The tale of the beautiful Maya - ten days in San Francisco Bay orange is still asleep in his wet blanket while the wheels of the flight DL 68 are detached from the track and fall into the belly of the plane to do not disturb too much the clouds below. The pen-strictly government-dance on the paper to tell in that strange way I miss San Francisco, and while flying over the Pacific. On the roads, the pier, the historic tram of the strange and wonderful walking city more homeless who do not know what to do with their bones than businesses: even in the Financial District this perennial crowd of walkers ever-dignified despite the madness on
she was poverty-spectator 's insane happiness that enveloped us as the fog does with the Golden Bridge.
Unveiling the city in all its unevenness you have a way of speaking, with wonder, to regain breath, recognize and match: for these things are fundamental to the F line, the coconut shrimp at Bubba's, the seafood risotto L'Ideal and turkey Tommy's Joint.
Fish and chips to the market, the Japanese soup and fried crab from China, as a bad idea at all, they put to the test 'in good times and bad I know
rte' just because, you know, you never know ... :-)
Ten days in one city may seem too many, and instead a couple of more must be put into account because you really never know: Go and imagine that the churches are closed on Sundays, or it happens that the fog did not lift from Ocean Beach and then you're screwed. Nothing remains that set foot two blocks farther on the sky is blue in the most blinding the sun, as if to remind you that ultimately you are in California, the cool breeze with the warm sun is a gift not only for tourists, but especially for the homeless who can finally sleep without shivering.
Never had so much blue around like these days in the bay, and never need much less: in a couple of inches square was surrounded by all the blue that is close to my heart.
I had been warned by the cold wind and green scarf oil Alessandra has admirably plugged drafts that my human shield was unable to cover with a hug: it is thanks to him that the hot side of the city prevailed over the humiliating scenes of old people rummaging in the garbage. Its close and its small gestures reminded me of how much care is in the world where he puts his hand, and is a world that I would keep.
No one else would spend hours watching the sea lions with me, filled my suitcase
federal pen, toured museums and aquariums every day, share a cigarillos vanilla, complying with their culinary experiments less digestible concealed the fact of suffering from seasickness to look for whales to me. But above all, would not let many people carte blanche to organize a trip from behind his back, and do not see any like that that makes me feel like a flower.
Soon I land in Rome and wrote this post in San Francisco, Georgia and Lazio want them
was so telling of the various districts of the city more full of bougainvilleas the world of skyscrapers downtown and Chinatown, North Beach, where the boot is on the light poles, the Haight-Ashbury hippies and its residues, the Castro and its excesses, and his memories of Mission, the Marina and its rich tranquility, but to claim that Post a walk with our pace is a bit 'too much, and a boring chronicle not suitable for this trip was to the current high-voltage batteries. I cleared the sky by ghosts lived there, like the wind with the pillars of the Golden Bridge.
custody of a heart orange and clear, although here the track 12 of Tiburtina no one cares. I know that once she got home there are those who see this happiness shining on my face.
Thank you, am ... Andre. :-)
