered pedestals from World War I, freshly turned soil, and faces frozen on the tombstones smiling at me one by one. The dense forest behind had likely sheltered countless people, and in the end, they all rested beneath its shade.
The Italians’ calm acceptance of death is truly admirable. I once asked the local guide why Italians could still engage in sculpting and decorating in the face of death. She, who had just pointed out where her father rests, simply said, “Because we know someday we will meet again.” Though we share the same faith, I didn’t quite understand. Maybe one day, I too will see through the mystery like she does.
When leaving, I took a photo with Fuji film. When digital things become unreliable and the memories of this trip fade, at least this unfading frame of film will remain as a memento.
The unique atmosphere of Genoa and the stories told by the guide have become a lingering curiosity in my heart. There’s still so much more to explore in Genoa, and I hope to visit again someday under a clear, cloudless summer sky.
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