A short trip of 4 days without moleskine (there were those who used mats of oily Tunisian restaurants or last pages of brochures of homeopathy), with ears made of an Esperanto, French, Italian Sardinia and Puglia.
Cold cold cold, but most detected only mica and really suffered, I declare that tested the tightness winter calzamagliagonnadilanastivalicollarinodilanaeparaorecchi.
the pinch, how is it that two years ago I had just heard of it and then I can spend hours talking, dancing, listening? It is music of my homeland, I have no roots in salento, just excited about the attraction to what is simple (and not), popular, joyous and poignant at the same time and did not need anything but a tambourine, a voice, someone to jump in a complicated way. And in a multiethnic melting as it should, for the invitation to dance pinches Salento played in Marseille using the Moroccan handkerchief.
Still on the subject of mergers, one can not stop playing volleyball in the memory of French teams, with player Friulian (unfortunately out of order) and Franco-Sardinian chorus of incitement to the sound of castanets southern Italy.
smell, taste and color from the Maghreb, and here we go again, it is not my land, but there is always this fascination with what is different, uncontaminated by the refinement and packaging that here are the prevailing rule. A snowy pales in comparison to the supermarket with a handful of shea butter fish in a bowl. Then you want to put the fun trying to figure out if I'm butter scented with fennel, olives or feet? And the genius smells like in the home with incense?
place for sharing. Colored. Triumph of the market, the city walls with slogans and posters that speak colorful, non-restaurant, no bar, non-disco, availability, hospitality, informality (stretched out on cushions too, if you want to drink, read, Take off your shoes, sleep if you can not resist looking through a full-blown desbarassu of clothes). I wonder if we can import and realize all of this ..
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