My trip to Porto Fino was on the other side of ‘get up and go’ coin. The town is about an hour’s boat ride north of Sestri and the boat trip is supposed to include a 45-minute stop at the town on the other side of peninsula from Porto Fino, called San Fruttuoso. San Fruttuoso is home to “Il Cristo degli Abissi” or “The Christ of the Abyss.” The story is that over a century ago a boat that was trying to dock in San Fruttuoso’s small bay crashed and sank. The statue of Jesus was part of the cargo, but instead of fishing it out of the bay, the residents left it as it was.* It’s not possible to see the statue from the boat, but it apparently can be easily seen if you swim out and dive down a little. There is a festival every year celebrating “Il Cristo degli Abissi” the last Sunday of every July. Alas, I could not attend.
Turns out I should have taken a clue from the fate of the ship in the story. I didn’t find this out until later, but if the sea is anything but completely calm, the boat won’t make the stop in San Fruttuoso. All we did was go around the peninsula and look at the bay from the boat. I also got to hear the captain announce, “San Fruttuoso: il interno degli Cristo degli Abissi.” Thanks. Because I wasn’t aware of that when I bought the ticket.
My hopes to see a crazy Jesus statue dashed, I was excited to get more than the allotted hour’s time to walk around Porto Fino. “It’s beautiful,” my employers told me, “You could look at the yachts all day if you wanted.” Porto Fino is where the ultra-rich go to vacation. And not just rich Italians. Everything there was translated into German, French and English as well as Italian (I was told George Clooney has a house and a yacht there? I don’t know if this is true). So at the very least I figured I was in for some pretty architecture and good views. The rich have to want those things right?
There’s a scene in Pride and Prejudice in which Lizzy is traveling with her aunt and uncle and they want to go to Pemberly to which Lizzy objects. In reality, she wishes to avoid Pemberly because she wishes to avoid Mr. Darcy, but as she cannot explain the situation to her relatives, her stated reason for disliking Mr. Darcy (and therefore his estate) is because “he’s so . . . rich.” I am Lizzy Bennett without the loved-but-rejected suitor behind my words. I should have known Porto Fino would annoy me. The first yacht I saw looked as if it could have crossed the Atlantic unscathed and its owner had christened it Limitless. Oh, I thought, so he thinks he’s God. There was also the more crude option, but I’ll leave that in case any of my readers are naïve enough not to think of it.
It didn’t get much better once we got to port. I had an hour and a half to explore, but it was far too long. You see, as a traveling philosopher-nanny, I’m quite poor. I like to go places to see what else there is in this world, not to buy things. There was really nothing but the latter option in Porto Fino. Lots and lots of shops where I could drop a month’s rent without batting an eye. No, I’d prefer to have a roof over my head for thirty days rather than have this nice shirt. Thanks for the option though.
But, as this is OVRP, I should be able to at least write about the town’s church, correct? I mean, this is why I’m generally drawn to churches – unless it’s a huge cathedral, entrance is free, and it’s where most of the best art (at least in Italy) is anyway. One of the only perks about getting off Sundays, on which most things in Italy are closed, is that the churches are open all day long. It seems, however, the ultra-rich don’t care much for mass. There was only one parish (which for Italy is insignificant), and the church was not open. I noticed there was only one mass per Sunday.
My last resort was to get some gelato. I paid €4 for a small cone, which is a bit outrageous. It wasn’t even good.
Lest you think I’m complaining about my terrible life in Italy where I get to ride boats to mountains and stay on the beach, I’ll just say that compared to the week before (and the weeks after) the Porto Fino trip was a bust. The bad traveler got her comeuppance.
*This story is false. It's just what the residents like to say what happened. They actually put the statue there themselves in 1954. Not as fun though, right?
