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This is a tale of two cities. The first grew up around a working port, wharves and all. Behind the harbour, in the steep, narrow lanes of the old town, stray dogs wander past groups of over-painted women (“Vieni qua, bello!”), cobblers jostle for space with farinata sellers, Baroque churches grafted onto mediaeval carcasses loom over vacant lots, a tangible sign of war damage still not stitched up, more than half a century on.

And then all of a sudden, turning a corner, the second city appears. A straight, handsome flagged street - the Strada Nuova - is lined with Renaissance palaces, as if some 16th century philanthropist had decided to finance a life-size museum of architectural styles. Beyond, an area of wide Risorgimento avenues and arcades hosts cafes, department stores, and one of Italy’s most dynamic opera theatres, the Carlo Felice.

Charles Dickens was struck by the Jekyll-and-Hyde nature of Genoa when he passed through in 1844: “it abounds in the strangest contrasts: things that are picturesque, ugly, mean, magnificent, delightful and offensive, break upon the view at every turn”. But it is also a city which - as Dickens went on to note - “grows on you every day”. It’s difficult to appreciate the unique flavour of the place in a quick stopover between train and boat.

Genoa disappears from close to, or breaks into bewildering fragments. To appreciate the extent of its coastal sprawl, the terraced height of its inland spread, take a boat tour of the port and contemplate the city from the sea, as so many departing or returning sailors must have done. The trip also provides a chance to take in what is fast becoming the city’s third face: the old harbour itself, spruced up by architect Renzo Piano for the Columbiad celebrations in 1992, and gearing up now for Genoa’s stint as European city of culture in 2001. The industrial docks - still the city’s major employer - have moved out to the area beyond the imposing Lanterna lighthouse. In the old basin, where ships were once unloaded by wind-burnt dockers, there are now cafes, shops, and a growing number of tourist attractions.

The biggest pull is Europe’s largest Acquarium - a fine example of the genre, with huge, state-of-the-art tanks reproducing several marine environments, from Mediterranean tidal zones to coral reefs and Arctic waters. A pair of playful dolphins will occasionally swim over to rub noses with children on the other side of the glass. Ten years ago there was no aquarium, and the fishmongers along the waterfront still sold sun-dried dolphin meat.

Genoa became a major European power between the 13th and the 16th centuries thanks to its maritime prowess and the astute commercial ability of its merchants and bankers - consolidated and symbolised in the central Palazzo Ducale, historic seat of the Genoese Republic, and now a forum for conferences and exhibitions. The city’s wealth was mostly concentrated in the hands of a few noble families - Doria, Spinola, Balbi, Brignole, Grimaldi, Pallavicini - who built sumptuous town houses along and around the Strada Nuova (now Via Garibaldi). Most of the city’s art collections are still housed in these original palazzi, giving the visitor a rare chance to see Italian and Flemish paintings in the gilt-encrusted surroundings for which they were commissioned. The 16th century Palazzo Spinola is the best of the bunch, as much for its soaring trompe l’oeil frescoes (a Genoese speciality) as for its collection of paintings by Antonello da Messina, Tintoretto, Rubens and others.

Another fascinating town house - originally set in its own park outside the city walls, but long since engulfed by Genoa’s westward expansion - is the Palazzo del Principe, built in 1529 by the city’s canniest and most influential ruler, Andrea Doria. Doria was a mercenary admiral for most of his life, with his own fleet of galleys; when he finally turned his hand to ruling Genoa in 1528, he ended the feuding that had plagued the city and imposed a constitution that would last until 1797. If the place still feels lived in, that’s because it is; Andrea’s descendants open the villa to visitors at weekends only.

After all those gilded cherubs, it’s time to think of lunch. Genoa’s culinary traditions are not those of the aristocracy; they reflect instead the cucina povera of the sailors plying the trade routes and their anxious, cash-strapped families back home. Chick peas were ground into flour to make farinata - Genoa’s answer to pizza, which can be sampled in a number of outlets in the old town. Herbs were gathered on the hillside where they grew in perfumed profusion to make various sauces, the most famous of which is pesto. Any Genoese will tell you that you haven’t tasted pesto until you’ve tasted it here. No two Genoese, on the other hand, will agree on the exact proportions of the ingredients, on whether or not to add potatoes and runner beans, on the exact spot where the only basil worth using can be gathered.

Their ability to look after the pence has earned the Genoese a reputation for stinginess. If this is true - and the locals, famous for their dour sense of irony, are as likely to embroider the charge with anecdotes as to deny it - it works in any case in the tourist’s favour. One can eat out here for almost risible sums in good, honest trattorie such as Da Maria in Vico Testadoro, or splash out - relatively speaking - on the menu degustazione at Gran Gotto, a modern restaurant in the rational grid of wide avenues and parks that lead from Stazione Brignole - the easternmost of Genoa’s two train stations - to the seafront.

By way of a digestivo, head up for another view. This must be one of the few cities in the world where commuters can take a lift to work. From the central Piazza Portello, a short tunnel leads to two perfectly ordinary-looking ascensori which take one on a two-minute vertical ride to the residential district of Castelletto, perched above the rooftops of the old city. From up here - with the wind gusting in off the sea - the two parts of Genoa’s fascination add up: a hillside clung to precariously, where up and down make more sense than left and right - and the beckoning expanse of the sea.

Day tripper

At least a day should be given over to some of the nearby sights. The Parco Durazzo-Pallavicini at Pegli (12km west, by train from Porta Principe) was redesigned in the mid 19th century as an allegorical pleasure-ground, whose lakes, pagodas, grottoes and fountains lead the visitor through the chapters of a metaphysical fable. To the east lies the wild promontory of Portofino, whose southern coast is accessible only on foot or by sea. The Abbazia di San Fruttuoso (access by boat from Camogli) must be one of the most picturesque monasteries in all Italy, with its arches sunk into the sand of a small fishing cove.

This article originally appeared in Conde Nast Traveller (UK)

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