My travels

August on the beach

2006-08-01T13:24:00.000-07:00

On 12 August I am joining for one week my parents and will stay at their (new) holiday house on the Adriatic coast, in the same complex where my uncle/aunt and cousins have their house, in the resort of Porto Recanati, a fisherman village very close to the holy Loreto, the pictoresque town of Sirolo and its dramatic scenery from the Conero mountain (see photo on the right), renowned for its red wine (Rosso Conero). I know this area very well because my dad has worked here for 20 years commuting to our hometown every weekends and I have mixed feelings and recollections about it: memories of fun as an infant; and of boredom as a grumpy teenager. These days I am more than happy to go and enjoy a bit of beach life!

After many years of absence, I will be celebrating with my extended family and friends (some of which live there and others who will come to visit) the 15th of August bank-holiday according to the tradition: eating fish at the restaurant, playing water games and going dancing in one of the many outdoors clubs in the area.

Digression: the city of Recanati which lies 20km away was the birth-place of a famous Italian poet, Giacomo Leopardi, who wrote a poem in the name of Silvia. Hence my name...
Apparently this name, which sounds to me perfectly normal, conventional and common, has inspired many artists, including my friend's boyfriend, Paul, who has just composed a lyric dedicated to Silvia. Odd.

UPDATE: the suitcase is nearly ready: four swimming costumes (one of which is proudly shown below), one hat, a few silk scarfs, running trainers (for some morning jogging) and trendy trainers; two denim mini-skirts; three white cotton shorts; one beach towel; my red and yellow tops; white flip flops; silver sandals and pumps; a book; two magazines; two beach dresses; a pair of jeans; a pair of sunglasses; a plastic bag and a leather bag; my i-pod; some jewelleries; sun cream; some make-up; shampoo etc. and a few of tees. I am still debating whether to bring along this dress or not.

Rosa Cha range by Speedo. Needless to say that on me it looks slightly different, but never mind. It is still a wicked piece!

"Glamorous, sexy and indulgent are all word that perfectly describe the costume."
by fileaves.co.uk

sun sand & rock n' roll

2006-05-20T05:25:00.001-07:00

july in valencia:

sunbathing on the beach -- free
culture at the ciudad de las artes y ciencias* -- £20 (two-day pass)
music at the festival internacional de benicassim** -- 150 euro
four romantic days in this hotel with pancottino -- £100
four fun days in a tent with other ten mates -- free

&

the occasion to practice spanish -- priceless

* the complex includes:

~ museum of the sciences (museo de las ciencias)
including sports science, the genome project and astronomy through interactive exhibits, fascinating displays and live presentations.

~ oceanarium (l'oceanogràfic)
to understand the physiology and behaviour of whales, dolphins, seals, and penguins as you watch them in reconstructed habitats in europe's largest aquarium. you'll feel as if you're submerged under water as you marvel at the thousands of mediterranean species on display in massive aquariums.

~ planetarium and IMAX theater (L'hemisfèric)
journey through time and space. Let the plantarium, laserium, and IMAX theatre reveal the secrets of earth and the universe.

** festival of international music, art, fashion and theatre.

full line-up:

12Twelve + Ainara LeGardon + Aldo Linares + Alex Smoke + Alexander Kowalski + Archive + Art Brut + Babyshambles + Beth Orton + Calla + Chris Brokaw + Cocó Ciëlo + Codec & Flexor + Coldcut + El Columpio Asesino + Corazón + Depeche Mode + dEUS + Dionysos + Dominik Eulberg + Dominique A + Echo and The Bunnymen + Editors + Ellen Allien & Apparat + Erol Alkan + Franz Ferdinand + The Futureheads + Garzón + Green Velvet + Grupo Salvaje + Le Hammond Inferno feat. Namosh + Dj Hell + Howe Gelb + 'Sno Angel + Humbert Humbert + Isolée + Ivan Smagghe + James Holden + Jay-Jay Johanson + Jennifer Cardini dj + The Kooks Lou Barlow + Madness + Manta Ray + Matt Elliott + Matthew Herbert & Dani Siciliano + Michael Mayer + Miss Kittin + Mojave 3 + Morning Runner + Morrissey + Ms. John Soda + Nada Surf + Nadadora + Nathan Fake + The Ordinary Boys + The Organ + Pixies + Placebo + Poni Hoax + Queens Of Noize + Radiosoulwax Presents Nite Versions live and 2manydjs + Justice + The Rakes + Rework + Rufus Wainwright + Scissor Sisters + The Secret Society + She Wants Revenge + Sr. Mostaza + The Strokes + The Sunday Drivers + Superpitcher + Teitur + Tom Verlaine with Jimmy Rip + Venus + The Walkmen + We Are Scientists + White Rose Movement + Yann Tiersen + zZz +

this will be the second time i will be seeing morrissey and depeche mode performing live. i saw morrissey at earls court in december 2004 and i am going to see depeche mode at the O2 wireless festival in hyde park on june 25. last year O2 wireless festival was for me so miserable! we went to see new order, but i was knackered from work, it was raining and i was not covered enough. for the all duration of the concert i sat on an inflatable chair very far away from the stage, wet and all cuddled up to repair myself from the cold. plus, i did not really know their lyrics, which spoilt most of the enjoyment. i really hope that the weather is more clement this year. in any event, i shall go more prepared and in a better disposition this time.

i feel very adolescent these days with all these gigs lined-up. is it not hilarious that i feel that way this year that i am turning *three-zero*? i have to admit that during my teens i have never been to a proper concert or never enjoyed it as much as i did recently. london has opened up a new music panorama to me and the i-pod has made it accessible.

Berlin rocks

2006-03-24T14:29:00.000-08:00

... as ever.

To seal our passage into the thirty (dirty) world, we have finally chosen the destination: here and finally booked the flight (do not ever undervalue the difficulties in conciliating seven young ladies' brains located in four different countries).

For me it will be a going back, for my other seven girlfriends a first visit. I am absolutely honoured to act as their (hopefully not too logorroic) Cicero and share with them some unique memories. It took me six years to drag them to the most inspiring city of Europe, but I succeded at last...
And they are coming with me!

Paris c'est toujour Paris...

2005-11-22T08:50:00.000-08:00

After a rather light day at work, softened by a nice team lunch at the local Lebanese Restaurant and by the relief of sending for press a huge book, I got the Eurostar of 5.40pm on Friday night. The tube was crowded due to an earlier signal problem. The train was full as well, but it is always a pleasure to travel from the heart of one city to another. I didn't bring along any magazines, book or music; I was determined to sleep during the journey to get fresh and rested to Paris. Every time the train manager informs us that we are about to enter the tunnel, I always feel a sense of apnoea. At 21.17 I was at La Gare Du Nord, punctual and quite excited to meet Magali, who I hadn’t seen since the end of July. And there she was, lovely and warm as ever. While we were queuing up to get tickets, I got metaphorically assaulted by two heavy hands on my shoulders: it was Federica, my Italian friend, who was not supposed to be there. Oh no, she was supposed to be in Perugia where she lives. Bewildered (and of course very happy of this surprise number one), I asked her whether she was real. She was, and looked in great shape: longer hair and relaxed smile.

We went for dinner into a nice Brasserie and ordered a mixed cheesy salad with French dressing and French wine (of course). We started our conversation mainly based on frenetic Q&As about everything, to make the time apart up. In fact, I had seen Fede for my birthday in August, but very briefly. So, we did have topics to talk about. Maga kept repeating how happy she was that the three of us finally reunited, if only for a weekend. Like me, both Magali and Fede used to live in London, but unlike me (and my persistence), they eventually moved back to their countries. At the time we used to go out together very often, mainly for drinks, meals and exhibitions.

On Saturday morning we all purposely overslept and had breakfast before heading for a shopping session to Les Marais. We got to the L’Artisan Parfumeur shop where we found a very caring and chatty shop assistant who covered us with eau de parfumes. I felt a bit disadvantaged because my French, compared to Fede’s (who speaks it fluently) and Magali’s (who is French), is rather basic. I did my best to try and understand everything he said though and I eventually bought my favourite scent: the extract of Fig. We then stopped for a coffee in one of the stylish bars of the quarter, and there I got a message from Steve informing me that our offer to a flat we recently saw was likely to be accepted. We got all excited, and I was glad to be there and share that important moment with two real good friends. After some more walk and a visit to the wine shop to buy a celebrative bottle of champagne, we headed to the Pompidou Centre for the DADA exhibition (review to follow in the Art Section) where I found the Man Ray's biography for half price. Finally, we went back home for a domestic dinner kindly prepared by Magali: potatoes with strong melted cheese and dressed with mixed salad. Lush, both in taste and calories. After dinner we decided to have a late night tour by car to enjoy Paris by night. I loved it. We got to the Eiffel tower and stopped right in front of it to admire it in its splendour. It was quite atmospheric because the fog hided the top, and I thought it looked a monster about to step towards us at any time. Fede reminded me its origins: the fact that it was built for an exhibition and due to be unassembled after it. Funny anecdote considering that it is now the symbol of the city (like the Pompidou Centre, as Magali observed), and not only: it is the symbol of another way of perceiving art and reality. I pointed out how some people still find it horrible and that Verlaine used to change route in order to avoid it—the same remark I do every time I come to Paris. But the wonder was not over yet, because the tower suddenly started spitting sparkling diamonds. I was amazed—surprise number two. Apparently, it does so every hour for ten solid minutes. I didn’t know it and missed this spectacle last time I was there. We saw the show also from the top of Montmartre with even more sensationalist effects.

After another deserved lie-in, on Sunday we went to the posh Saint Germain and admired some black+white photographs exhibited on the gate of the Jardin du Luxembourg. Later, we went to the Klimt, Schiele and Kokoschka exhibition at Le Grand Palais (another review to follow in the Art section). After it, we had a last relaxing drink in an arty bar of Montmartre before accompanying Fede to her intellectual friend in Montparnasse and saying good-bye to her. Magali and I went on to a quirky restaurant (Ave Maria) for an international meal and more chats: I chose a Himalayan plate and Magali an African dish which was delicious, although I perhaps prefer the authentic French cuisine. We concluded the evening with a drink at her friend’s bar.

My journey back the morning after went safely and smoothly except for the taxi fare: 32 euro for a ride of 18 minutes. Ouch! The taxi driver was very friendly, which would have been very pleasant if it wasn't for the time: it was 5am, I was half asleep and not really responsive enough to speak French. When he said:--Tu parles Francais tres bien, I was chuffed. But when he added:--Tu es tres jolie, I looked at the taximeter going up too quickly and I thought, that’s it, I wanna get off here as soon as possible. Sadly, all the traffic lights were red, and the last ten minutes lasted forever (what Virginia Woolf used to call the *inner time*). In London, I decided to catch the tube. I was not in the spirit to face another taxi driver.

When the train approached Waterloo station, it was a sunny morning, the Big Ben was as sparkling as the Eiffel tower and I felt at home, but unwilling to start a dull working day.
C'est la vie.

P.S. Faithful to my style, I left my camera behind. So, I am afraid, no snapshots from this weekend break.

I heart Bath (15 October 2005)

2005-10-17T11:36:00.000-07:00

We took one and a half hour to drive up to Bath (Gloustershire) from Surrey. Located in the south west of England, in the heart of the English countryside (Cotswold), it is a world heritage site.

It was a perfect sunny warm day. We wandered for the streets of this lovely old country city, nosing into the very characteristic shops, visiting the suggestive Roman baths, admiring the Georgian architecture, the view over the park and walking along the river. If you are never been to Rome, I think that you get a good feel while walking through the ruins.

We popped into a delicious cheese shop and I bought myslef a cube of goat cheese. Hmmm, lushy... We sat for a coffee and indulged in some champagne chocolate bonbons. I bought also a cute pink French berret, although I fell in love with a 20s styl black hat. It was too expensive and I need an occasion to wear it. Finally, we had a traditional Cornish pasty*. Our reward for all that walking around.

I named Bath the nicest city in England. It's not a case that it is a world heritage site.

*Don't they look very similar to the empanadas?! Well, the basic filling is the same: meat, potatoes and vegetables. And they taste similar! How strange: two similar plates, both traditional of two so different and far away countries: England and Argentina.

Inside the Louvre

2005-10-11T03:46:00.000-07:00

By Derek Tong

Images from Wales

2005-10-11T02:44:00.000-07:00

by Daniele Domeniconi

My next trip to Paris

2005-10-05T08:05:00.000-07:00

Booked! A weekend to Paris in November. No boyfriend, no travel mate, but two lovely young ladies to visit: Magali & Roxanne. In plan, champagne&French fois (but no gras!), Xmas shopping in Les Marais, Parisienne night life, and the following two exhibitions:

L'exposition Dada au Centre Pompidou. L'exposition a pour ambition de montrer ce que fut l'un des mouvements artistiques internationaux les plus marquants du XXème siècle qui a influencé de nombreux courants artistiques contemporains. C'est la première grande exposition organisée en France depuis l'exposition présentée au Musée national d'art moderne en 1966.

For the first time in Paris, at the Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais, a major large-scale exhibition bringing together four major Viennese painters of the 19th and 20th centuries: “Klimt, Schiele, Moser, Kokoschka: Vienna 1900”

[I had an Austrian professor at university who exposed me to the Austrian visual art (especially Klimt, Schiele and Kokoschka) and modern literature (e.g. Ingeborg Bachmann, Marlen Haushofer, Peter Handke, Thoms Bernhard, Elfriede Jelinek, etc.). So, when I was in Vienna (I have stayed there for one month on a scholarship in July 2001), I visited the uber-kool new MuseumsQuartier, but, at the time, the Klimt-Schiele-Kokoschka section was not inaugurated yet. Gutted.]

CROATIA ~ One week was enough...

2005-09-04T08:36:00.000-07:00

One week was enough to enjoy the peace of the Croatian bay in the Krk Island, which has warmly hosted my family and me. Seven rounded days of tireless sun lit uninterruptedly our roasting sessions on the rocky coast. One week sufficed to taste all the Zahlita wine I had the honour to enjoy ~ rigorously white to accompany our fish meals, slightly gassy, fresh and fruity, although ~ as my dad did not miss to point out ~ "not as good as ours" (arghhh!).

One week sufficed to drink all the salted water I swallowed; to eat all the fish I ate; to read all the blogger's short stories I devoured; to listen to all the observations my mum had for ... about everything ~ some funny for their wit or naivety, others a bit annoyed/-ing and, frankly speaking, boring [she spent the journey back by car reading aloud every sign and writing which caught her attention]. Now that the memory milds any bitter judgment, I have to admit that she was the *alive entertainment* of our trip, with her unexpected remarks in the purest Cerreto dialect, with her sweetness when watching the children around us swimming and squashing in the sea, spending hours in horizontal position motionless like a resting gecko with Steve asking me: "Is she dead? Did your dad kill her?" And me: "Dunno, but it is the only moment she is really quiet and silent. So, let her be." :o ) For seven mornings at 7am on the dot I have admired the quasi-dawns our terrace had to offer; pretended to swim & fish endowed with flippers, mask, snorkel and net; took over one hundred lazy photos; and visited the beautiful and still relatively unspoilt jewels of the island of Krk: Krk town, Baska, Punat and Malinska. The peculiarity of my holiday was HUM, the smallest city in the world. Yes, you read correctly: the smallest city ever. My dad discovered it on internet and watched a documentary on telly; he was therefore reasonably motivated and willing to visit it. Knowing my dad's fixations for details and historical anecdotes, I was sceptical and not so keen in travelling up to the mountainous inland to visit a *city* of 16/20 people [they are still debating on the inhabitants' number]. Unexpectedly, once arrived, I got immediately fascinated by this small town, declared "city" in the 12th century by the Austrian king Ulrich something. Authentically picturesque, HUM presents all the typical features of a Medieval city: there are protective walls, a bronze door to welcome any friendly visitor, a square with a church ~ once castle owned by the noble family Frankopan ~ a rustic restaurant, a bed&breakfast, a few houses and, of course, a cemetery. The city preserves also rare glacolitic stones engraved with the glacolis, the local medieval alphabet, and frescoes dated back to the 12th century. Everything is surrounded by a glorious view of untouched nature and peculiar cultivations such as: pumpkins, grapes, melograno, figs and mushrooms. At the sole and unique restaurant I had a delightfully genuine meal based on sweet corn soup, Istrian cheese sparkled with truffle and omelette garnished with tasty smoked ham & wild mushrooms. Real local food, the best alternative to the touristy shell fish of the coast.

Women Travellers

2005-08-21T10:38:00.000-07:00

Dame Freya Stark

Off the Beaten Track: Three

Centuries of Women Travellers

Women travelers of the past three centuries have amazing and varied tales to tell me of them were exceptional individuals who broke all the rules, while others traveled as dutiful wives, mothers or daughters. Journeying to distant parts of the world from the 1660s to the 1960s, before the age of mass travel, these women had experiences and encounters almost unthinkable today.

Victorian traveler Mary Kingsley, defended herself with a canoe paddle when a crocodile attempted to board her boat, and was saved only by the thickness of her skirt when she later fell into a pit of sharp stakes. Penelope Chetwode made a remarkable river crossing in India using the traditional method of floating across on an inflated animal hide, propelled by a local man on top of whom she was required to lie. Meanwhile Lady Hester Stanhope offered advice to respectable women on answering calls of nature whilst in the desert – one should take a chamber pot, a small tent, declare a coffee break, pitch the tent and gracefully retire.

This exhibition brings together 60 portraits, in all media, from the National Portrait Gallery’s collections, alongside photographs and paintings made by the women on their travels. It also features some of their finest souvenirs, now prized exhibits in major museums and private collections across Britain. The exhibition is organized geographically and ends with a selection of the world’s women who made Britain the destination for their travels, recording their presence here by visiting a fashionable society photographer.

Travellers to the Americas include Maria Callcott who traveled in Brazil in the 1820s. The exhibition presents a fine portrait of her by Sir Thomas Lawrence, and the album of botanical illustrations that she painted there. Fanny Kemble, the famous actress, had a very different experience of the United States when she discovered that her American husband’s money came from his slave plantations in Georgia. The marriage swiftly fell apart and her journal describing the plight of his slaves was published to further the cause of abolition.

Well known twentieth-century women travelers, Gertrude Bell and Freya Stark, both traveled in the Middle East and Arabia. Both were superb travel writers and took photographs. Freya Stark’s images of southern Yemen are displayed in the exhibition and are particularly beautiful. Bell lived in Baghdad, founding the Museum there, having been closely involved in the political and geographical decisions that created the modern state of Iraq. In the previous century, Jane Digby also chose to live in the Middle East. After a stormy divorce and many love affairs, she found her final husband in Syria, a Bedouin Sheikh young enough to be her son, and joined his tribe in the deserts around the ruined city of Palmyra, shown here in one of her watercolours.

Travellers to Africa include Amelia Edwards whose 1877 book, A Thousand Miles up the Nile, earned her enough to pay for archaeological excavations in Egypt. An Egyptian portrait sculpture that belonged to her is displayed in the exhibition, as is a marble sculpture of her. Also in this section are a selection of Mary Kingsley’s artifacts – a metre high Congolese nail figure, a newly discovered fish which was named after her, and the brown fur hat that she wore during her African journeys.

From the Far East and the Pacific come photographs of China taken in the 1890s by Isabella Bird on her journey up the Yangtze. She converted the cabin of her boat into a darkroom, washing the chemicals off her glass plate negatives in the river itself. In contrast, Annie Brassey chose to travel in a luxury yacht, The Sunbeam, collecting masks and other Pacific ethnographic items.

Women who made Britain their destination include Pocahontas, the American Indian woman who visited the court of King James I, Queen Emma of Hawaii who stayed with Queen Victoria, Sarah Davies, a young African slave who became Queen Victoria’s goddaughter and Nehru’s sister, Mrs. Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit who was India’s High Commissioner to Britain and the first woman President of the United Nations.

The exhibition is curated by Clare Gittings, Education Officer at the National Portrait Gallery and curator of Escape to Eden: Five Centuries of Women and Gardens (2000)

At the Porter Gallery July 7^th to October 31^st, 2004

Off the Beaten Track

Three Centuries of Women Travellers

The BOOK

by Dea Birkett

with Foreword by Jan Morris

Published July 7 2004

Off the Beaten Track takes us on an exhilarating journey through three centuries of travel, in the company of such women voyagers as Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Vita Sackville-West, Isabella Bird and Freya Stark. Not only did women from Britain travel to the Americas, Russia and Turkey, Arabia and the Middle East, Africa and South East Asia but women from all corners of the globe also visited Britain. This book records their experiences – where they went, what they looked like, how they evoked other lands and cultures in words and images, and what they brought back with them.

The common link between these women travelers is that their lives are celebrated in the National Portrait Gallery collections. While they all traveled for different reasons, collectively they illuminate Britain’s relationship with other cultures and challenge assumptions about women’s achievements.

Dea Birkett is a distinguished broadcaster and writer. Winner of the Somerset Maugham Award, she has also been short listed for the Thomas Cook Travel Book Award. She is author of several books including Mary Kingsley and Serpent In Paradise, as well as being the co-editor of the best selling Amazonian: The Penguin Book of Women’s New Travel Writing.

Jan Morris’s many books include works of history, travel biography and fiction, and she has traveled herself in many parts of the world during a half-century’s literary career.

Ed. Note: We are grateful to the National Portrait Gallery for providing this article for the enjoyment of our viewers.

Le Marche

2005-08-19T13:28:00.000-07:00

My region: Le Marche

Cerreto d'Esi

Assaggio d'Egitto

2005-08-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

Cairo dall'aereo appare come una citta' lego: cubi di sabbia si susseguono o sovrappongono instancabili a formare una citta' densa. Avevo sentito che dall'aereo si potevano vedere le piramidi. Con il naso schiacciato al finestrino scruto la vastita' di una citta' che raccoglie milioni di arabi e africani. Tre cupole spiccano per il loro acceso colore: il bianco e il turchese. E' la Citadel, o Cairo islamico, con la favolosa moschea di Mohammed Ali. La prima impressione che ho di Cairo e' di una citta' caotica nel senso piu' puro del termine: caos per le strade, traffico fitto di macchine che corrono all'impazzata, e clacson che cercano di schivare i carretti trasportati da asini a volte stanchi. Arriviamo all'hotel guidati da un autista pazzerello, ma sicuramente abile e desto. Occhi scuri spuntano da tutte le parti. Occhi curiosi, inquisitori, a volte sorridenti, a volte loschi. Come usciamo dall'albergo per una camminata serale, veniamo abbordati da Omar, un ragazzo dal viso solare, che, dopo una chiacchierata amichevole, finisce per condurre i suoi polli nel negozio di famiglia che vende papiri ed essenze che--a detta sua--ricordano, nell'ordine, Kenzo, Cristian Dior e Ives Saint Laurent. Altrettanto astutamente i polli non comprano niente, e, dopo un te' alla menta gentilemente offerto dalla famiglia di Omar, ritornano in albergo alla disperata ricerca del tour leader e del gruppo col quale spendere le successive due settimane. Il nostro gruppo--sette persone in tutto e tutte piuttosto 'eterogeneee', piu' la guida. Ingrid, che verra' ribattezzata Eshta (nome egiziano), vive vicino Brighton, ha 24 anni e lavora come manager in un college. Aspetto mascholino, appare molto sicura di se' ed e' sempre con la battuta sarcastica sulla lingua. E' la seconda volta che viene in Egitto con questa compagnia. Jim, soprannominato Muschkella (che in arabo significa 'problema'!), ha 52 (?) anni sul passaporto ma 14 sul viso... Muschkella viene da Manchester e, quando non e' in vacanza, lavora per l'esercito. Mike e Ines, coppia svizzera di Zurigo. Mike ha un passato di lunghi viaggi avventurosi nel mondo: Peru', India, Australia, Sud Africa e Thailandia. Ines e' una ragazza di 35 anni che lavora come capo muratore e ha la passione per i cavalli. Il suo mestiere non le fa perdere la grazia di una cavallerizza. Simone, la nostra bionda guida, ha 27 anni e viene da Sydney. Carisma e entusiasmo la distinguono; come ragazza occidentale che vive da 10 mesi in Egitto, e' stata una parte importante nel mio processo di comprensione del rapporto uomo-donna nel mondo musulmano. Infine Carol, arzilla vecchietta di 77 anni. Vecchietta non e' sicurmante l'appellativo giusto per questa donna, madre di 6 figli e di altrettanti nipoti, che ha vissuto 15 anni in Africa come insegnante di matematica e biologia, e che ogni anno si cimenta in viaggi di avventura in Sud Africa, Tanzania, Kenya e Namibia.

La prima settimana sul deserto libico e' stata indimenticabile: dopo aver raggiunto la prima oasi (Bahariya) con il nostro pilota -- un ragazzo egiziano dolcissimo che con il libro di testo di sua sorella si sforzava di parlare inglese con noi -- abbiamo lasciato l'autobus e ci siamo avventurati in tre giorni di safari nel deserto, o meglio nei deserti: il deserto roccioso, quello di cristallo, *nero*, *misterioso*, dei funghi e *bianco*. In una giornata abbiamo scalato una piramide naturale; esplorato la montagna di cristalli; attraversato le dune del deserto nero di origine vulcanica dalla sabbia color ruggine, come infuocata dal sole. Ci siamo poi inoltrati nei meandri del deserto roccioso dalla sabbia gialla per giacimenti di ferro e disseminato di pietre misteriose a forma di fiore, fino a raggiungere una distesa di sculture surreali che spuntavano come protuberanze inquietanti: il deserto dei funghi! Abbiamo passato la notte sotto le stelle distesi sulla sabbia bianca, candida e sottile. Protetti da due enormi sculture di sabbia che il vento aveva creato quasi per noi abbiamo creato il nostro angolo di civilta'. Il tappeto di stelle si srotolava a porre omaggio alla luna piena che, superba, illuminava la vallata conferendo una sfumatura di un bianco argenteo alle roccie sabbiose. Poi, forse infastidita dai nostri sguardi, ha deciso di nascondersi dietro al sole, e cosi' un'eclissi lunare ha oscurato la luna rendendo ancora piu' brillanti le stelle. Quella sera ho imparato a giocare a carte con una delle nostre scorte. Non era facile capire il gioco spiegato in arabo, ma quando ho intuito che si trattava di un gioco similissimo a *scopa*, mi sono galvanizzata e e' iniziata una sfida giocosa. Eravamo rimasti in piedi solo noi due. Tutti gli altri erano gia' *in pigiama* sonnecchiosi. Con una torcia da minatori in testa e tutto buio intorno abbiamo proseguito a giocare, a ridere e ad accusarci a vicenda di fregare in un mezzo inglese/arabo, fin quando non sono stata miseramente sconfitta. Raggomitolata nel mio sacco a pelo cercavo di eludere il ronzio del russare che mi circondava. Quando e' iniziato il concerto, ho deciso di allontanarmi dal gruppo. Rantolando nel buio ho trovato una roccia amica e mi ci sono adagiata vicino. La mattina dopo ho scoperto anche la coppia svizzera stava dormendo accanto alla stessa roccia, ma dalla parte opposta. Con tutte le roccie del deserto abbiamo scelto entrambi lo stesso giaciglio! Dopo un rigenerante saluto al sole (posizione yoga), mi sono goduta l'alba sorseggiando te' alla menta e mangiando una deliziosa colazione a base di uova, pane e marmellata di fichi allestita dai beduini che ci scortavano. E dopo colazione, di nuovo in marcia alla scoperta di un altro pezzo di deserto. E' difficile spiegare la sensazione che si prova nel deserto. Deserto e' dove non esiste vita, ma animali piccoli e grandi (dagli insetti alle volpi ai serpenti, e perfino ai topi del deserto!) popolano silenziosi e discreti (per fortuna!!) le notti, e si nascondono sotto la sabbia durante il giorno per sfuggire all'attacco ineluttabile del sole. Senso di liberta' e di claustrofobia sono le sensazioni contrastanti che ho provato, insieme a tanti altri pensieri liberi che affollavano la mia mente... Quando abbiamo saputo della morte del nonno di Steve eravamo proprio li' pronti a trascorrere la notte all'aria aperta. La notizia e' giunta proprio quando il sole stava per nascondersi dietro la scultura piu' grande. E' stato un momento toccante.

E' ora di ripartire e di salutare i nostri autisti che ci hanno accompagnato per le sabbie libiche. Con rispetto e tanta dolcezza accennano a un pudico abbraccio. Mi commuovo e sorrido. Riincontriamo gli autisti dell'autobus e con loro proseguiamo per Farafra e Kharga, le prossime due oasi. A Farafra visitiamo un museo costruito da un artista locale che richiama i templi egiziani e che custodisce sculture e quadri colorati con la sabbia che ritraggono la vita quotidiana dell'oasi. Incontriamo il pittore che, con un sorriso smagliante, ci da' il benvenuto nel museo. Il pomeriggio ci rilassiamo a nuotare in piscina. Da Farafra visitiamo Quasr, antica citta' musulmana oggi quasi disabitata. Pieno di cuniculi e circondata dalle mura, ricorda i castelli medievali. Un tornio per l'olio ancora funzionante, la moschea e la scuola di legge con tanto di prigione per gli infedeli sono ancora ben preservati. Incontriamo i pochi 'reduci' del villaggio e decidiamo di passare il pomeriggio a bere te' alla menta con i bambini, che con gli occhi mi implorano di giocare con loro... Dopo aver distribuito tutte le penne che avevo in tasca, disegnamo, tentiamo di comunicare e facciamo le foto. I bambini amano le penne bic. Per lo stesso prezzo una famiglia egiziana puo' comprare il pane per tutta la famiglia. Per loro la penna e' una bene secondario. Per i bambini la penna e' simbolo di espressione, creativita', cultura vista come un lusso e di cui sono percio' avidi. Sfoggiavano il loro inglese, mi mostravano il loro manuale di inglese, e io ricambio recitando le quattro frasi che ho velocemente imparato. E' incredibile la reazione positiva che ho sempre ricevuto in Egitto ogni volta che mi sono sforzata a parlare arabo! La loro semplicita', affabilita' e onesta' [ero seduta su un muretto e avevo la macchina fotografica a 10 metri. Una bambina l'ha presa e me l'ha riportata] mi hanno lasciato un ricordo bellissimo di quel pomeriggio a Quasr. Non ho lo stesso piacevole ricordo dei bambini di Luxor, che al Bazaar elemosinavano sfacciatamente. Dall'ultima oasi ci dirigiamo verso Luxor, e per strada lasciamo la nostra scorta (un simpatico poliziotto turistico) che ci ha tenuto compagnia da Bahariya. Percorriamo una via alternativa (e piu' lunga) poiche' una tempesta di sabbia ha ostruito la strada maestra. Quattordici ore di autobus passando attraverso un'area fondamentalista islamica, sempre scortati da camionette di polizia. A Luxor il sole brucia sulla pelle anche all'ombra. Nelle ore piu' calde la temperatura raggiunge i 50 gradi centigradi. Mi arrossisco subito ma non sudo. Steve si arrostisce le spalle, e d'ora in poi non potra piu' nuotare senza la t-shirt. Il tempio di Karnak e di Luxor a ovest del Nilo e la valle dei re sulla riva est sono i gioielli della citta', considerata il piu' grande museo all'aperto. Dalla valle dei re decidiamo di scalare la montagna retrostante, e dalla vetta ammiriamo il tempio di Hapshetsut (faraona d'Egitto) che si scorge dalla parte opposta. Riprendiamo gli asini e, passando per la campagna, scorgiamo i colossi di Memnon; poi attraversiamo Medina Abu (villaggio dei muratori dei templi dell'antico Egitto).

Assuan -- citta' colorata con una bella veduta sul Nilo. Il villaggio nubiano si intravede su un'isoletta rigogliosa di verde. I nubiani sono piu' scuri di pelle, piu' alti e piu' slanciati, hanno insomma un aspetto e un temperamento piu' elegantemente africano che arabo... Dopo tutto ci troviamo nel profondo sud, non lontano dal Sudan. Al bazaar conosciamo dei ragazzi spigliati, che rivestono Steve da capo a piedi. Paghiamo per una gallabeya (la tipica tunica di cotone, lunga e aerea) 80 sterline egiziane (12 Euro) -- decisamente troppo! Ma siamo comunque soddisfatti. Con certe temperature la gallabeya e' perfetta: fresca e leggera. Io compro le spezie.

Abu Simbel, ancora piu' a sud di Assuan, e' indescrivibile. Partiamo da Aswan all'alba per arrivare prima del caldo di punta. Immerso nel deserto e fronteggiante il lago Nasser a sud di Assuan, questo enorme monumento costruito dentro la montagna rappresenta sulla facciata per ben quattro volte il faraone piu' megalomane d'Egitto: Ramses II. Il tempio e' semplicemente superbo e l'interno suggestivo e misterioso. Sulle statue si intravedono incisioni di vecchi esploratori-sciacalli che risalgono al 1700-1800, tra cui tanti nomi italiani.

I successivi tre giorni sono trascorsi cullati da una felucca (tipica barca a vela egiziana) sulle acque dolci del Nilo. Tre giorni di sole, brezza, cibo nubiano cucinato in barca e tante nuotate. Un falo' una sera, una partita di calcio un altro pomeriggio, un libro, un sonnellino, svariati giochi ci hanno accompagnato per tutto il tragitto che da Aswan ci ha portato a Edfu... Di tanto in tanto sostiamo sulla costa, e sempre qualche autoctono si avvicinava incuriosito: bambini, donne che lavano i panni, contadini a lavoro. La vegetazione rigogliosa intorno al Nilo (5% del terrirorio egiziano), orgoglio degli egiziani sin dall'impero egizio vanta palme fogliose, colori intensi e piante affusolate. Un contrasto paesaggistico forte con il resto arido del Paese. La sera attracchiamo sulla costa o su un'isola per trascorrere la notte sotto le stelle. Parlo molto con i nostri skipper, tre adorabili ragazzi nubiani. Akmad si chiede perche' certe persone non riescono a godersi la vita senza pensare ai soldi e al potere. Akmad vive nel villaggio nubiano, ma dorme spesso nella sua felucca dove ha ricavato il suo nido prediletto. Il tempio di Kom Ombo dedicato a ben due divinita' e' stata una delle nostre tappe. Kom Ombo sorge su un'isoletta in mezzo al Nilo, e dalla collinetta domina il paesaggio. Un calendario egizio ancora ben preservato, il bagno di Cleopatra difficile da immaginare nel suo pieno splendore e un 'restauratore' che lucida le pareti e si offre di speigarmi tutto il tempio in cambio della Bagshish (mancia) sono tra le mie memorie piu' vivide. Ad Edfu attracchiamo circondati dalle navi-mostro. E' ora di un altro addio. Saluti, abracci, foto, e ci dirigiamo a Edfu, il tempio meglio tenuto. Una statua del dio falco perdettamente intatta e' adulata, baciata, venerata da un gruppo di strani individui che mi paiono americani. Forse si tratta di una qualche setta che crede ancora nelle divinita' egizie (!). Da Edfu ritorniamo a Luxor. Avevo dimenticato quanto caldo fa sulla terra ferma. Il sole brucia ma non bagna. A Luxor mi impongo di sfidare l'afa per andare a visitare il tempio di Luxor. Niente di eccezionale rispetto a Karnak o Kom Ombo, ma con una particolarita': all'interno del tempio egiziano si erge una moschea (!). E' qui che il mondo antico egiziano e quello musulmano -- cosi' diversi e lontani -- si incontrano. A quanto sembra il tempio e' stato per decenni coperto di sabbia per i tre quarti della sua altezza, e i musulmani, ignari di quello che giaceva sotto i loro piedi, costruirono la moschea sulla punta dell'iceberg. La sera decido di sfoggiare le mie doti di negoziazione al bazaar. Dopo due settimane penso di essere diventata abbastanza brava a trattare con i tassisti, sono attenta al conto che mi presentano al ristorante e al supermercato, e so dire di no con fermezza ai venditori troppo insistenti ("La la shakram!"="No grazie!"). Ma al bazaar falisco di nuovo, e dopo aver avuto un interessante conversazione su teismo e a-teismo con un astuto commerciante, finisco quasi col litigare con lo stesso per una shisha (pipa con cui si fuma il tipico tabacco aromatizzato) che non voglio pagare piu' di 40 sterline egiziane. Mi viene il mal di testa e ci rinuncio rincorsa dall'omino che continua a sparare cifre a raffica. E qui finisce la mia vacanza... Dopo dieci ore di treno ritorniamo in Cairo, dove visitiamo la Citadel (Cairo islamico con la moschea impressionante per dimensioni) che avevo gia' intravisto dall'aereo all'andata. E il cerchio si chiude.