Monday, 4 August 2014


Halfway through my 4 weeks of cast on the left arms, things were going pretty smooth: I managed to get better and better at one hand typing, temperature were not so high and I've also managed to keep frustration at bay.
I helped my niece with the summer homework and with origami: mainly boxes and frogs, frogs and boxes for about 3 days. I caught up with some of my online classes and read some novels.

To celebrate all these achievements and also to leave the flat, on Thursday night I met up with some friends.
We had dinner (note to self: next time avoid burger, it gets really really messy) and after that we stopped in a bar for a drink.
We were talking about one of the biggest issue around books, i.e. how to deal with a great number of them when the space in the flat is limited.
Manu commented that she resorts to the ebook reader: the digital format is less expensive than the paperback and she also saves a lot of space. Still when there's a book she truly loves, then she needs a real book: paper and ink. Reason why she just bought the paper version of the last book by Tiziano Terzani.

In the moment she said those words, I spaced out for few seconds, not many but enough to go back in space and time to remember, think and then return to present chatters.

I recalled the time when I read "A Fortune-Teller Told Me" for the first time and the time I found its english edition on a shelf at "Shakespeare & Co." in Paris.

That holiday, no matter all that happen afterwards, remains in my memory as one of the best travel I ever did and, even after years apart, I think it was meant to be so: everything had to go the way it did so that I could spend some euro for this book and sit on a bench reading it.

A blink of the eyes and I was back in the present, sitting on another bench, laughing and chatting with my friends and I felt... no, I didn't feel happy, that hideous, overrated word, that has been overused and abused too much in everyday life at time of internet to really retain any meaning for me.

I felt that bittersweetness that summer, good company and a spritz carry along with them: it's that warm, fuzzy feeling that makes me hope all sufferings of the past had a reason to be so that I could find myself right where I am. And it doesn't matter I know it's not true, I'm perfectly aware that most of it is due to my own complicated self and other people's pettiness. Yet, for those hours, I decided to treat myself to some denial and peace of mind.

I felt that feeling that seems to tug at my backbone each time I've just returned or I'm getting ready for a travel, no matter how far or close the destination is, an exhilarating need to laugh out loud just because.

I felt like pulling the phone out of my bag and dial some numbers; I wanted to call some people: people I haven't seen in a long time, people that probably are not reachable anymore at the numbers I saved.
"Every place is a goldmine. You have only to give yourself time, sit in a teahouse watching the passers-by, stand in a corner of the market, go for a haircut. You pick up a thread – a word, a meeting, a friend of a friend of someone you have just met – and soon the most insipid, most insignificant place becomes a mirror of the world, a window on life, a theatre of humanity.
(T. Terzani, A Fortune-Teller Told Me)” 
On a bus going to Lijiang, in a youth hostel in Budapest, on a train going to Cologne, at a bus stop in Rome and in many other place I still have to see, you've all been my very own magic goldmine that never runs out.

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