Parigi, senza passare dal via (Contromano) (Italian Edition)

Download Pdfs Ebooks The History Of The Boston Medical Library Pdf Fb2 Ibook 1178489884

---

I thought of the colour as her. Nan walked back in with one of her many cups of tea and biscuits. She put the teacup down on a side table. I could tell her feet were hurting her. She had to wear shoes she had made by hand for a lot of money down south. She said that in Her Day girls would buy boots one size too small so their feet would look prettier. Now, when her shoes and heavy stockings were off, her toes lay one on top of each other like pegs that had fallen off the clothes line. Nan sat down with relief in one of the mushroom-coloured armchairs between the cabinet and the French doors.

I opened the middle drawer on the right. Something deep blue was in it sitting on white cotton. My grandmother took a bite of her sweet biscuit and stirred the two heaped teaspoons of sugar she always put in her tea. She was using the kitchen china today, blue and brown, and a discoloured silver teaspoon. Picked up the newspapers Nan had pushed with her stockinged leg off the footstool when she put her feet up, my mother lined up the edges of the pages, folded them in half and laid the paper neatly on the edge of the worn Persian rug just by the footstool.

She turned to me. Grandad worked on repairing a famous temple there when he was young. He did all kinds of things to earn the money to get from Russia to the Black Sea and buy a ticket to Australia. Working on the temple was just one of the things he did. He could do anything with his hands. My mother sighed, set aside her tea, and went over to the window seat.

She lifted off the cushions, which had turned multicoloured when the late afternoon light shone through the stained glass, and stacked them neatly in an armchair. She opened up the lid and drew out a faded map and something from a magazine. She brought them over to Nan. The map had a red ink line wandering across big bits of it that were different colours. It was clipped to a yellowing newspaper article. Both the map and the newspaper were glued onto thin board. You can remember if you break it into three words: I thought about Samarkand.

I looked at the picture of the temple in the yellowing news article. I pictured my grandfather standing beside the temple with a hammer in his hand because he had been banging bits that had fallen off the temple back on. I slipped off her lap, went over to the cabinet, and carefully pulled out the little drawer, holding it with both hands. He brought it all the way across the sea to Australia. Then later, after we moved up here and your mother was growing up, we bought land down at the beach and built the house. You used to go there all the time. I could feel strong legs supporting me as I sat on his lap.

I could felt a firm, flat belly laughing. I could see a Band-Aid on his forehead when I was standing on a chair in the dining room opposite him, ready to jump into his lap. I asked him why he had a Band-Aid. He said he had bumped himself cutting fronds off one of the palms. Now that the palms were overgrown and too thick, fronds dropped sometimes. I could remember a big Julia Waterford King.

Granddad held me up so I could see out the windows in the dining room. We saw lightning and heard thunder. Then he slid me down to the floor, took my hand, and led me past the big dining table to the end of the windows. He held aside the heavy, floorlength gold curtains and showed me a black box on the wall. I never went near that box. I could remember pulling silk tassels on his camel-hair dressing gown when we went to see him in the hospital.

I kept undoing the knot and he kept doing it up so I could undo it again.

He was supposed to come home but something went wrong. Granddad sold it shortly before he went into the hospital. Nan picked one of my long hairs off the arm of her chair and wound it around her slim forefinger. He built them with the best materials. He always used the best. We used to go there often. I thought she must have been expecting me the way she expected me home from school. Probably with my Grandadrents.

I gave her the mosaic, hopped off her lap, and tried to jump exactly on the line of little circles on the Persian carpet. Nan put the mosaic back in the little drawer, put it on the side table, and went to the window seat. She rummaged around and eventually pulled out one of the many photograph albums. She sat down and leafed through it carefully until she found a page of photographs. She beckoned me away from the dots on the carpet and bade me sit on the arm of the chair beside her.

The small, deckled edged, black and white photographs were of a sturdy child with a big smile wearing a straw hat, overalls, and a long, thick tumble of brown hair falling over her overalls. She was playing with a hose in the front yard. A handsome man with laughy eyes and thick curly hair and wearing in a light shirt and long pants was sitting on a wicker chair behind the child. The ocean was just behind a low fence. Nan took her last sip of tea. The biscuit had long gone. Nan put her empty teacup back on the side table, rose with difficulty, indicated to my mother to put the album, map, and article back in the window seat, and took the mosaic back to the cabinet.

I followed her over to the cabinet, reached up with my nail bitten fingers, and carefully opened the top right drawer. In it was a matchbox with an odd cross on it. The people who made it did bad things. Many people never saw their families again because of them. When we were travelling through Germany, we saw bad Julia Waterford King. They were written by the people who made the matchbox. I was only eighteen. I just thought they all had lovely uniforms, especially the girls and boys singing as they went marching and hiking. Nan got up and moved over to the piano.

On the top shelf, there were two long, hand-coloured photographs. She reached up and took down both of them. They had always been there. She let me hold one end of the first picture with her. It was of a city with mountains in the back. It was hand coloured. Nan said, running her finger along the top of the frame where some dust had accumulated. She wiped it onto her lace handkerchief. Nan and I were going to stay at the lake while he went to see his family.

He never saw his family again. So he stayed on with us in Switzerland. This second one is from the top of Mount Pilatus. I was sleeping in her childhood room. I lay there for a while until I could hear my parents talking in low voices in their bedroom, which was at the other end of the house, down the hall, through the dining room, and past the steps.

My mother had told me that when my grandfather was unwell, he would use that bedroom. I could hear that they were upset. Since we came to live here, they often sounded upset when they thought I was asleep. I would sometimes climb down out of my bed, which was high for me and creep down the hall, across the dining room, past the curtain and black box, and past the steps so I could hear what they were saying.

But I Julia Waterford King. That room had no other walls that adjoined the house. The other walls, each with big windows, overlooked the big back garden with the great palms and fern grotto. Their windows and mine both opened onto the back garden so sometimes I could hear them better than they knew just from my bedroom.

Nan was falling asleep over an American magazine in the room opposite mine. I slid down out of bed, tiptoed past her bedroom, through the dining room being careful not to look in the direction of the curtain hiding the black box , and into the living room.

The moon was shining through where I knew the stained glass was in the window. It made patterns on the dark rug. I quietly unlocked the cabinet and pulled out the middle drawer on the right. The mosaic lay there glinting softly in the moonlight. I thought about Grandad and his forehead with the bump and the Band- Aid. I thought about pulling his tassel in the hospital. I had to look up at him but was tall enough to pull the tassle. He had been smiling down at me and laughing. He had a laugh that made me giggle; it was only for me my mother said.

I thought about the photographs Nan had said were Granddad and me. Then I thought about the matchbox with the swass-ticket on it and the black box that my grandfather had told me meant no-one could get hurt. Now there were two things I could never go near: The red box somehow meant you might die or never see your family again.

It was bluer in the moonlight. The tunic I wore over the blouse hid the pocket. I sat in the back where the clever and obedient students were told to sit. I kept feeling my pocket all through Writing and Sums and the other boring classes. I liked playing hopscotch and knuckles but I was afraid I would lose the mosaic. Because I was one of the Good students, my teacher believed me. I managed to pretend that I was just unwell enough to stay in the classroom but not so unwell that she considered doing anything more serious. At the end of the day, I packed my school bag, a heavy brown horror.

I put the remains of my lunch and a scruffy exercise book in which I had to do homework into the bag. I had a spot at the end on the bottom shelf for my bag, next to the verandah railing. I stuck my school hat on and walked to the front gates. I felt my pocket again, happy to be alone with my secret. There was nothing in my pocket except for the safety pin, which was undone. I felt sick inside all the way to my socks. I ran back to our classroom. The teacher was sitting at her desk supervising two boys who were kept in for detention and were having to do lines.

She looked annoyed when I came back, beckoned me in. I asked her in a whisper if I could please look under my seat because I had lost my hanky. I looked under the desk. No matter how hard I stared at the black iron curves of the desk legs, no handkerchief appeared. I opened my desk. It had Julia Waterford King. I went out on the verandah and looked all over including my spot where I kept my school bag. Tears insisted on spurting from my eyes and I grabbed a bit of newspaper to wipe them; the toilets were too far to go.

Ned McWatters was sitting below the verandah. He was three years older, red headed, big for his age, and mean. His father was a steam roller driver and had disappeared last year.

No customer reviews

Then his mother ran off leaving Ned and Johno with his uncle. Some people said his father fell under a steam roller. Others said his mother ran his father over with the steamroller and then was killed in goal. Someone else said his parents were struck by lightning. Someone else said his father had another family out in the bush and his mother ran away with another steam roller driver. Ned hit the boy who said he was named after a donkey.

Anyway, Ned had been even meaner since his parents disappeared and he and Johno went to live with his uncle and aunt. Its legs were still moving a little but it had whitish stuff oozing out of it. I had no money. He looked more interested. I dug one of the marbles out of my deep uniform pocket and offered it to him. He took it with his filthy fingers and turned it around in the sun in front of my eyes.

I could see his fingerprints all over it. He reached into his back pocket, pulled something out and let it drop to the ground just behind where he was sitting. I ran over so I could see what it was. It was the handkerchief. I went to pick it up but Ned pushed me out of the way and snatched it. He threw the handkerchief at me. I reached to grab it because I knew it would fall heavily with the mosaic in it and then the mosaic would break and I might as well be dead. But the handkerchief floated in the slight breeze. I could tell instantly there was no mosaic. Tell me where you got it.

I handed over another marble. He just put it in the dirty grey pocket of his school pants. My fingertips encountered lots of gritty things — half-eaten, boiled eggs with gravel on them, old crayons pitted with gravel, a smelly grey sock with a hole. Did you see a bit of blue stuff where you found the hanky?

Especially questions from cockroaches. I handed over my last marble. It was my favourite: He gave them to me when I started school. I sat down in the dust and cried heartily. Ned continued to sit Julia Waterford King. He was a good shot. He even hit a crow. It flew off squawking angrily. I finally got up, blew my nose on the dusty hanky, brushed myself off with tear-soaked hands, thereby spreading the grime I had accreted, picked up my school bag, and walked slowly towards the gate. I was a few yards away when I felt a sting on my leg. I thought I must have been stung by a bee but I saw a scratch on my muddy leg and a little blood oozing.

I would need a Band-Aid when I got home. If I ever went home. I knew Ned must have thrown a stone at me and hit his mark. I heard him laugh. I was getting ready to go back and swing my school bag at him I was so mad. It must have been the stone Johno used. I picked it up so I could use it instead and saw that, despite the dirt covering it, it was the mosaic.

There was a spot of blood on the corner where it had hit me. I started to cry again and forgot to throw any gravel at Ned. He said bad words to me all the way out the school gate. My mother was shocked when she opened the door. I was a mess. While she was making the green gargoyle spurt hot water, I ran to my room.

I unwrapped the mosaic from of the handkerchief and slid them under the bedspread and sheets right at the bottom of my bed. I pulled off my grubby uniform and socks, dropped them on the polished floor, threw my hat on the Julia Waterford King. He should be reported to Mr. She took a green washcloth off the rail. It was my fault sort of. If you tell Mr. He always tells fibs. We had a bath. I talked too much out of fear and relief. My mother listened endlessly, treating all my stories as important.

This usually would have pleased me but in this case I knew that I was not telling her the most important story so I felt lonely and sadder and sadder. Finally, as she was washing my back with the green washcloth, I started to cry in earnest. I got no further. I wore my Band-Aid with pride and asked my mother if she could put one going the other way as well. Nan was silently angry with Ned. I could do no wrong in her eyes. I pretended to be asleep when my father tiptoed in, kissed my forehead, and touched the littlest short soft hair that grew near my temples.

He sighed and left tiptoed out. Finally, everyone was in bed. I fell asleep before I heard my parents Julia Waterford King. A clap of thunder woke me in the dark and soon it started to rain heavily. I was glad Granddaddy had put the black box in. I pulled the hanky and the piece of mosaic up from the bottom of the bed with my toes. I took the mosaic from between my toes. It was so dirty.

I spat on the mosaic and kept wiping and wiping with the hanky. After a lot of wiping, I decided it just had to be clean. Under cover of the sound of the summer storm, I sneaked into the living room. I climbed up again, got the key, opened the cabinet, put the mosaic back, locked the cabinet, climbed up on the footstool, put the key back with the top turned left just the way it had been when I got it the night before, and got down again, heart pounding. I was terrified about the mosaic.

I hoped I had got the bit of blood off. I felt slightly sick and elated with fear of someone noticing. No-one did, although my father noticed with sadness that I had lost some of the marbles he had managed to keep for thirty years without losing them. One day, when my mother was down at the clothes line and my grandmother was sewing, I checked to make sure the mosaic was there. There was a tiny pink smudge on the side where it was unglazed. I knew it was my blood. My grandfather had chosen a piece of land with a wide sweep of powdery white sand in front.

Only a long stand of Norfolk pines and a small access road lay between the house and the beach and ocean. He was honest and fair. I never saw him laugh the way he did with you. We would stop at the corner just before the house so we could look at it discreetly. Only used for furniture now. He insisted on copper pipes. He knew anything else would erode in the salt air. I did agree with him on that. We would drive on in silence. My grandfather had not left his family of intellectuals, later murdered, and worked his way from Russia to the Black Sea through all the red points on that map in the window seat without knowing what endured and what did not.

She wrote back and promised to tell us. Last time I drove by, alone, a forty-storey high rise was there. The view my grandfather had chosen, however, was unchangeable: She kept lots of other things too. They are mine now. Un anno fa, rileggendo il libro di Eisler, e i libri in italiano di Gimbutas, ebbi una intuizione composita, una specie di chiamata-insight, che spingeva a riorganizzare, e che veniva riorganizzando, la mia cosmovisione esistenziale e generale.

Essa prese molti anni fa la forma di una poetica po-etica, scrive il mio amico Iain Chambers in progresso esistenziale. Non si tratta di una teoria, quindi, o di una dottrina, o di una filosofia, ma di una forma vitale, di pensiero e Armando Gnisci. Riassumo questa condotta mentale e pratica in una brevissima riformulazione: Misi la concezione gilanica a fianco del Principio Antropico Cosmologico [PAC] 1 , formando in unum, il quadro poetico rafforzato da un quadro critico esistenziale e trascendente.

Trascendente come sono i sogni, o i passaggi nel tempo delle nostre vite, come dice Montaigne, o i mondi intermittenti e mischiati della grande relazione con le arti. Le neuroscienze del nostro tempo lo vanno mostrando. In mezzo, andiamo tutti noi. Questa condivisione coevoluta ha prodotto un imprevedibile contributo di forza e di tenerezza alla mia poetica. Ve la propongo, attraverso i lumi che siamo loro e noi, riuniti.

Il mio aggancio di pensiero alla concezione gilanica parte da due riflessioni ermeneutiche progressive che si compongono in due ragioni che si attraggono senza conoscersi se non ora nella mia relazione immaginaria, e un sentimento piacevole e sorprendente nel presente. Che cosa comporta questa mia variante della cosmovisione? La gilania fu la grande relazione concorde nel Armando Gnisci. La seconda ragione, la narro: Sappiamo, dagli scavi e dai libri di Marija, che le sepolture gilaniche erano comunitarie: Persone che erano insieme nella convivenza e nella sepoltura.

Con un panteon religioso curato dalle sacerdotesse e dai sacerdoti, Armando Gnisci. Con le ondate successive degli indo-europei-kurgan arrivarono le guerre. Se non ora, quando? Eutopia vuol dire immaginare il mondo del presente-futuro in una cosmovisione salutare e comunitaria, non solo immaginaria. Credo che dobbiamo innanzitutto imparare a viaggiare verso i porti del futuro. Ora che sappiamo che la concordia ci fu e che potrebbe ancora accendersi. La Old Europe ne ha circa ottomila. Da ora i millenni potrebbero smettere di essere un incubo incessante e diventare futuri.

Ecco le mie due riflessioni di lettore a partire dal pensiero di Marija e di Riane: Il suo era assoluto, ma partecipato, ascolto, attivo e attento tanto che chi andava via da lei lo faceva con il cuore gentile e appagato. Traduzione italiana di F. Il mondo come meditazione. Massimo Bacigalupo a cura di. He has taught literature at several European universities and around the world, including Japan, U. He has published and edited over thirty books, mainly within the field of Comparative Literature, which have been translated into many languages.

Love is being the resting point for the other; the hanging garden is refuge for artists as well as lovers. Kronberg im Taunus Sei la verde chioma del salice estivo, che fluttua lieve su di me, ancora e ancora come ventaglio orientale, le cui tenere piume oscillano e aleggiano pigre sopra di me.

Baysting, Heinemann, anthology. Having obtained her MA Hons and a Dip. She has taken part internationally in poetry readings, tours and Jan Kemp. She first met Aldo Magagnino in Lecce in , and again in when he started translating her poems into Italian. She had no money, she always hitched. It was freezing and she wrapped a rug around her little child who was half asleep on her hip. Wind blew through her Indian cotton dress.

Dark crows cawed overhead. Grit stung her eyes, it was late, she looked with longing at a smart young woman speeding by in a new pink Volkswagon. No, she needed to think about it all. Jane had put on the red black and yellow tee shirt and was passionate about Black rights, she went to land rights demos. She wanted to teach Aboriginal children, and go to Arnhemland. Well, for God sake, she had to do something. She had a fleeting image of her room at the Randwick boarding house where her son Aaron, slept beside her on a bare mattress.

Jane saw the near empty food box and university papers scattered on the floor- it was a hand to mouth existence and it was downright pathetic. Jane saw that it was time to come out and own her heritage, to stop apologising for the distant Aboriginal ancestor. To say loudly that the Hawkesbury was her country, that her grandmother was born there, Julie Janson. That she was a member of the Kangaroo Skin People of the Darug nation. Jane rushed to her job interview as Aaron waved goodbye from the University pre-school, he clung to the metal bars.

It was a desperate act, she fought back the anxiety, it was making her feel like vomiting. She chewed at her thumb, there was no money for rent and she dreaded being thrown out of the house and of having nowhere to go. Jane had dressed in her most conservative second hand clothes and caught a bus to the Sydney business district. He tapped the pen again, abruptly stood up and walked to the grey venetian blinds, he buttoned his brown cardigan. The sound of Sydney traffic penetrated the room: He grinned and his tongue flickered against the white foam sticking to his lips.

Did you study Anthropology? Jane imagined Mr White with gritted teeth pushing into his wife with her flannelette nightie bunched in her armpits, perhaps her face buried in a pillow. Take only one suitcase for both you and your son. He watched her walk to the door. Arrival at Harrison Station The drive from Margaret had been a night-mare, Aaron slept most of the way in searing forty degree heat.

Then the monosyllabic driver stopped at the Jeparinka road house for petrol. The ladies room was filthy, floor covered in toilet paper and shit smeared on the wall, she helped her son wash his hands and they entered the restaurant. At any moment Jane expected an Absurdist actor to set their Julie Janson. Someone farted, ghoulish rodeo clowns in red hats laughed, men with blue tattoos of dragons chewed, toothless hippies picked at salads of tinned peas and pineapple.

Bushmen, jackaroos, roustabouts and stockmen were hunched over plates of chips and gravy. A bald fat man stood over the bain marie, sprinkling chicken salt on the yellow disgusting food, Dim Sims, chips, shrivelled, pies shrinking in the heat. Blow flies were trapped behind glass, they buzzed. Aaron begged for a treat of Coca Cola, Jane bought drinks and they sat by a juke box playing Kenny Rogers. Outside, Jane saw the Aboriginal families, they were dusty, two children had pus filled eyes and blinked unseeing in the sunlight, they sat in the shade and ate orange Twisties.

The fat man pushed an old Aboriginal man towards the front door, the man was dressed in a shredded flannel shirt and had dusty torn jeans, no shoes. The fat man said. The old Aboriginal man shuffled towards the road. It was inhuman, it was Jane stood up, with a sinking feeling, a slight shaking in her voice, she had to speak up. Jane bent towards the old man. Said the fat man.

The room rippled with laughter. Jane felt everyone watching, she took Aaron by the hand and walked to the door. The restaurant owner pushed past Jane and put a plastic bag of bottles of Coke outside the door for the old Aboriginal man. The old fella gave up and sat down on the step, breathing heavily. The man saw the little blond boy, he smiled and saluted him. Jane watched as Aaron picked up the bag and helped him stand so she moved quickly to their side and put her hand under his arm. They walked him to his family under the tree, the Aboriginal women averted their eyes from Jane and Aaron put the drinks near them.

Jane smiled at the old man, it was an apologetic smile, it spoke of sadness and pity and a feeling of impending doom. She asked herself, who was she to think she could help anybody, she was barely able to help herself. Was this somehow her fault too? After a few moments I experience my first overtaking. I find myself looking at a truck that has its windshield almost completely covered with yellow flowers, while it start to overtake and invades my lane running toward me.

And he is honking his horn of course.

At first I wonder how the driver can see through all of those flowers. After a few more seconds, the previous matter becomes of secondary interest because I realize that there is no room for both of us. I slow down and move over to the far left. Then I choose the lesser evil by getting out of the way, experiencing a small and unwanted personal off road Paris-Dakar.

I stop a little further on in the sand, while the floral truck passes fast on my right honking, followed by other cars honking as well. I change my mind. If I want to get to the end of this trip intact and without injuries, then I have to change my driving strategy. I slow down and look ahead. I could lose my concentration again like I just have.

Observing the landscapes has to be left for when I am not driving. I try to prevent any further problems. It's much better but very tiring. The town of Rishikesh, only 30km from Haridwar, is very famous for meditation and also because it was visited by the Beatles back in It seems that this 3 month spiritual retreat, the peace of this place and the amount of time in their hands, helped the band strengthen their creativity.

Perhaps they were also influenced by the fact of having to use acoustic guitars electric ones were not working due to power shortages. On their return, they recorded the White Album. Although I'm not a big fan of the Beatles, I listened to this double album several times during my trip and even after and I crossed Rishikesh with "Happiness is a Warm Gun" that was playing in my crash helmet.

Urban life | Site de download de audiobooks!

I owed it to them. But Rishikesh is also known as "The Himalayas door" and, after having driven through it, I notice that the road and the landscape change dramatically. Dirt roads, fords, hairpin turns that unravel along the valley carved by the Ganges. The average speed has plummeted. The Ganges becomes, finally, really clean and you can see the snowy mountains in the distance, high towards Nepal over metres high.

And it's getting colder. The stage is exhausting, expect to cover kilometers in one day with those roads was a big mistake. Mi ritrovo a guidare col buio e sono molto stanco. I find myself driving in the dark and I'm very tired. Decido di cambiare strategia. I decide to slow down. Slow down, in every sense. It's as simple as that. I spend two days in Almora, a day longer than planned, to gather strength and re-see my itinerary. I move to the desert, chasing a hot that I can find. Comincio con una lunghissima tappa di trasferimento, divisa in due giorni. I start with a very long stage of transfer, split into two days.

When leaving Almora, however, step by Raniket, to look away, to Tibet, the snow-capped peaks. Un po' di rimpianto, che il freddo mi fa subito passare. A bit 'of regret, that the cold just makes me pass. The landscape is beautiful up to the plain. Poi comincia di nuovo la nebbia. Then the fog begins again. This is a period of transition, and in the plains, the fog is frequent.

I decide to do more road and can go all day. Mi fermo in un albergo lungo la strada appena fa buio. I stop at a hotel down the road as soon as it gets dark. Riparto all'alba, sempre con la nebbia. Allotment at dawn, always with the fog. Continua a far freddo. Continue to get cold. Delhi is a compact block of machines. Procedo a passo d'uomo. I proceed to a crawl. Between Delhi and Jaipur is a true nightmare.

Centinaia di deviazioni, traffico pesante. Hundreds of detours, heavy traffic. Ho fretta, ma mantengo alto il livello di attenzione. I hurry, but keep a high level of attention. In questo tratto ho schivato due macchine contromano in corsia di sorpasso. In this section I dodged two cars in the wrong lane. I dodged things you people would not even imagine can run on roads. In my direction and in the opposite. In my lane, in the right and in the left one. And in the one above and one below. And in the other two. Eventually I arrive in Jaipur and I am involved in a colorful traffic.

The sky is full of kites. The navigator leads me to the hotel with a relentless precision. Quello che ho visto mi spinge, malgrado la stanchezza, ad uscire subito dall'albergo. What I have seen pushing me, despite the fatigue, to exit immediately from the hotel. A hot shower and away, in one of the most colorful bazaar I have seen. Giro senza meta sino a sera.

Around aimlessly until evening. The city is fascinating. Il giorno dopo mi riposo, continuo a girare per il bazaar , ma questa volta con la moto. The next day I rest, I still turn to the bazaar , but this time with the bike. Oramai mi sono abituato e mi sento perfettamente a mio agio a guidare in questo rumoroso caos. By now I'm used to and I feel perfectly comfortable to drive in this noisy chaos. I take photos, I buy some presents, always thinking that the things that I'll have to add to the baggage portarmele behind.

Dormo come un bambino pensando al deserto che mi attende. I sleep like a baby thinking about the desert that awaits me. I get up early and childbirth in a clear day. Passo Ajmer e mi arrampico per i pochi chilometri che mancano per Pushkar. Step Ajmer and climb for a few miles that are missing to Pushkar.

Finalmente una tappa breve. Finally, a short stage. Arrivo in mattinata, ho tutto il giorno per girare. Arrival in the morning, I have all day to shoot. Il navigatore mi guida in vicoli improbabili e arrivo in una strada di sabbia. The navigator guides me in alleys unlikely and arrival in a sand road. In fondo il mio albergo, appena fuori il paese. At the bottom of my hotel, just outside the village. Le stanze decorate con elefanti, allegrissimo, gestito da una coppia di fratelli simpaticissimi.

The rooms decorated with elephants, very cheerful, run by a very nice pair of brothers. Uno dei due ha una Royal Enfiel Bullet One of the two has a Royal Enfield Bullet Parliamo a lungo del mio viaggio delle moto. We talk a lot about my trip motorcycles. His dream is to buy a Bullet E' entusiasta di quello che sto facendo, e mi chiede: E 'excited about what I'm doing, and asks me: Mi limito ad annuire. Poi vede il navigatore va in visibilio. Then he sees the surfer goes into raptures. Parcheggio, mi tolgo la polvere di dosso, mi cambio e mi avvio verso il paese.

Parking, I take off the dust off, I change and I go back to the country. Through all of the local market with the bike and finish at the end of the lake. Uno spettacolo da sogno. A sight to dream. I'm not a mystic, my way of meditating is to act. L'equilibro, l'energia interna in comunicazione con quella del nostro pianeta, sono concetti che tratto con benevola condiscendenza.

The balance, the internal energy in communication with one of our planet, are concepts that stretch with gracious condescension. Gli unici centri di energia che avverto dentro di me sono un'ulcera che sto allevando da tempo e delle chiazze di colesterolo che si aggirano nel mio sangue. The only centers of energy that I feel inside of me that I'm raising an ulcer are long and patches of cholesterol that wander in my blood. The lake has bewitched me.

I take off my boots, you can not walk with shoes near the water, proceed barefoot to nearly the edge and sit down. Guardo, scatto delle fotografie di nascosto, mi vergogno, mi sembra di fotografare una cosa molto intima. I look at picture-taking secretly, I am ashamed, I seem to photograph a very intimate thing. Centinaia di persone sono sedute vicino la riva. Hundreds of people are sitting near the shore. Si bagnano con l'acqua del lago, pregano, meditano. They bathe with water from the lake, pray, meditate.

Site for free books download!

I'm lucky, most of the people is Indian. Rimango incantato per ore. I remain enchanted for hours. I would say no, but I thought of many things Looking at the lake, the birds that fell off uninterruptedly from the water. My ulcer, in the end, she was hurt, she felt neglected. Rientro al tramonto, preparo di nuovo il bagaglio. Back at sunset, prepare new luggage. Ceno in stanza, the e biscotti in camera. I have dinner in the room, tea and biscuits in the room.

I pay attention to the food, being sick in motion is not the best, and the next morning I have to leave for the desert, Jodhpur. I'm leaving soon, the road continues to be good, quick trip to the wilderness. Where the asphalt is also yellow. Il paesaggio cambia bruscamente, ma il caldo non arriva. The landscape changes abruptly, but the heat does not reach.

The road is very busy, I permitted myself the luxury to relax. Lo sguardo si perde lontano. Two short stops, the sun, to warm up and drink some water. Lo sguardo in avanti, cercando la mia destinazione. Looking ahead, looking for my destination. Jodhpur, Jaisalmer together, is a city visible. Un imponente forte ne annuncia la presenza da lontano. An imposing strong announces its presence from afar. Come le nuvole su un'isola quando viaggi per mare.

As the clouds on an island when sea voyages. I can imagine the expectations of travelers at one time, shift its gaze to the horizon, looking for the sign of the city. The arrival is daring. My hotel is in the old town, narrow streets, where two bikes can scarcely meet. Especially if there is a cow in the middle. Il navigatore, questa volta, non mi assiste.

The navigator, this time, I did not attend.

Product details

Alla fine trovo la mia guest house. Eventually I find my guest house. Blue Like the whole city. Jodhpur, the blue city. The room is not ready. I go on the roof, which is dominated by the strong. Bevo un the bollente sotto un sole caldissimo. I drink hot tea under a hot sun. But the air is cold, the whole trip I was with the thermal vest and jacket all closed. Ma al sole, fermo, il freddo svanisce. But in the sun, still, the cold vanishes. Esco, giro per il bazaar , comincio ad organizzare il mio cenone di capodanno.

Esco, around the bazaar , I begin to organize my New Year's Eve. Compro frutta secca, ciotoline di acciaio le vendono a peso! Buy dried fruit, steel bowls they sell them by weight! Ora rimane un solo problema: Now there is only one problem: I'll think about tomorrow. Ceno con delle cose fritte bollenti prese per strada. I have dinner with the hot fried things taken to the street. Buone in modo indecoroso. Sento l'energia fluire nelle mie chiazze di colesterolo. I feel the energy flowing in my patches of cholesterol. I sleep like a rock and I am awakened at six by an improvised Muazim that is 20 meters from my room.

Poi lui si cheta e io mi riaddormento. Then he became quiet and I go back to sleep. Dedico la mattinata del 31 dicembre alla visita del forte. I dedicate the morning of December 31 to visit the fort. The majesty of the structure, built on a base of meters of rock, its beauty and the view of the city from me take your breath away. Giro per ore, senza stancarmi. Around for hours without getting tired. Pranzo con altre cose fritte. Lunch with other fried things. By now I am a friend of the seller, recognize me, and is very amused by the fact that I sneak in the line of customers, like you live there, eat and taste the things that he does.

Avvolte in un pezzo di giornale. Wrapped in a piece of newspaper. Back to the hotel, top up the oil in the bike, check that everything is in place, tomorrow I have to do km. Preparo le sacche, e poi organizzo il mio cenone di capodanno. Prepare the bags, and then organize my New Year's Eve. Un istante di imbarazzo: A moment of embarrassment at what time celebrating not the what, when? Poi guardo l'orologio, faccio due conti e decido che avrei festeggiato il capodanno sul fuso di Taipei. Then I look at the clock, do the math and decide that I would be celebrating the New Year on the spindle of Taipei.

Qualche strano legame con quell'esotico posto? Some strange bond with quell'esotico place? The similarity of the name? The champagne is perfect: Poi a letto, cullato dalle bollicine: Buon anno a tutti. Happy New Year to everyone. I wake up in a hotel full of people sleeping on the couches. Mi guardano strano, come dire: Look at me funny, as if to say: But they do it so good-natured. Questa cosa di viaggiare da solo su una Bullet mi rende simpatico a tutti.

This thing of traveling alone on a Bullet makes me nice to everyone. Carico la moto e mi metto in cammino. Load the bike and put myself in the way. La strada peggiora leggermente, ma continuo a viaggiare "veloce". The road deteriorates slightly, but continue to travel "faster. Everything becomes more and more flat. Incontro dei cammelli ovvero, sarebbero dromedari ma tutti li chiamano cammelli, e allora mi piego al dire comune Meeting of camels ie, they would be but all of them call camels camels, and then I bend to the common saying Again push the eye out along the asphalt yellow.

Cerco il forte di Jaisalmer, ma sono ancora troppo distante. Seeking the fort of Jaisalmer, but are still too far away. Vado piano, sto lentamente smaltendo lo champagne di ieri sera. I'm going up, I'm slowly disposing of champagne last night. Mi fermo spesso per riposarmi e mangiare un biscotto. I often stop to rest and eat a biscuit. Get fast, free shipping with Amazon Prime. Get to Know Us. English Choose a language for shopping. Explore the Home Gift Guide. Amazon Music Stream millions of songs.

Amazon Advertising Find, attract, and engage customers. Amazon Drive Cloud storage from Amazon. Alexa Actionable Analytics for the Web. AmazonGlobal Ship Orders Internationally. Amazon Inspire Digital Educational Resources.

• Gods Child
• Handbook of Polymer Synthesis: Second Edition (Plastics Engineering)
• Gear Bear Adventures: As Told by Gear Bear
• It Might Have Been What He Said: A Novel
• Direito à Saúde (Portuguese Edition)
• A Month of Sundays (Penguin Modern Classics)