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Ogni tanto Markus lo vedeva affacciarsi dalla bassa finestra della camera, ornata da vasi colmi di meravigliosi gerani, attraverso la quale si ristorava assaporando i profumi dell'aria estiva nella collina. Il ritmo della sfera sul cemento e le sue fluttuanti parabole verso il canestro tenevano impegnato il fisico e le sue esigenze di moto, lasciando libera la mente di Markus di spaziare nel mondo della fantasia e delle immagini.
Era una voce femminile che proveniva dalle sue spalle. Sai che resteremo almeno fino a settembre? I due si sedettero sulle panche attorno al grande tavolo di legno. Allegro, scherzoso, pieno di vita. Ieri l'ho visto sfrecciare su quella specie di carretto a tre ruote del negozio di Mario e sembrava felice.
Salutava ad alta voce tutti i passanti I due rimasero pensierosi in silenzio qualche istante mentre attorno a loro la campagna si esibiva nel suo fragoroso concerto di cicale e calabroni. Improvvisamente udirono un baccano di lamiere, ciottoli e ruote provenire dalla stradina di accesso al casolare. Poi si rivolse allegramente ai due: Sei arrivata anche tu. Voi siete le prime due persone che incontro da quando sono arrivata! Ci beviamo un succo? Il bambino sembrava indeciso, imbarazzato. Devo continuare il mio giro Io devo andare ad aiutare i miei a sistemare la casa. La mamma, Paola, doveva essere ancora giovane ma aveva l'aspetto di una donna anziana.
Il suo fisico era affetto da innumerevoli malanni e quando riusciva a racimolare qualche soldo con l'elemosina, tornava sempre a casa con una bottiglia di vino in mano. Paola era orfana e non aveva mai conosciuto i suoi genitori. Salvatore l'aveva abbandonata, come forse fece anche sua madre. Man mano che il bambino cresceva, la mamma si spegneva. Nonostante il triste destino a cui era stato sottoposto, Ughino era sempre sorridente e quando poteva correva ogni volta a giocare insieme ai suoi amici, da cui era molto amato. Qualche volta veniva invitato a pranzo dalle famiglie degli amici e quando si trovava di fronte ai meravigliosi piatti della tradizione umbra, di solito ringraziava la padrona di casa dicendo: Proprio come me lo fa la mia mamma!
Con lui era diverso, si sentiva a suo agio e non aveva bisogno di fingere nulla. Nessun imbarazzo poteva essere provocato dalle parole di Markus e mai si era sentito tradito da lui. Inoltre, adorava le frittelle americane della mamma Mary, che loro chiamavano Pan Cake.
Trascorreva tanti momenti con lui e lo sentiva come un fratello maggiore. Erano Giovanni Montaldi e Piero De Lisis, figli di due facoltosi imprenditori di Orvieto, vestiti dalla testa ai piedi secondo l'ultima moda del momento. I due non avevano molti amici nella scuola, ma d'altronde la loro privata alleanza pareva accontentarli reciprocamente e non ritenevano di dover estendere agli altri la propria amicizia.
Quella volta Giovanni e Piero avevano iniziato a deriderlo a causa delle sue scarpe vecchie e bucate, accompagnando le loro parole con spintoni, mentre lui cercava una mediazione con un sorriso. Improvvisamente Piero con un calcio gli fece cadere nella sabbia lo zaino con tutti i quaderni di scuola. Con uno strattone Piero cadde a terra e subito Markus fu sopra di lui a dargliele di santa ragione, mentre un paio di altri amici tenevano lontano Giovanni dal duello. D'estate Ughino aiutava Mario, il gestore dell'unico negozio di alimentari del paese, facendo le consegne della spesa.
Per questo Mario aveva dato a Ughino una bicicletta da lui modificata per i piccoli trasporti: Ma poi, quando rientrava in casa, la sua allegria rimaneva sempre fuori dalla porta come un soprabito appeso all'uscio. Allora il bambino indossava la giacca dell'amore e della pazienza e varcava la soglia con coraggio. Lo sguardo della donna era perso nell'infinito vuoto e quasi sempre neanche si accorgeva dell'arrivo del figlio.
Le cure e le attenzioni da lui profuse non erano sufficienti, pensava. Forse avrebbe dovuto portarla all'ospedale? Le preparava da mangiare, le parlava, le curava le mani e i piedi, le raccontava di scuola ma lei solo raramente rispondeva con pochi monosillabi. Markus fissava la strada, pensieroso. Vuoi venire con noi al mare? Ma fu un tentativo vano. Giovanni mise la sua bicicletta di traverso, impedendo il passaggio ai due. Chi arriva prima alla piazzetta decide la penitenza! Lasciateci passare, devo andare al negozio! Piero rimase di pietra. Con una serie di robuste pedalate raggiunse Ughino in cima alla salita, mentre Piero e l'automobile di suo padre si dirigevano a valle.
Non per colpa tua. Nel frattempo erano giunti davanti alla bottega di Mario. Ughino scese dal triciclo e disse: Gli piaceva guardare le signore che entravano e uscivano dal negozio, scambiando due chiacchiere fra di loro, con le buste dalle quali uscivano i cespi di lattuga o i filoni del pane. Era ormai abituato sin da piccolo a quelle immagini, anche se non facevano parte dei ricordi della sua terra.
Stavano uscendo due donne robuste dalla bottega di Mario. Nonostante tutte le disgrazie che gli sono capitate Sai, proprio ieri mi sono ritrovata sua madre sulla porta di casa. Ogni tanto viene anche da me. Ma che devo fare? Poi il bambino possiamo tenerlo noi, un po' per uno. Markus avrebbe voluto intervenire, ma non ne ebbe il coraggio. Voleva dire a quelle donne che se veramente volevano bene a Ughino, l'ultima cosa a cui dovevano pensare era di togliergli la vista della madre.
Occorreva trovare una soluzione. Nel frattempo Ughino era uscito dal negozio e stava caricando le buste sul carrello. I due si avviarono lentamente verso l'uscita dal paese, affiancati. Mi sono svegliato presto e non riuscivo a riaddormentarmi, avevo avuto troppi sogni e molto strani. Ma lo chiamano dottor Draconis, e qualcuno dice che sia stato un medico. Mi accompagneresti una volta da lui a chiedere consiglio? Hai sentito cosa si racconta di lui in tutti i paesi delle colline qui intorno?
Allora fammi sapere quando vuoi andare. Ora devo scappare a casa. Viveva da solo insieme al suo gatto Bastet in un casolare molto malandato, disperso in un piccolo bosco tra il paesino di Sugano e Orvieto. Il casolare non aveva un bell'aspetto e sicuramente non induceva il passante a un sorriso: Talvolta, nelle giornate di mercato, qualcuno lo intravedeva spuntare attraverso le bancarelle. D'inverno vestiva sempre un lungo pastrano nero e un cappellaccio dalle falde ricurve verso il basso, mentre d'estate inaspettatamente appariva con gli abiti completamente bianchi: Quando scendeva al paese, si rivolgeva sempre con estrema cortesia ai suoi interlocutori, proferendo spesso un forbito linguaggio non comune in quelle zone.
Solo una volta — ci sono testimonianze — lo udirono parlare in pubblico. La donna lo picchiava sulla schiena mentre urlava: Oltre alla figura che hai fatto, pure le bugie! A quel punto Draconis si frappose tra la donna e il bambino, dicendo: Draconis non usava mezzi di locomozione di alcun tipo. Era insignito del titolo di dottore da parte della popolazione del posto in quanto si diceva avesse svolto in passato la professione del medico. Si diceva di lui che non avesse figli e che si fosse trasferito in quel casolare tanti anni fa, in seguito alla prematura morte della giovane moglie che lui — medico — non era riuscito evidentemente a curare.
Da allora era sempre chiuso in quella casa, da cui non si udivano uscire altri suoni se non quello del malinconico clarinetto. La grande riservatezza con cui viveva il dottor Draconis in quella zona, aveva fatto fiorire la nascita spontanea di racconti, testimonianze, favole sul suo conto. La gente non riusciva a tollerare il fatto di non sapere chi fosse o cosa facesse quello strano personaggio. Una delle novelle che si raccontavano su Draconis dalle parti di San Quirico era questa: Il ragno la morse e lei cadde a terra, morendo in pochi minuti. A questa storia, gli abitanti di Porano aggiunsero un'appendice: C'era anche chi sosteneva di averlo visto di notte immergersi nel pozzo davanti all'ingresso del suo casolare e riapparire solo al mattino.
Nessuno poteva dire quanto queste storie fossero vere o partorite dall'immaginazione popolare. Markus aveva un rapporto molto sincero e aperto con il padre e spesso ne condivideva gli interessi scartabellando fra le sue carte, gli articoli e i libri. In tutta la delicata fase del trasloco della famiglia in Italia, Josh era stato molto vicino al figlio cercando per quanto possibile di offrirgli un saldo e fermo appoggio in un momento di grande incertezza. Mentre imboccavano la statale si trovarono di fronte Ughino che stava entrando sulla strada verso casa Allen sul suo triciclo da consegna.
Ci vediamo qui da me alle sei. Markus sapeva quanto Josh tenesse a quel bambino. Anche se aveva voluto mantenere l'anonimato, il ragazzo aveva scoperto che era stato proprio suo padre a far consegnare a casa Stoppa il letto e l'armadio nuovo per la cameretta di Ughino, all'inizio dell'inverno scorso. Ma sai che spesso ci penso e mi viene voglia di andarlo a trovare per scrivere un articolo?
Poi Mary mi scoraggia sempre Ma d'altronde nemmeno Melampo sapeva di esserlo! Lo sai che mi piace quando mi racconti della mitologia! Aspetta, fammi ricordare la storia L'uomo era malato sin da fanciullo, da quando aveva assistito al sacrificio di due arieti da parte del padre e lo vide avanzare con il coltello sporco di sangue.
E che c'entra Melampo con Draconis? Erano giunti nel frattempo nel parcheggio sotterraneo dentro la rupe di Orvieto. Scesi dall'auto, i due s'incamminarono verso le scale mobili che salivano dentro la collina come un bruco nella mela; tutto intorno erano circondati dal colore di nocciole tostate delle pareti di tufo della galleria che saliva ripida fino a sbucare vicino piazza Ranieri.
Usciti dalle scale mobili, i due si diressero subito a destra verso via Loggia dei Mercanti e quando furono davanti all'hotel Piccolomini dovettero appiattirsi contro il muro per far passare un'auto di grossa cilindrata che stava arrivando lungo il vicolo. Markus conosceva quella vettura. E dal momento che ora il comune ci ha concesso la licenza, sarebbe molto utile se lei scrivesse un articolo per i suoi editori americani.
D'altronde penso che i turisti sarebbero ben felici di sapere che qui potranno trovare gli stessi sapori di casa loro! I piccoli occhi nascosti dal grasso delle guance e il naso schiacciato sopra alle tumide labbra ne facevano una maschera ripugnante. Gli hai pure promesso che gli scriverai l'articolo? Markus, soddisfatto della risposta del padre, gli mise una mano sulla spalla e proseguirono fino alla libreria. Dopo aver ritirato i volumi che avevano ordinato, si fermarono a un bar su corso Cavour.
Venite, sedetevi un momento con noi! Teresa ti trovo in forma smagliante. Si scambiarono i saluti e mentre gli adulti iniziavano a parlare delle loro cose, Markus fece un cenno ad Angela e i due si allontanarono dal tavolino dei genitori. Josh stava alzandosi per andare via e fece un cenno a Markus che si avvicinava. Allora Angela si rivolse alla madre, dicendo: Comincia a far caldo anche qui, vero?
Sono arrivati anche Fausto e la Teresa, che ti salutano tanto. Le ho sempre curate, sai, proprio come facevi tu e mi sono ricordata che a novembre occorre potare solo i rami che non hanno fiorito quella stagione, lasciando invece il fiore seccare da solo sugli altri. Mi ha detto che dopo l'estate lei e la Giovanna andranno al comune per convincerli a far accogliere quella poveretta di Paola Stoppa in un istituto, garantendo loro per l'assistenza di Ughino.
Povera donna, non ce l'ho con lei! Sembra come cercare compagnia. Sai che viene a piedi da Sugano? Paola passeggiava accanto alle sepolture e per ciascuna faceva un leggero cenno di saluto rivolto alla fotografia. Teneva in mano un mazzetto di piccoli fiori di campo che aveva presumibilmente raccolto lungo la strada e di tanto in tanto ne metteva uno dentro ai vasi dei loculi. Se avesse potuto, la fotografia di Anselmo avrebbe alzato gli occhi al cielo, in segno di raccomandazione divina. Poi, visto che la donna lo guardava interrogativa, aggiunse: La donna, senza distogliere lo sguardo dalla strada di fronte a lei, disse: Mentre percorrevano la piccola strada bianca di accesso al casolare Allen, notarono lo strano triciclo di Ughino parcheggiato di fianco al portone di ingresso.
Io vado su, divertitevi e Angela li precedeva e Ughino, dritto in piedi nella scatola metallica fra le due ruote posteriori, si teneva stretto alle spalle di Markus. Appena giunti sulla strada statale, l'attraversarono per entrare in un viottolo di fronte che percorreva il perimetro di un bosco ceduo. L'altro lato della stradina era delimitato da campi erbosi che scendevano lungo il fianco della collina; l'erba era molto alta e in gran parte secca. Ora erano giunti nelle vicinanze del punto in cui avrebbero dovuto deviare verso l'interno del bosco.
Arrivarono anche loro alla curva e voltarono, ma Markus dovette frenare bruscamente per evitare la bicicletta di Angela che era poggiata a terra. Lei era in piedi sulla strada e guardava verso un albero. Stavamo quasi per venirti addosso! Era fermo in mezzo alla strada e non andava via Poi ha aperto la bocca e Ma non ho capito Aveva in mano una ghianda e I tre alzarono lo sguardo verso le chiome della quercia e videro quattro scoiattoli in fila su un ramo sopra di loro, ciascuno che teneva stretto qualcosa fra le zampe anteriori. Angela prendi la bici, via! I ragazzi presero a pedalare forte verso il bosco per evitare le ghiande, e anche quando ormai erano decisamente fuori tiro, continuarono a correre per il viottolo attraverso gli alberi, senza sosta.
Angela era seduta a terra e guardava in alto verso le fronde degli alberi, in tutte le direzioni.
Ma cosa avevano quegli scoiattoli? Il sentiero in cui si era avviato Ughino era molto stretto e impervio. Con le biciclette sarebbe stato quasi impossibile percorrerlo. Mentre camminavano si cominciava a udire il suono del clarinetto di Draconis.
Note inaspettate, dal grave pesante al leggerissimo trillo acuto, galleggiavano attraverso la vegetazione fino alle orecchie dei ragazzi. Adesso riuscivano anche a vedere il recinto intorno alla casa, una bassa staccionata di paletti quasi tutti completamente avvolti dai rampicanti del bosco. Due piccoli cespugli di bacche rosse, simili a ossute mani sanguinanti, segnavano l'ingresso al giardino. Se non fosse stato per i suoni nasali del clarinetto che uscivano dalle finestre, si sarebbe detto un rudere deserto. Angela e Markus continuavano con cautela ad avvicinarsi al portone della casa, ma si accorsero che Ughino stava dirigendosi verso il pozzo.
Non si vedeva il fondo, ma sul fianco correva una lunga scala metallica agganciata a una pietra d'orlo. Mi sembrava ci fosse qualcuno Markus, ma questo c'era anche l'altra volta? Ughino lo osservava carezzando le pietre lisce e levigate , senza staccare gli occhi pensierosi dal fondo. Si misero in fila indiana davanti alla porta, mentre il clarinetto stava eseguendo una lamentosa scala diminuita.
Rumori di sedie e di oggetti spostati arrivarono ai ragazzi dal piano superiore insieme a pesanti passi su una scala di legno accompagnati da un sordo borbottio. Sull'uscio apparve la figura alta e allampanata di Draconis, vestito con una larga tunica bianca di lino e i capelli raccolti in una coda che gli pendeva sulle spalle. Teneva in mano un lungo e stupendo clarinetto d'ebano come fosse una mazza e fra i piedi — infilati in due sandali di cuoio — stava dritto un gatto grigio dal pelo di velluto, che li osservava con aria infastidita.
Gli occhi di Draconis erano nascosti dalle profonde fosse che li custodivano ma l'espressione che stava assumendo in volto era sufficiente a terrorizzare i tre ragazzi.
Mentre parlava, Draconis avanzava e i tre ragazzi indietreggiavano di conseguenza. Ci sono tanti sapienti in giro, chiedete a loro. E adesso andate via! Mi avete interrotto, ho molto da fare. Mentre saliva le scale, si sentiva borbottare: E pochi istanti dopo il clarinetto riprese a suonare. Se ne stava in disparte, continuando a fissare la porta chiusa senza parlare. Vedrai che riusciremo a trovare un'altra soluzione. Questo Draconis non mi sembra una persona che possa aiutarci. Poi riprese a camminare dietro agli amici, con gli occhi bassi, mentre il cielo diventava rosso e gli animali notturni cominciavano pigramente a sbadigliare, svegliandosi.
Persino l'udito abbassava la sua soglia e potevano essere percepiti rumori che di giorno rimanevano mestamente avvolti nel disatteso sottofondo acustico: Ma per Ughino quella non era una notte di quiete. Continuava a rigirarsi nel letto senza sosta, farfugliando parole nel sonno agitato, mentre gli tornavano sempre alla mente le immagini di una fredda scala arrugginita che scendeva verso il fondo di un pozzo. Nelle orecchie gli risuonava costante un rumore metallico, forse un oggetto che batteva sui pioli della scala.
La luce della luna illuminava tutto lo specchio della piccola finestra, a cui erano applicate delle grate metalliche. Un grosso barbagianni era ritto in piedi sulla soglia e ritmicamente colpiva con il becco la grata metallica. Il barbagianni aveva parlato! La sua voce era simile a quella di un anziano brontolone colto da un improvviso disappunto. Ho un sacco di cose da fare stanotte e devo ancora cenare! Io non ho tempo da perdere. Il bambino lentamente si sedette sul bordo del letto.
Doveva scendere per quella scala? Non ne era affatto entusiasta, ma il barbagianni era stato chiaro. Ma poi, doveva forse fidarsi di un uccello notturno che parlava come un vecchio borbottone? Ma forse era stato solo un sogno, vediamo. No, vicino a una grata c'era ancora una piuma grigia. Lo avrebbero mai creduto? Per fortuna avrebbe potuto portare anche Markus e Angela, senza di loro sarebbe stato un vero problema.
Helios in his chariot pulled by four winged horses. The woman walked with her back curved and head bent low, grazing the walls of the old buildings that bordered the narrow alley of the village of Sugano. Her unsettled steps were accentuated by the sound of her torn plastic slippers and covered feet that, despite the look of her clothes revealed great poverty, were meticulously cared for, as were the nails on her bony hands. As she walked, an inaudible whisper came from between her lips. Every so often she lifted her head to find her way through the alleys, and then resumed her walk.
Arriving at an open doorway along the road, she stopped right in front of it and waited, staring inside. The noises that came from the house were those typical of food preparations from a kitchen: You know he doesn't want this, right? What do you do, instead? When are you planning to stop? This is the last one! I don't want to see you around here any more!
Then she continued on to the city gate and settled herself on a low stone wall. The wall bordered the road that looked on to a wooded area right below. The woman kept holding the bottle that had been given to her, tight to her chest. Her head hurt, as if something was pressing on her temples. She knew that when she had this feeling, it was because they were coming, which was why she had gone to beg for the wine.
They constantly tormented her, and for years had never left her in peace. Every time she began to feel the atrocious pressure in her head, she had to endure them again. She could feel them. The foliage of the trees on the hillside below her slowly began to change shape. The branches extended and broke from underneath the foliage, transforming into large hands stretched towards the sky. At the same moment, the vegetation below her joined together, forming a dark, waving, slimy sea. The woman looked at the sight without interest and with resignation. Suddenly a voice spoke from the street behind her, calling her attention.
The one that had spoken was a small clown, which skipped playfully around the other two people: The clown continued to speak: Don't you recognize them? The masked female figure appeared to bring her hands close, and then bent in a loving pose. Meanwhile the clown sang: The woman removed the cork off the bottle. Immediately the two masked figures jumped, and the clown turned to them: The two bodies started to cover with green scales, and slowly settled to the earth rolling about, while the long hands of the trees behind the woman reached out and grabbed her by the waist. She screamed and immediately lifted the bottle to her mouth, gulping down a huge mouthful of wine.
At that moment, the nightmare disappeared and everything was back to the way it was before. Meanwhile a boy coming down the street on his bicycle witnessed her eager drinking. She gazed at the boy without answering. Don't you recognize me? Come on, I'll take you home. As she walked, her gaze remained fixed in front of her and she continued to repeat: They wanted me to believe Markus opened it, motioning the woman to enter.
The woman turned to him and said: Were your parents serpents too? His sideburns also appeared to extend down his face, because of a light, unusual hair growth that had started to appear on this face. In the morning he looked at himself in the mirror for a longtime, every time with the fear of waking up and not being able to recognize himself. He was not awaiting nor had asked for all these body changes.
Because of them, he felt submersed in a fog of confusion and doubts. He had been able to surround himself with things and actions that made him feel serene and hopeful. His physical appearance was one of them. His black curly hair falling on his white forehead, his red lips framed under a small straight nose and his prominent eyebrows framing a lively but intense look, created an image from the past, right out of a Caravaggio painting. This look he felt comfortable with made him feel safe. As a result, these morning inspections in front of the mirror revealed a frowning forehead that revealed preoccupation and disappointment.
He had been living with his parents in a small, isolated house on the Umbrian hills surrounding Orvieto since he was five, since — that is — his father Josh he had ruined his life in that crazy merry-go-round that is New York City. He had then bravely chosen to move, in agreement with his wife Mary. Both had been pondering that possibility for years and every detail had been taken care of with extreme care. Josh wrote articles on Italian customs, traditions and culture for the American market, while Mary worked in photography. Markus was not enthusiastic about their choice, even if he was familiar with those places since he was very young, as he had been vacationing there in the summer every year.
He realized he was going to lose all his friends to find himself in a completely new place, without anything familiar to refer to. The family would talk about it at length in the evening. In the end, he accepted the move, even if his decision was prompted more by his desire to make his parents happy, than to make himself happy. When the world turns upside down, the only way to remain strong is to lean against recognizable stable pillars.
His family, his room, his bicycle and his first true friends were pillars of strength to Ughino. Three years went by before he could give up the New York Yankees poster hanging in front of his bed, to make room for a poster of an Italian soccer team. He had learned to speak Italian perfectly and he attended the local middle school with notable success. Despite some initial difficulties, he was immediately cheerfully accepted by all his schoolmates and teachers.
The small realities of both the province and the country luckily did not destroy human relationships like urban centers do, revolting anonymous machines that they are. Markus then became friends with everybody, despite his initial distrust. Among all his friends though, there was one special friend, a girl: Unfortunately, destiny made this friendship hard for the boy, for Angela lived in Rome and only during the summer, and sometimes during some holidays, she would vacation with her parents where Markus lived and where her parents owned a small house inherited from an elderly aunt.
Angela was a year younger than Markus and they had become friends before he left New York, since both families had chosen the same place to vacation at. It was because of his great friendship with Angela that Markus learned to speak Italian quickly. For a couple of years, Markus and Angela had been enjoying more freedom with the permission of their parents. As a result, they would spend their days on the hills, biking along the wooded paths, looking for small animals and climbing trees, looking for hideouts.
Angela was a lively, blond girl, always ready for any adventure Markus would suggest. She was slim and agile like a gazelle in the fields and a squirrel on the trees. He never thought about the difference of the sexes too much, nor was this bothering him in any way. All this, up to that year when — in summer — Angela went back to the village again.
Like Markus, she was growing and physically changing and Markus was aware of all these changes. The once-bold little girl had gotten taller, her hair was styled differently and had a different shine, and her clothes did no longer disguise the flat and dry figure of years past. Her look had also changed and become so piercing it went right through you like a dagger.
Markus was thinking about this, while hesitating for quite a few minutes in front of the mirror… Suddenly he heard someone knocking at the bathroom door. I will be back tonight. Your father is up in his den, writing. She would leave early in the morning with all her photo equipment and spend the whole day traveling through the hills and bordering villages. At night, she would come back with a good number of pictures, which, through the night, she would examine and make changes to. Hidden in his den, he would write all-day long and send his work to editors by e-mail.
After breakfast, Markus went into the garden, making his way towards the back of the garage, where Josh had set up a basketball court for him, using one of the garage walls. The boy would spend a lot of time bouncing the ball on the pavement, then throwing the ball into the basket. All this physical activity calmed him down. As he was slowly swirling around, dragging behind him the ball bouncing on the pavement, that morning he thought of his friend Ughino, with all the problems his image would conjure up.
So intent was his thought, that Markus stopped the ball with his hands and stood for a moment looking at the climbing roses that were decorating the garage door. Markus turned around and his face lit up. She threw it on the ground and they hugged happily, transported by the spontaneity of a gesture they were accustomed to since they were five.
Markus though realized he had perhaps been too spontaneous. He pulled away immediately, blushing. His face beamed with delight. Cheerful, playful and full of life. He was greeting everybody loudly But his mother has gotten worse. He told me himself and I actually saw it for myself. He said there is very little that could be done since she is mentally sick. They suddenly heard a loud noise of metal, stones and wheels coming from the access road to the village house.
The two got up and moved towards the lane that led to the main entrance. When they got to the corner of the garage, they had to move back to make room for a boy who was riding a strange three-wheel vehicle with great speed. Then he addressed both of them: I am very happy. Ughino started to get off the bike and then hesitated. Would you like some juice? He looked at Markus and said: I have to continue my deliveries I just wanted to say hello. He looked at Angela, trying to let her know. She understood immediately and said: I have to go help my parents get set up.
Then Ughino got off his bike, stopped pretending he was happy and hugged Markus. Then Markus pulled his bicycle out of the garage and pointing to the road said: He was ten years old, but because of the emotions and the grief that life had reserved for him, he could teach good judgment and maturity to his fifteen-year-old friends. The engineers of the municipality had tried various times to have the two legally evicted, as the dwelling was considered not desirable for health reasons, but every time, independent groups of people had dissuaded them and convinced them to defer action.
Paola, the mother, was still young, but she looked like an elderly woman. She was afflicted by many ailments and when she was able to rustle up a little alms money, she would always go home with a bottle of wine in her hands. Paola was an orphan and she had never known her parents. She grew up in a convent and when she was twenty she had gone to work as an attendant at a summer camp for children on the Emilia Romagna coast, where she had met her first and last love.
Salvatore, a tourist traveling in that area, invited her to dinner and they stayed together until morning, when Paola had to go back to work. The following days she waited for him in vain on the beach where they had met. She looked for him in a futile search throughout the whole city, only to realize the only thing she knew about him was his first name.
Salvatore had left her, much like her mother had done. At the end of the season, she returned to the village pregnant with Ughino, her mind totally empty. As the baby was getting bigger, the mother was withering away. Her body slowly sagged like a bamboo whipped by the wind and only alcohol could make her bear the eternal grief of life.
Ughino understood immediately, since he was very small, that he had to take care of himself, as well as his mother. So he would go to school and after school he would take care of the house, helping Paola as if she were a little girl. Despite his sad destiny, Ughino smiled all the time and he would play with his friends, who loved him a lot, any chance he got.
The boy did not want his friends to pity him because of his condition, so often he would tell innocent lies to mask his meager truth. Sometimes, he was invited to lunch by families of friends, and was served with wonderful dishes of Umbrian tradition. He would then thank the hostess by saying: Just the way my mom fixes it! Things were different with him. He spent a lot of time with him and thought of him as an older brother. Once, when school let out, a couple of older boys arrogantly stopped Ughino.
It was Giovanni Montaldi and Piero De Lisis, sons of two wealthy businesspeople from Orvieto, dressed from top to bottom in fashionable clothes. They did not have many friends at school, but their private alliance seemed to satisfy them and they did not feel they had to be friendly to other people. Always bold and arrogant, they had several times shown lack of courage in their actions. Therefore, they usually would bother the younger and the weaker kids.
Ughino was one of them. One time, Giovanni and Piero started making fun of him because of his older shoes with holes, shoving him around as they spoke, while he was trying to resolve the situation with a smile. Suddenly Piero kicked him and his backpack filled with his school notebooks fell in the sand. Then Ughino turned and saw the boy turning red, because an arm, behind him, was grabbing him by the neck. With a yank, Piero fell on the ground and immediately Markus was on top of him, beating him up, while a couple of friends were holding Giovanni back.
During the summer, Ughino helped Mario, the manager of the only food store in the village, with deliveries to clients. Since during the summer holidays the number of people increased because of the arrival of all the people who owned a country cottage, the need for deliveries increased, as the store was getting bigger and acquired more clients. So, Mario had given Ughino a bicycle he had modified for small deliveries: Little Ugo felt mighty proud when he was riding this unique vehicle and often he would come back from his deliveries full speed, doing acrobatics on two wheels.
But when he went home, he left his cheerfulness outside the door, like a coat hanging from the door. The boy would put his love and patience clothes on and cross the door bravely. His mother would usually sit by the window, crossing her legs, with her foot constantly moving up and down. Her gaze was lost in empty infinity and nearly always she did not even know her son had come back.
Ughino thought his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world and he hoped every day that she would heal quickly. His continuous care and attention was not enough, he thought. Maybe he should take her to the hospital. But how could he love her more? He loved her more than himself! Every day he tried to be more affectionate. His heart would break, for he could not see any improvement. He would cook for her, talk to her, he cared for her hands and feet, and he would tell her about what was happening in school, but she would rarely answer, and when she did, only in monosyllables.
He would then go in the bathroom, turn on the faucet and cry his heart out, hitting his head with all his strength, crying rivers of steaming tears into the basin, clutching his heart because of the pain.
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She is completely mad. I met her yesterday and took her home. He tried to change the topic: Do you want to go to the beach with us? Do you remember the last time, when she fled at night and we found her on the bridge? Who gets to the square first decides the punishment! Markus looked at him straight in the eyes and said: Let us through, I have to go to the store!
Piero did not move. The left window of the car was lowered and a voice screamed from inside: Giovanni grabbed his bike and started pedaling towards the descent. But he did not need to; he already knew it was a heavy person with white withered skin, with his head dripping with sweat and black sun glasses perennially resting on his forehead. Not because of you. Ughino got off his tricycle and said: He enjoyed watching the women in and out of the store, chatting, with bags filled with heads of lettuce and loaves of bread.
Those images were engraved in his mind since he was small, even though they were not keepsakes from his own land. He only remembered a lot of confusion and the icy cold of the huge supermarket in the city where he was born. The younger told the oldest: You see how nice and polite he is? Despite all the bad things that happened to him Just yesterday, I found his mother at my front door. She had finished the wine. Once in a while she comes over to my house too. But what should I do? I would feel like I did Ughino wrong.
But now we have to do something. And we can take turns caring for the boy. How much trouble can that polite boy be? I know he takes care of all the housework, he could even help me! He wanted to tell those women that if they really loved Ughino, the last thing to do was to separate him from his mother. He had to find a solution.
Meanwhile, Ughino had left the store and was loading the bags on the cart. When they were alone again on the road, Ughino continued: Tell me about your idea. But we know nothing about him; he has been living there by himself for years, since he first came to the area! But they call him Doctor Draconis, and I heard that he was a doctor. He may be able to help me. How did you come to think of him? Maybe because I heard he was a doctor, and maybe because nobody can help mom. What do you say?
Would you go see him with me, and ask for his advice? Are you aware of what everybody around here says about him? There is just one thing She is a friend of mine and you can trust her. Let me know when you intend to go. I have to go home now. Markus was happy to see him like that, even if deep inside he was doubtful of the decision he had made. He lived with his cat, Bastet, in a decrepit house, lost in a small wooded area between the villages of Sugano and Orvieto.
Nobody knew what he did all-day, but if you walked along the house you could nearly always hear the sound of a clarinet, which — from the windows up high — would meander up to the top of leafy trees. It was not a pretty house and it certainly did not bring a smile to the people passing by. The window shutters were hanging down like the eyebrows of sad eyes.
The outside walls served as a perennial bed to the gigantic climbing vegetation and even the main front door was so misshapen that it appeared to be grinning with contempt and grief. In winter, he would always wear a long, black overcoat and a large hat with brims curved towards the bottom, while in summer, he would dress entirely in white. Shirt and pants were so big that his thin, tall figure would appear ghostly. His face was thin and sunken under his cheek bones and his eyes were set deep and overshadowed by his sockets, blocked and hidden from any observer.
His hair was long and smooth, down to his shoulders, by now partially grey, even though the age of the doctor was a mystery. When he would go to the village, he would speak to people in a very polite manner, often speaking in a polished style, not characteristic of that area. His speech was concise, just what was necessary and no more. Under no circumstances he had appeared hesitant when starting a conversation with unknown people. He was heard talking in public only once. It was when, at the market, a mother was screaming to her son, who apparently had stolen a pen from a man who sold stationary.
The woman hit him on the back, as she was screaming: I am hitting you also for having lied, for saying you did not steal that pen! Hermes was the one who told him to lie. And who is this Er When they found out, the young Hermes denied it repeatedly; he lied with strength and courage to the God who was accusing him. Faced by such impertinence, Apollo started to laugh and forgave him.
Children must lie, Hermes tells them to. When he would leave the house to do some shopping, he would walk on foot through the wooded area, dragging behind him a small four-wheel wooden cart on which he would load his supplies. The title of doctor had been given to him by the inhabitants of the village, as it looked like in the past he had practiced medicine. No one knew, however, what kind of medicine, nor if he ever had taken care of, or healed anybody. The elderly ladies were very suspicious and if they happened to meet him, they preferred to go another way. Talk had it that he did not have any children and that he had moved to his house a long time before, following the untimely death of his young wife, whom, as a doctor, he apparently had not been able to save… Since then, he had been a recluse in his own house, a house where the only sound was that coming from his sad clarinet.
Doctor Draconis lived in that area in great privacy and this had created stories, testimonies and fairy tales about him. One of the stories about Draconis around San Quirico was that while he was travelling around the world looking for answers to his questions, young Doctor Draconis met and fell in love with Suseri, a Japanese girl.
Once, unbeknown to him- he hid a poisonous spider in the pocket of a jacket hanging in the closet. As fate would have it, that morning, Draconis did not wear it when he left. The spider bit her and she fell on the ground, where she died after a few minutes. When Draconis returned home, he found her on the ground and tried to save her, unsuccessfully.
Word has it, that the grief was of such magnitude that the doctor from that day onward became a loner. The inhabitants of Porano had an addition to the story: Draconis would communicate with the spirit of the young Suseri through the sound of the clarinet. Someone also said he had seen him at night go down the well in front of his house and come out only in the morning.
No one could tell if the stories were true or born from the imagination of the people. The truth of the matter is that Draconis was, by then, an integral part of that environment, just like the woods, the houses, the vineyards and the vegetable gardens. That afternoon he was going with him to the Orvieto library to pick up some books Josh had ordered the week before. He climbed on the seat of the jeep that was already in motion and they took off on the white road leading to the highway. Markus had an open and sincere rapport with his father and often shared his interests leafing through his papers, articles and books.
When the family moved to Italy, through the whole delicate moving phase, Josh had been very close to his son, trying his best to offer him a strong and firm support at a time of great uncertainty. As they were getting onto the highway, they met Ughino who was entering the road, going towards the Allen residence on his delivery tricycle. I have to ask Ughino something. I will be right back. I can come by around six. Be at my house at six. Markus was lost in thought. I often think about him and I am tempted to go visit him to write an article.
But Mary discourages me all the time On the other hand, not even Melampus was aware he was one! He was the first mortal granted divine powers by the gods. You know I love it when you tell me mythic stories! It was as if there was a universal mould for every occasion. Wait; let me think about the story He would understand the language of birds and insects because it seemed that two serpents, grateful for a favor, licked his ears.
The man had been sick since he was a young boy, ever since he had witnessed the sacrifice of two rams by his father, when he saw him walking holding a knife covered with blood. That sight made Ificlus sick, but no one understood that, with the exception of the two birds of prey that witnessed the fact. He ran to get the old knife that was still stuck in the trunk of a tree and made Ificlus drink the rust formed by the blood of the ram, dissolved in a little water. Somehow, he had to get rid of that terrible image from his childhood, and perhaps the blood of the ram reminded him of that.
And what does Melampus have to do with Draconis? It was just to show you that Melampus was a doctor without knowing it. They got out of the car and started walking towards the escalators that were climbing inside the hill like a worm making its way upwards inside an apple. All around, they were surrounded by the tuff walls of the gallery, the color of toasted hazelnuts. The gallery was a steep climb, until it exited near Piazza Raineri. When they got off the escalators, the two turned to the right towards via Loggia dei Mercanti and when they stopped in front of the Piccolomini Hotel, they had to flatten against the wall to make room for a car with a powerful engine that was coming down the alleyway.
Markus was familiar with that car. I am happy to see you. And since city hall gave us the license, it would be very useful if you could write an article for your American editors. And the tourists would be very happy to know that here they could find the same food they eat in their own country! His small eyes hidden by the fat of his cheeks and his nose, flat above his swollen lips, made him truly grotesque. They said goodbye and as soon as the car was gone, Markus vented his disappointment: You even promised him you would write him an article?
But I did not tell him what I will write in the article! As they were paying for their snack, Josh heard someone calling him: Come sit with us for a little while! I find you very well. Looking towards the display case of the news vendor, Markus said: He said he is going to be at my house at six.
We'll go there together. He motioned Markus who was approaching them. Then Angela turned to her mother saying: I will see you later, at home. Matilde used to go to the cemetery every week. She would clean and shine up the marble slab that had been guarding the memory of Anselmo, hear husband, for over ten years. To her, that visit was a pleasurable break from her daily monotony and after having taken care of the flowers, changed the water and washed the marble, she would sit on the stool she brought from home, and chat peacefully with Anselmo's smiling picture.
At the village, nothing new, except the seasonal tourists are coming and at least there is someone on the road. Fausto and Teresa are here too, and they say hello. I have always taken care of them you know, just like you used to do, and I remembered that in November you prune only the stems that didn't bloom during the season, leaving only the flowers dry on the other stems. Next spring you will have hydrangeas as large as watermelons!
The lavender bush has grown a lot too. This time though, I am going to take all the branches off and make them into scented laundry baskets like my mother used to do when she was alive.
I like the silence of the morning, as the city slowly awakes. After breakfast we head towards the train station, where we jump on the first train to Roquebrune. Here we leave the sea behind to climb up the long stone stairs to the old village. Despite my total lack of exercise, we manage to reach the top, exhausted but happy.
The historical town is a maze of narrow lanes built around the church of Sainte-Marguerite , with old houses the walls of which are covered with ivy and bougainvillea. Walking along Rue Moncollet , we pass under porticoes and take stairs carved in stone, hardly finding any shop.
Encouraged by the wind that helps coping with the heat, we climb up to the castle , a Medieval fortress where visitors are led through the various rooms — kitchen, prison, towers and the cells where men used to spend several months, defending their territory and watching the horizon. Centuries ago, piracy was a threat in this area. The view from the amphitheatre is spectacular. The sparkling sea is dotted with white boats. Cypresses and maritime pines move softly in the wind, hiding the beautiful Provencal houses.
Roquebrune is also linked to the name of the renowned architect Le Corbusier , to whom is dedicated the long and enchanting walk between Menton and Nice. The midday sun is hot, so we go back to the station and return to Menton, where we shop at a local market: Statues, columns, porticoes, every detail reminds of ancient Greece. From the terrace overlooking the bay, you can see Cap Ferrat.
And here we are headed now, walking along the pedestrian street that connects the beach to the village of Saint-Jean. On the left, the blue sea breaks against the rocks; on the right, villas are hidden behind trees and flowers. We peer though the gates to see the houses, wondering how would it be if we could live in one of them.
Then we reach the characteristic town of Saint-Jean Cap Ferrat, built around the little harbour. I believe I will never get tired of celebrating the beauty of this splendid house dominating the sea, surrounded by gardens with plants and flowers from all over the world. The next day, the last before going back to Italy, we dedicate ourselves to Menton. Citrus, orange, bergamot, kumquat and tangerine trees were planted in the gardens, and now they overshadow statues and contemporary artworks. In the past, English aristocrats in love with the French Riviera and owners of many villas in this area had plants imported from around the world to dress the landscape.
Here he collected a large number of exotic fruit plants, such as kiwi trees, avocado trees and banana trees, along with exotic flowers such as hibiscus. Then there are the gardens of Villa Maria Serena , close to the Italian border; of Fontana Rosa , inspired by Andalusian and Persian styles; and of Serre de la Madone , on the hillside, designed by Lawrence Johnston who travelled the world always seeking plants that he could acclimatise on the French coast.
The narrow lanes winding down the hill have evocative names, often linked with… pirates. We visit the church of Saint Michael Archangel, a beautiful example of Baroque style that reminds of certain Italian buildings. Menton is also known for citrus honey , which we buy at a local shop. The cuisine is influenced by the Italian tradition, but very typical are the so-called barbajuans , a kind of fritter stuffed with cheese and vegetables, which originates from Monaco.
The moon shines over the sea, and groups of boys and girls are gathered on the beach, playing the guitar and singing. The lights of the ships can be seen in the distance. Ecco le linee guida: Ringraziare la persona che vi ha nominato e includere il link al suo blog. Rispondere alle 11 domande che la persona che vi ha nominato ha pensato per voi. Nominare altre nuoi blogger che pensate meritino il premio, e pensate a 11 domande da porre loro. Inserire queste regole nel post. E molti posti esaltati da tutti mi lasciano indifferente o non mi ispirano affatto, mentre altri meno considerati mi conquistano.
E stavamo per finire la benzina e la carica del cellulare. Un mix dei tre. Non amo restare ferma in un posto. Una frase di Italo Calvino: Memorie di una Geisha. Riesce sempre a rapirmi. Si viaggia anche attraverso i racconti e le foto degli altri. Lo sanno, ma non da me. E una buona colazione con prodotti locali non guasta mai.
Sembra un piatto banale, ma il gusto era pazzesco. E il dolce alle ciliegie non era da meno. Guida Michelin e istinto. Da allora ho seri problemi con il pesce. Anche se sono quasi certa che non mi piacerebbe! Come preferisci viaggiare — auto, treno, nave, aereo, autobus? Cosa ne pensi della scelta di viaggiare in solitaria? Se potessi scegliere, vorresti vivere in una enorme metropoli o in una cittadina? Dove non ti trasferiresti mai e poi mai? So che alcuni di voi hanno ricevuto nomination plurime e ora avranno liste infinite di domande, ma ci tenevo a includervi!
Tempo fa ho raccontato di un viaggio nelle Keys, fatto da tre ragazze che si sono spostate in macchina attraverso le isole della Florida e poi lungo la costa occidentale, fino a Naples e la splendida Captiva Island. Naturalmente, una di loro ero io. Ne avete mai sentito parlare? La sera raggiungiamo la zona dei ristoranti a piedi nudi, camminando sulla sabbia. Tarpon Springs , invece, mi sorprende. Esplorando il paese, ci ritroviamo in una chiesa ortodossa dove stanno celebrando un battesimo… e, per visitarla, fingiamo di essere interessate ad assistere alla cerimonia: Ville lussuose, barche che pigramente risalgono il fiume, le palme che ondeggiano leggere, tutto parla di un mondo di gente privilegiata, gli Americani che possono trasferirsi qui e passare le giornate a giocare a golf.
Il paesaggio cambia rapidamente: Ci fermiamo in un locale lungo la strada, uno di quelli frequentati dai motociclisti, e infatti incontriamo un gruppo di pittoreschi poliziotti in moto che ordinano pizza e birra. Qui serve una piccola parentesi: Some time ago I wrote a post about three girls who went to Florida and drove from Miami to the Keys , and then along the west coast up to Naples and the long, white beaches of Captiva Island.
Obviously I was one of the three. Have you ever heard about a little island called Sanibel , not far from Fort Meyers? It is very popular among shell seekers , as its beaches are made of fragments of translucent, empty shells, brought ashore by the tides. The island retains the charm and natural beauty that has always characterized the island, one of dozens of barrier reef islands scattered on the green waters of the Gulf of Mexico. If you are fond of shelling, walk along the shell like, just where the highest waves stop as they roll ashore: Like Captiva, Sanibel has a quiet charm; amid mangrove trees and shallow bays, pelicans, herons and sea turtles make their home.
And if you like lighthouses, you cannot miss Lighthouse Beach at sunset. Sanibel is connected to the mainland by a bridge over the blue. From there, we headed North, toward Tampa Bay and St. The museum houses works of American, European and Japanese artists, and a special section is dedicated to the circus, displaying models and small and large tents: We stayed in a little hotel by the sea, which was average, but quiet. We walked barefoot on the sand and dined in one of the restaurants overlooking the sea, serving fish and Mexican food, enjoying the lively atmosphere.
On the contrary, Tarpon Springs was an unexpected surprise. Home to a large Greek community , the town is widely considered to be the Sponge Capital of the World. Almost unwillingly, we checked out and headed East toward Orlando, passing through forests and isolated towns as well as large mansions which reminded us of Gone with the Wind.
Here we met a group of policemen whose motorbikes were parked outside, next to our car. Let me tell you, Florida is HOT. Gone with the Wind becomes a distant memory as we approach Orland, the city of amusement parks. America , Travel Diaries Tagged: Piccola ma non troppo , raccolta, circondata dalle montagne. Lasciata la macchina in uno dei parcheggi vicini alla stazione, ci si trova subito in piazza Walther, dove sorge il Duomo. E pensare che un tempo dovevano ricoprire tutte le pareti. Ho sempre avuto la sensazione, molto piacevole, di trovarmi sul confine tra due culture, due stili, due mondi.
Le facciate sono spesso decorate e, percorrendo certe vie, si trovano casa vecchie, con affreschi dalle tinte sbiadite ma non per questo meno affascinanti. Si cammina sotto i portici, tra i negozi che — purtroppo — ormai sono tutti uguali: Per questo preferisco i mercati: Non aspettatevi la confusione di certi mercati rionali: Nella regione dei dolci di sapore austriaco, le pasticcerie assomigliano a quelle viennesi, con torte invitanti esposte in vetrina e cameriere bionde che servono le fette avvolte nella carta lucida e trasparente che le protegge. Dopo il mio weekend in Trentino , al ritorno mi sono fermata a Bolzano e sono passata di qui, non resistendo alla tentazione di provare la torta alle mele, un mix riuscito di frolla, crumble e ripieno dello strudel, e quella di panna e ricotta, una versione leggera della cheesecake.
Sono pratici, i Tirolesi, con le idee chiare. Non perdono tempo eppure non sembrano mai di corsa. Parlano due lingue, spesso tre, e viaggiano molto, pur amando la loro terra. Se cercate un attrezzino per le torte, uno snocciola-ciliegie, un taglia-verdure speciale, una tortiera di una forma strana, qui li troverete. A pochi chilometri di distanza da Bolzano, in direzione della Val di Fassa , si trova un lago dal colore incredibile, verde smeraldo. Dicono che, tanto tempo da, le sue acque fossero abitate dalla ninfa Ondina , di cui lo stregone del Latemar era innamorato.
The church with its golden-green roof is a perfect example of the encounter between two cultures, the Gothic from the North and the Renaissance from the South: Imagine what it should have looked like when the entire church was covered in frescoes. The network of pedestrian streets is one of the things I most appreciate in Italian towns. This is why I prefer the colorful, loud, authentic markets. Even coffee is good, so much so that, in South Tyrol, I always prefer it to tea.
They do not waste time and yet never seem to be running. They can speak two languages, often three, and travel a lot, while at the same time being attached to their land. And what about museums? Sto camminando sotto la pioggia, in Trentino , e mi sembra di essere entrata in un mondo parallelo, una foresta magica in cui si incontrano le fate.
Siamo arrivati in Val di Fassa , precisamente a Pozzo di Fassa , tre giorni fa, sotto un cielo che minacciava tempesta. Poi, finalmente, una luce. Mi siedo sulla panchina di legno sotto la tettoia, guardo il paesaggio nuvoloso e il sapore incredibile della torta mi strappa un sorriso. E poi ditemi che il buon cibo non consola. Mi abituo in fretta a questo mondo verde che sa di muschio, aghi di pino e terra bagnata. La mattina seguente, approfittando di uno squarcio di azzurro tra le nubi, scegliamo una passeggiata tra quelle che si possono fare partendo dal paese e risaliamo un sentiero nel bosco, senza aspettarci niente di diverso dalla solita passeggiata nel verde.
Si sentono richiami di uccelli in alto, tra i rami, e un fruscio tra le foglie. Proseguiamo scavalcando radici fino a incontrare le prossime sculture lignee, una ragazza con un pesante ciondolo al collo e un cavaliere triste che aspettano i pellegrini con la loro storia: Di fronte, le cime delle Dolomiti. Torniamo in paese dalla stessa strada, con la sensazione che il sentiero delle fate abbia lasciato una scia di magia. In cielo, infatti, le nuvole lasciano il posto a qualche frammento di blu e decidiamo di salire in macchina verso il Passo Sella , per scendere poi in Val Gardena.
Qui parcheggiamo e, approfittando del tempo clemente e quasi caldo, visitiamo la cittadina famosa per la lavorazione del legno. Ci fermiamo a Canazei , il cui centro offre case storiche nel tipico stile trentino diverso dal tirolese , lungo il torrente. Di ritorno a Pozza, scegliamo il ristorante per la sera: Piatti con ingredienti locali, ricotta fresca di capra, gnocchi ripieni, e perfino la pizza con farina biologica: Intorno, il gruppo del Catinaccio , dei Monzoni e del Latemar.
Non stupisce che i Ladini abbiano popolato le loro montagne di creature fiabesche. Nei lunghi inverni, le famiglie trascorrevano molto tempo in casa davanti al focolare e, mentre le donne filavano la lana e gli uomini intagliavano il legno, si raccontavano storie di orchi, nani e fanciulle bellissime, come la figlia della luna, sposata con il principe del regno. Da allora, le Dolomiti sono chiamate i Monti Pallidi. Under a blanket of clouds, which surround the rocky peaks of the Dolomites , the world is emerald green. Even the air, full of moisture after many days of rain, has a different texture, pale blue, like the mist rising from the trees.
Pine and larch forests cover the mountainsides; along the way, the scent of the undergrowth is intoxicating. Then, finally, a light. I quickly get accustomed to this green world that smells of musk and wet earth. Yet she found some comfort in the wonderful view of the Dolomites before her stone eyes. In fact there are patches of blue in the the cloudy sky now, and so we decide to take the car and drive up to Passo Sella. It is easy to let my imagination run wild in places like this, and imagine to spend the night in the hut listening to old tales and uncanny stories.
Ahead, the road climbs down towards Sella di Val Gardena and then Ortisei. In fact there are many shops selling handicrafts, wooden items and souvenirs in the main street, along with hotels and restaurants. The rain starts falling again, but not for long.