Thursday, 11 July 2013


Every time it's the same old story.
Tell an Italian you don't go on holiday on August and there's a good 7 out of 10 chance to get some look of pity. It's less than in the past, when I used to reach a 10/10 pity ratio: crisis after crisis, people are getting used to people not taking traditional vacation in August.
So, Saturday last week I packed my stuff (last minute, as usual) and the following morning I was off to Trentino.
Last year I discovered I'm a bit of a spa junkie and last year I enjoyed my time off in Trentino, so I thought it'd be a nice thing to do to go back.
There were many other reason that helped the choice.
I needed a break and some time off to deal with the next months at work.
Plus given the big fiasco that had been my birthday celebration last year I decided that not celebrating could be the safest option: not expecting anything means no disappointment.
I didn't say that out loud and clear but later on I realized I made my choice at least on subconscious level, based on this fact.
But a thought materialized just like that, out of the blue, during my week in Trentino.
I was sitting at a table, outside the bar of Pejo Fonti. Silvano, the barman, had just got me a glass generously filled with spritz and I was checking some pictures I had taken that day when I stopped and looked around: my brain was not taking in anything around me, but kept on thinking about how in the past year I cut a lot of ties and lost touch with so many people.

When I was abroad I felt heavily that the responsibility of keeping in touch was almost solely on myself: I was the one that moved out, I had to make sure I was still talking to people. It's a stupid notion. Quite possibly one of the dumbest thing that I ever thought true, still it conditioned me for a lot of years.

After last year birthday fiasco, I simply stopped writing and texting. Retreat back and the result is that not a lot of people is left. It's kind of sad in a way, because I look back and wonder if I could have spend my time better back in the UK. All that time writing mails and letters, I could have spent them in a pub, or at the Korean restaurant off Tottenham Court, or strolling on Southbank up to Tate Modern. I resent people because of this: I hate the feeling of regretting something, and I think they're as guilty as my own stupidity.

Happy birthday to me...

So nothing special this year: no aperitif, no dinner out.
No mails, no rejection.
And I had a great time: I had one of the best strudel for breakfast (the place is called "Pasticceria della nonna", Grandma's patisserie: I'm not saying that the patisserie itself is worth a trip to Pejo, but almost!), got a text from both my parents, which gives me hope in their technology evolution and a nice lady, Lilliana, "pulled my ear", as tradition ask on birthday. Plus an amazing picture from my sister as birthday card and the same old trusted texting me.
I'm not sure I'd appreciate this so much if it weren't for last year, so maybe I can stop being resentful to people about it; maybe... maybe just a a little.

Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Here I lie

In a lost and lonely part of town
Held in time
In a world of tears I slowly drown
Goin' home
I just can't make it all alone
I really should be holding you
Holding you
Loving you, loving you

I got back home from holiday, everything looked fine.
I went on with my life, with the small, little things of life, unaware of what was about to happen.
How could I have been so thoughtless?
So stupid??
So me???

When the feeling's gone and you can't go on
It's tragedy
When the morning cries and you don't know why
It's hard to bear
With no one to love you, you're 
Goin' nowhere
When you lose control and you got no soul
It's tragedy
When the morning cries and you don't know why
It's hard to bear
With no one beside you, you're 
Goin' nowhere
When the feeling's gone and you can't go on

I loaded the washing machine, showered, dined, fixed myself a coffee, start hanging the washing and then I realized the tragedy that fell upon me:

I felted my shawl!
Not a simple shawl! My Haruni shawl!!! It fits one of my nieces' doll one...
So now, not only I can't stop asking myself why I didn't pay attention when I loaded the washing machine: no, that's not enough.
Bee Gees are stuck in my brain and I can't stop singing. 

Monday, 8 July 2013


(ovvero a volte sono i libri a scegliere noi.)

Ho più di mezz'ora fra un treno e l'altro. Non so esattamente il perché, ma le stazioni in Italia mettono sempre un po' di tristezza: Sarà per l'aria stagnante, i colori da manicomio criminale, la sporcizia; forse una combinazione dei tre elementi è la causa principale.

Decido di entrare in Feltrinelli: c'è stato un tempo, nemmeno così remoto, in cui entrare in Feltrinelli equivaleva ad uscirne con almeno tre libri; ora le cose sono cambiate: è che se un posto inizia a vendermi insalatiere, grissini e pasta come il Lidl vicino a casa, mi aspetto almeno dei prezzi da Lidl, non tanto sulle insalatiere, ché non me ne frega niente, ma almeno sui libri.
Oggi entrare in Feltrinelli il più delle volte significa cercare sollievo dall'afa o ammazzare il tempo.

Così entro, trolley al seguito, girovago fra gli scaffali e l'occhio finisce su un titolo: "Io viaggio da sola".

Sono a Verona Porta Nuova, abbronzatura montagnina, scarpette impolverate da 6 giorni di camminate per sentieri alpini, trolley e borsa.
Fino a cinque minuti prima ero lì a chiedermi a che pro avessi portato quel paio extra di sandali e quella felpa: tanto lo sapevo che avrebbero fatto solo volume e peso in valigia, ma non li avrei usati.
E adesso, ho per le mani un libro che sembra essersi piazzato lì, in quel punto preciso della libreria, per attirare la mia attenzione, invitarmi a una chiacchierata fra amiche.

Io viaggio da sola

"Viaggiare da sole non significa affatto essere sole. Significa che vi dovete arrangiare a portare la valigia.
E' vero: sono andata in ferie da sola, ma non posso dire di essere stata sola. Eppure lo devo spiegare al 99% delle persone a cui dico di aver viaggiato con solo me stessa come compagnia.
Vaglielo a spiegare alla gente che a volte io faccio per 3 e non solo come chili al seguito.
Vaglielo a spiegare alla gente che è meglio che rimanere a casa e rinunciare a tante belle cose.
Vaglielo a spiegare che... ma anche no: gli amici capiscono, la gente invece è un po' caprona e il tempo preferisco impiegarlo a fare altro.

A leggere per esempio il libro che ho comprato alla stazione di Verona Porta Nuova mentre aspettavo il treno che mi riportava alla realtà di tutti i giorni: magari leggerlo proprio su quel treno, ridacchiando come una fessa mentre mi rispecchio in storie e aneddoti da viaggiatrice solitaria.