The prices for almost all goods and services can be tracked geographically. Basically, Portofino has the highest prices, while next door Sta. Margherita is cheaper, and poor old Rapallo down at end of the line, the least expensive, but in season semi-extortionate. Nothing much really happened in Rapallo between the negotiation of a famous naval treaty there, 1922 or so?, and my first visit in the Summer of 1962 (itself the source of a grand tale of romance and lust). WWII seems to have drifted by with only modest damage and inconsequential vengeance exercised by those on the winning side(s), and serious attempts were made by the locals to obliviate any memories thereof from the record. In 1962 at least, the local gospel seems to have been that there were no Fascisti here. They all lived in Genova or la Spezia, and could be conveniently ignored as a lost chapter in the colorful history of Liguria (where conquerors, assorted tyrants, various conditierri, and renowned mariners passed like ships in the night). I recall once meeting a guy in a bar in Rapallo late one evening who (over too much grappa at too late an hour) attempted to convince me that Columbus was no Genovese, but the child of an apothecary specializing in remedies for a variety of conditions troubling sailors whose ships called in Portofino.

Portofino, before cheap celebrities and paparazzi, was among the haunts of the substantially elite and the artistic. Sta. Margherita catered to a more modestly affluent crowd, while Rapallo could be disgustingly commercial (except for a creaky old hotel with high ceilings, floor length windows, and gauze curtains which billowed in a light breeze, an almost cinematic setting for love/lust in the afternoon). Were I once agin disposed to tumble headlong into sin, I hope that I can summon up the ghosts and vivid memories of those hours in hopes of emulation.

Since on the other hand recreating and repeating the excesses of the halcyon days of my youth are unlikely/improbable/impossible, I would hope once again to anchor in that gentle and beautiful bay, to come ashore to drink Campari Sodas in the warm sun, and to watch the girls go by.