After a few restaurant visits here, we started noticing something beyond the food: the plates.
Large, colourful, weighty ceramic plates and platters. It doesn’t seem to matter whether the restaurant is slightly touristy and polished or a small, slightly chaotic osteria tucked away on a side street – the food arrives on something beautiful. The plating makes even a simple dish look like a piece of art rather than just lunch.
The same applies to where we are staying. The cupboards are full of heavy ceramic bowls and serving dishes. I eventually learned that this is not just decorative taste – Liguria is well known for its ceramics, and one of the main centres for this is Savona, just along the coast from us. There are workshops and museums dedicated entirely to the craft.
I haven’t had time to explore them yet. For now, Ligurian ceramics mean something slightly different to me: emergency healthcare.
When I said they were heavy, I meant very heavy. Heavy ceramics and a stone sink are not a forgiving combination. It turns out that even a light clash between the two can send a plate shattering into an impressive number of pieces – along with a fair amount of embarrassment.
On one such occasion, the shattering included my hand.
After a reasonably dramatic amount of bleeding, we decided it was probably sensible to drive down from the mountains and have it looked at properly. I wasn’t particularly excited about testing Italy’s pronto soccorso. I’d heard enough stories about Italian A&E to feel slightly nervous.
As a compromise, we first tried a pharmacy in Finale Ligure. Our Ligurian hosts had mentioned that there is sometimes a nurse on standby who can deal with minor injuries. Unfortunately, the nurse starts at 3:30pm. And doesn’t work Wednesdays. It was Wednesday.
“Go to pronto soccorso,” we were told.
So we did.
The hospital in Pietra Ligure is not aesthetically reassuring. A solid, rectangular concrete structure that feels like a Soviet relic. The A&E department looks functional rather than inviting. Patients filled the waiting areas and corridors. I mentally prepared for a very long afternoon.
Triage was quick. The injury was inspected, and I was told to wait to see the orthopedist – stitches seemed likely. Interestingly, no one seemed surprised by the explanation that it was a ceramic-related accident. I suspect I am not the first.
Three and a half hours later, we left.
An X-ray had been done. A specialist had assessed everything carefully. The conclusion: no stitches required, but antibiotics and a substantial bandage. And – despite the surroundings – the care was calm, professional and thorough.
What struck me most was that nobody asked for insurance documents or a credit card before treatment. We were simply seen, treated and sent home.
Visually, it may not rival the polished hospitals of Northern Europe. But in substance, it delivered. Efficient triage. Proper specialist review. No fuss.
Liguria’s ceramics are beautiful but fragile. Its healthcare system looks austere but, in my experience at least, works and works well.
I now handle the Ligurian plates with considerably more caution.
