Adunata Genoa 2026 · Day 3: Genoa

Adunata Diary · Part 3 of 4

On Saturday we head to Genoa, amid hats, songs and hugs – And then? Fiiiiish!!!

Saturday has come at last. The Saturday you wait for for months, that you talk about all year round, that you even dream of on grey November days when the National Alpini Rally (Adunata) seems so very far away. Today it is our turn to enter the city of the Adunata. Today it is Genoa’s turn!

By train, from Chiavari station

The camp is a stone’s throw from Chiavari station, a stroke of luck we had already appreciated and made the most of at the 2001 Adunata, when we were also guests of the Bocciofila Chiavarese. The train to Genoa is already full of Alpini hats when we climb aboard: you immediately recognise comrades from other Groups, people greet each other loudly and ask one another where they have come from.

And it is here that, within a few minutes, we run into a crowd of Alpini friends from the Belluno area: the men from Zoldo, those from Lentiai, the orange shirts of Tambre, and many others. It feels like being at home, among the Black Feathers of our valleys, and yet the train has carried us along the sea and into the heart of Liguria.

Genoa celebrates

Getting off at Genova Brignole on an Adunata day is an experience worth the journey in itself. The city is quite literally celebrating: Italian tricolour flags from every balcony, the sound of brass bands drifting from street corners, market stalls, impromptu choirs, people applauding the feathered hats parading along the pavements. And all this from early morning.

There is the lady who asks us to put our hat on for a photo with her little grandson, someone else pulling out a phone for a picture, another offering us a glass of wine without even asking who we are. Genoa has opened its arms, and we throw ourselves in headlong.

Our “edelweiss” in the spotlight

The real stars of the day, however, are them: our “edelweiss”. Mara, Domenica, Marilisa, Lorenza and Lorella — all dressed on a red, white and green theme, with a playful, patriotic elegance that does not go unnoticed.

Literally besieged by amateur photographers, they smile patiently at every request and pose with children, elderly people, tourists, and even with a Genoese journalist (Paolo Dellepiane), who took the cover photo of this article. Today our edelweiss shine brighter than the sun.

A flower for Guido Rossa

There is a moment, in the middle of the festivities, when I wanted to stop. A moment of my own, and then of the Group. I asked my friends to come with me to the monument dedicated to Guido Rossa, the Italsider worker murdered by the Red Brigades on 24 January 1979 outside his home in Via Fracchia. Born in Cesiomaggiore, a man from the valleys of Belluno like us, an Alpini paratrooper, a lover of the mountains — one of us, in every sense that matters. A just man who paid with his life for reporting a Red Brigades member in his factory, because he believed that one could not stay silent in the face of evil.

We arrived there in silence. And there, when it came to the souvenir photo, I realised something that left a bitter taste in my mouth: many of my friends — not to say all of them — did not even know he had existed. And yet he is a brother of ours: from Belluno, an Alpino, a mountaineer. And yet he is a civic hero of this country, one of those whose story ought to be told in schools, in groups, in families. I stopped to explain who he was, briefly, my voice growing a little quieter. Some nodded, some took off their hats, some pulled out their phones to look up our article about him on the Group’s website.

I would have liked Sabina Rossa, his daughter, to be with us too; I had exchanged a few messages with her in the preceding weeks. But Sabina had explained that on 9 May, right in the days of the Adunata, she would be in Rome for the Day of Remembrance of the Victims of Terrorism and Massacres. A commitment that cannot be postponed — the commitment to memory, above all when you bear the surname she bears. We sent her a photo from the foot of the monument, with our Alpini hats, and promised her that we will come back. Perhaps together, another time.

Guido Rossa must not be forgotten. It is a duty — above all ours, we Alpini, who wear memory on our hats like a feather.

Carlotta, an exceptional guide

Joining the Group to show us around the centre comes Carlotta — daughter of Michele, one of our committee members — who lives right in Carignano, the assembly area for Sunday’s parade. To tell the truth, she told us about a couple of little groups of tipsy Alpini who, on Friday night, pestered her with improper remarks, and one of them even pretended to trip so as to sneak a grope of her breasts… These are the things we hate, and which Carlotta has nonetheless learnt to shrug off lightly, knowing full well that the Alpini, the real ones, are like her dad and his friends from Salce.

She proudly leads us through her Genoese streets, explains the views, suggests where to eat, where to drink, where to sit for a moment in the shade. It is lovely to see her walking among her “veci” (her old-timers), amid Alpini songs — a little out of tune, it must be said — and cheerful people following us as if we were a small wandering band.

Neither thirst nor loneliness

Let’s be frank: we certainly did not go thirsty. Genoa’s bars, in these days, are natural extensions of the street party, and the Genoese — who are reputed to be thrifty — showered us with applause, photos and hugs.

Every alleyway is a little theatre, every square an open-air tavern. We walk little, laugh a lot, and drink whites scented with the sea and full-bodied reds from the hinterland. But what we needed was a good coffee, and in one of the little squares of the old town we bumped into a group of women from Belluno, with our friend Paola Caldart, originally from Mier. The usual souvenir photo was a must. CLICK!

At the harbour, with the mayor of Longarone

After lunch in merry company we went down to the Porto Antico, between the Aquarium and the moored ships, where we were joined by a familiar face dear to us: Roberto Padrin, mayor of Longarone, always there when the Alpini are about. And always there at our tables at the Adunata, whether lunches, dinners or aperitifs.

He is one of those mayors who understand — because they come from our land and our history — how much more than a party the Adunate are: they are memory, they are identity, they are a community on the march. His presence warms our hearts.

The fish dinner at the Bocciofila

We head back to Chiavari towards evening, tired but brimming with that cheerfulness only Genoa can give. And there, waiting for us, is a dinner to tell future generations about. Offered by Antonello Solari, his wife Patrizia Sacchet (Michele’s sister) and the friends of the Bocciofila Chiavarese, it is a triumph of the Ligurian sea: prawns and scampi in abundance, trofie with the most fragrant pesto, swordfish from the grill. We eat properly, with the honest hunger of those who have walked all day.

The Prosecco? Offered by our “edelweiss” — Mara, Domenica, Marilisa, Lorenza and Lorella — who had bought it specially for the occasion two weeks ago, during our trip to Guia di Valdobbiadene. Well done, very well done!

It is gestures like these that hold an Alpini Group together: small thoughtful touches prepared in good time, kindnesses built up over months, a bottle brought from home to raise a toast away from home.

Tomorrow, the parade

The sky, meanwhile, has begun to cloud over. There is talk of rain for tomorrow. But who cares: an Alpino has never turned back in the face of a drop of water.

We return to the big tent with our feet singing of their weariness, and fall asleep already dreaming of the great parade tomorrow, Sunday.

We will write about it in the fourth and final part.

— from the travel notebook of the Gruppo Alpini di Salce