The neighbourhood is venerable, noble and hushed, with small streets and huge houses, which seem empty. Between the eaves of the houses, the sky trembles with its extreme blue. Grass grows in the gaps between stones, as big as slabs. Silence is broken, every now and then, by the sound of bells.
On the other side of the city, on the outskirts, in El Terreno, in Gènova, there is a heaving colonial world, comprising artists, tourists and ladies who smoke. They are strange people, who swim in the winter and turn their backs on religion. They make devilish cocktails. They hold dances and teas. The old neighbourhood pretends to ignore them. With neither the bravery nor will to declare war on them, they instead choose to declare they do not exist.”