My first WAT

Believer, incenses and flowers
at the feet of the Buddha
at Wat Indrawiharn

It was a special day today! Not a holiday, but somehow a special day that involved Buddha, family reunion and yellow tuk tuk. No matter how many times I have asked why and how, I didn't get what it was. What was way too clear is that yellow tuk tuk where going to take people all around for a fixed price of 10 THB, about 25 cents. What better solution than speeding through the city with a cheap, colourful and local tuk tuk? Better than a standard taxi, better than a bus for the tuk tuk driver is also a sort of guide, and definitely better than walking since Bangkok is such a huge place! And this is how I've been to lots of Wat today.

The Wat is a temple or monastery temple, typical of Thailand but also Cambodia and Laos. They seem to have many roles, but the ones I have seen so far are all of religious use. Temples are an oasis of tranquillity and peace for the senses in a chaotic, noisy and crowded place such as Bangkok. The contrast couldn't be clearer: the noise of the city vs the calmness of the temples, the smog and dust vs the sweet aroma of incenses and flowers, the dirt of the streets vs the spotless neatness of the temples, the insistence of sellers and tuk tuk drivers vs the few words of the monks, the casual heap of colours around vs the studied harmony of the temples' colours between golden buddha's, precious stones and marbles, the hot in the city vs the freshness of the temple, and finally the hectic pace of the traffic vs the simple grace of those who pray. And I can't help wondering whether it is thanks to the Buddha that here, despite everything, people are so favourably willing...

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Ghirlande/Flowers' garlands
at Wat Benchamabophit

Oggi era un giorno speciale! Non di vacanza, ma un giorno speciale che in qualche modo aveva a che fare con Budda, riunioni familiari e tuk tuk gialli. Nonostante tutte le volte che abbia chiesto come e perché non c'é stato modo di capire di cosa si  trattasse. Quello che era chiaro chiarissimo é che i tuk tuk gialli avrebbero portato la gente in giro per un prezzo fisso di 10 THB, circa 25 centesimi. E quale miglior modo di sfrecciare per la città se non con un tuk tuk economico, colorato e locale? Meglio del tipico taxi, meglio di un bus dato che l'autista di tuk tuk é anche una sorta di guida, e sicuramente meglio che camminare dato che Bangkok é enorme! E questo é come oggi sono stata a tanti Wat. 

Il Wat é un templio o complesso di templi, tipico della Tailandia ma anche del Laos e della Cambogia. A quanto pare hanno funzioni diverse, ma quelli visti fin ora sono tutti di uso religioso. I templi sono una vera oasi di tranquillità e di pace per i sensi in un posto così caotico, rumoroso ed affollato come Bangkok. Il contrasto non potrebbe che essere più evidente: il rumore della città contro la calma dei templi, lo smog e la polvere contro la dolce fragranza di incensi e ghirlande di fiori, lo sporco delle strade contro l'immacolata pulizia dei templi, l'insistenza di venditori e autisti di tuk tuk contro le poche essenziali parole dei monaci, il casuale ammucchio di colori contro la studiata armonia dei colori del tempio tra Budda d'oro, marmi e pietre preziose, il caldo umido della città contro la freschezza all'interno di un tempio e, infine, il ritmo febbrile del traffico contro la compostezza di chi prega. E non posso che chiedermi, tra me e me, se non sia grazie al Buddha che qui, nonostante tutto, la gente sia così ben disposta d'animo...

Bangkok, first impressions

Driving from the airport to the centre.
Pineapples, talisman, the driver calling

I survive to a flight of 12 hours plus an endless stop over in India and arrive in Thailand at 8 am, but my body clearly thinks it's definitely time to go to bed instead. Whatever, I'm in Bangkok, I saw rice fields from the plane!! I pick up my backpack and walk towards the exit. As soon as I'm out of the airport I get literally overwhelmed by the first breath of tropical air, humid, warm, heavy. I get a ticket to the centre and sit on the best spot: I have to take photo's! 

Constructions are everywhere, highways, buildings, in the outskirts of the capital it is all a mix. Glass buildings, law simple roofs all attached together, pile dwellings, trash in the water, a Buddhist temple, a mosque, a van carrying pineapples, the talisman over the driver's head, bridges, turning highway, more buildings, more houses, more trash. Click, click, click! Someone's sleeping naked under a bridge. No click, no photo this time. Little temples at the entrance of neighbourhoods or houses. We enter the city centre. Ombrellas against the sun, a monk in saffron colour, children crossing the streets without waiting for any green light. Taxi, tuk tuk and scooters everywhere. Oh look, scooters wear helmets here! Click click click!

I get off, start to walk towards the Democracy monument. I have a map, a backback and a foreign look...irresistible for locals. 'Miss, tuk tuk?', no-thanks-face, 'Miss, where are you from?' 'Italia' 'Oh, Italia good, Baggio Buddha!'...ahahah, how cool! Wait, that's a drop, oops, and a thunder! Not even time to realise and it's already raining on my head. A thunderstorm. It will last for hours, while I seek refuge under the umbrella of a smiling old woman sellings beverages. 'I might take a tuk tuk after all'. And there he comes, this man looking more like a Vietnamese, smiling and teethless, and his green tuk tuk, ready to drive me through the rain. I'm the happiest girl when I enter my room and abandon myself on the bed. 

Tomorrow, as a good tourist would do, I'll go to the temples along the Chao Phraya river...

Sopravvivo a un volo di 12 ore, piú un lungo scalo in India e arrivo in Tailandia alle 8 del mattino, ma il corpo pensa invece che sia decisamente ora d'andare a letto! Ma insomma, chi se ne importa, sono a Bangkok, ho visto un sacco di risaie dall'aereo! Prendo il mio zaino e cammino verso l'uscita. Non appena esco dall'aereoporto vengo sopraffatta dalla brima boccata d'aria tropicale, umida, calda, pesante! Prendo un biglietto per il centro e mi siedo sul posto migliore: ho foto da scattare!

Ci sono costruzioni ovunque, autostrade, palazzi, nella periferia della capitale é tutto un mix. Palazzi di vetro, tetti semplici e bassi tutti attaccati, palafitte, spazzatura in acqua, un tempio buddista, una moschea, un furgoncino carico di ananas, il talismano sulla testa dell'autista, ponti, autostrada in curva, ancora palazzi, ancora più case e spazzatura. Click, zic, zac! Qualcuno dorme seminudo sotto un ponte. Stavolta niente scatto, niente foto. Piccoli tempietti all'entrata di un quartiere o diuna casa. E siamo nel centro della città. Ombrelli contro il sole, un monaco in color zafferano, bambini che attraversano senza aspettare il verde. Taxi, tuk tuk e motorino dappertutto. Guarda un pó, si mettono il casco qui! Zic zac scatto!

Scendo dal bus, comincio a camminare verso il monumento alla democrazia. Ho una mappa, uno zaino in spalla e un look straniero...sono praticamente irresistibile per i locali. 'Signorina, tuk tuk?' faccia della serie no-grazie, 'Signorina, da dove viene?' 'Italia' 'Oh, Italia, l'Italia mi piace, Baggio Budda!'...che risata, troppo forte! Aspetta, ma quella é una goccia, e quello un tuono! Non ho neanche il tempo di far mente locale che giá mi piove in testa. Un temporale. Durerà per ore, mentre cerco rifugio sotto l'ombrellone di una nonnetta sorridente che vende bibite. 'Magari lo prendo un tuk tuk'. Ed eccolo lí, un ometto che sembra più un vietnamita, sorridente, sdentato e col suo verde tuk tuk pronto a guidarmi sotto la pioggia. Non appena entro in stanza e mi abbandono sul letto, sono la ragazza più felice che c'é.

Da brava turista, domani andrò ai templi lungo il fiume Chao Phraya...non ve lo perdete...

Barcelona en 24 horas

That favourite square of mine

Arriving at El Prat aeropuerto palm trees and a fresh sea breeze welcome us in Catalunya! The bus leads us all directly to the centre on Plaza Catalunya where all the tourists suddenly appear to be. I hear Italian all around, quite a lot of American-English and I realize that Barcelona is a tourist destination that suits all ages. School kids, teenagers, young ones seeking fiestas, older ones enjoying the freedom of their retirement, entire families. There's something for everyone. At the boquería I have the slight sensation to be ripped off with a cocco-ananas juice for 2,50...although my wondering disappears at its fresh and delicious taste. At Port Vell dozens of northern white skins together with sun-dependent southamericans plus me enjoy the sun on this summerish spring day. Quick metro to Parc Güell and yet again on another tourist spot, but rightly so. How could you not like the genius of Gaudí?!  I have the time to discuss that when I'll be making my house, I'll have a patio just like that, with different mashed tiles put together in a new colourful collage...and then on to the Sagrada Familia, where works continue and the masterpiece looks different every time. We're so lucky we don't have to queue! Now its interiors are basically completed, the temple is welcoming and it looks beautiful! Later on, a walk around the Barri Gotic leaves us mouth open!  Going through old Roman roads and walls, Medieval buildings and streets, we walk all the way down to Santa Maria del Mar (one of my favourite squares in the city by the way) and we are just on time to catch the last rays of sun at the beach, Barceloneta. It is time for eating or at least tapear (thought only specific places in Andalucía really know what tapear is all about!). We end up doing the latter and talking to a couple of Argentinians improvising tango around my favourite square. The night is still young and streets are crowded 24/7. Back to El Prat airport, a group of Spanish families clap the welcome to their highschool children coming back from London! Hugs and kisses for everyone by everyone and see you tomorrow. Even they are happy to be (back) in Spain. Ah, España, what a vibe! or as that package of cigarettes alarms :'Spain provokes a fatal addiction to the good life'!

More photos of BCN here

Plitvice Lakes National Park

Crystalline water at the lower lakes

This is another Croatia. Away from the more expensive coast there is a green green land. Made of mountains and lakes, and serving meat dishes instead. The National Park of Plitvice Lakes stands right in the middle of it, a lovely oasis where lakes and waterfalls follow one another. It's the biggest National Park of Croatia and a UNESCO World Heritage site since 1979. Enjoy some photos here!

Za-nzi-dar

Sunset in Zadar

Feeling like home! ...at least it seems so: Zadar is caressed by the cold bora as it happens in Trieste, its centre has the smoothest roman roads like in Venice, and a blue blue sea laps its shores, like home. And if it wasn't that locals are able to speak and understand so much Italian, one might think to be on the other side of the Adriatic coast. The girl we meet the first night at the restaurant Bruschetta (yes, like bruschetta...) tells us she studies Italian at the University in Zadar. She likes it and while she speaks Italian with us, she calls her city Zara. She says fish is delicious here, particularly fresh in this very restaurant. She is 22, wears big rings earrings and leopardskin shoes with a 12cm heal. I'm wearing jeans and converse and have fading make-up...she concludes I can't be older than 21. Lol. I guess local standards are high here! Before leaving, she briefs us on the disco panorama of Zadar. Lively, vibrant. We're in the Balkans after all!

Fish is indeed fresh and delicious here. I mean, that doesn't need explanations, it's the blue fin Mediterranean product we are talking about! According to local customs it goes more or less like this: Joe orderes fish, the waiter goes back to the kitchen and, before cooking anything, shows the freshly fished fish to Joe; Joe sees that it's indeed fresh and thanks the waiter; the fish is grilled/cooked/stewed/whatever and ready; the waiter comes back, showing once again the chef's results to Joe and starts to clean it from the fishbones for him; the waiter ends its job and Joe can finally eat its fish. Ah, what a service!

With our full tummies we stroll through the old centre, separated by the mainland by a bridge, nowadays, or by a moat, back in the years. The sun shines, the atmosphere is welcoming and the sea organ is absolutely captivating! Architect Nikola Bašić had the great idea to create by the sea in Zadar an experimental musical instrument which plays by sea waves...check out this youtube video! and enjoy this photo album!

Welcome to Republika Hrvatska!

Flying over the coast of Dalmatia

Croatia is one of Italy's neighbours and yet I waited 25 years before visiting. I had more or less the idea that Croatia offered a lot as in islands, coasts and beaches, as any Mediterranean country. Then I did a bit of internet search, watched photos of friends who had already been there, bought a footprint guide and finally realized I knew nothing about it. Lol.

The national tourist slogan sells Croatia as 'the Mediterraneo as it once was', which is quite promising. And possibly true. We arrived to Zadar by flying over Dalmatia's coast and it was a spectacle to see all those uncountable dazzling islands scattered all along the coast! How many could we count? One, ten, twenty over just a few kilometers? And what did we actually spot? Between deserted sort of atolls and populated green islands, we must have even seen some of the many famous National Parks, such as Koronati, who knows!?

So, briefly, what we are going to do in these few days ahead is to: eat a lot of fish (on the coast), see the attraction #1 of the country (the natural park of Plitvice Lakes), learn a couple of words of Croatian language, or actually Serbo-Croatian, with which one can do quite a lot in the Balkans. Note well: expectations go beyond the words vino (wine) and pivo (bier)!

Tell me what you eat and I'll tell you who you are

Once discovered this brilliant system for economizing and yet living like some wealthy VIP, we have had quite a food exploration and treated ourselves also with sauna's and gym sessions. About discovering foreign cuisines, our mouths have been to Japan, Brazil, Vietnam, Morocco, India, Nepal and Tibet. Yes, Japanese is nothing new, but we got to have sushi à volonté prior to what happened in Japan and now we're likely to eat sushi again if this is made by our own hands...(lol, I'll become a sushi maker for the next years!). Vietnamese flavours of ginger and spices have litterally conquered our palates! While the Moroccan 5 stars restaurant we went to might very well be the best in town. On a less yuppie-note, I discovered that coriander in big quantities simply disgusts me.

So, please check out groupon.com and all its related cousins :)

Carnaval de Dunkerque

Déguisements & costumes, marching and typical parapluies de Dunkerque

There on the north coast of France, very close to Belgium, lies the unpretentious city of Dunkerque. Its past might tell stories of dunes and churches as its name suggests (dune+kerke), but its present is definitely about its Carnaval. Listed even by wikipedia as one of the city's tourists attractions, le Carnaval de Dunkerque is a local pride. As it is common in other carnavals of northern Europe, everyone participates....children and grannies alike!

Following a tacit costume code, men use (and like) to dress as women, others recicle old stuff from aunts and grannies and almost everyone soaks his/her face in make up! The party starts weeks before the final carnaval days, and everyone gets ready for the adrenalinic rigodon final, an experience that inevitably remains impressed in everyone's mind...or chest. M, so what is this final rigodon? Is it marching? is it dancing or more like pogoing? Well, it is the moment music gets to a central podium around which all participanting carnevaleux start to squash one another, they are literally compressed! I was incidentally taken away by a group of rigodon-fans and I could barely breath, squeezed as I was among them! All in all, Dunkerque's carnaval seemed to be a survival experience! :P

Europe's joke

Seems to be the hit of the moment, the official European joke. Let me just copy-paste it for this time! (I don't even bother to apologize for its length 'cause it's really funny!)

"European paradise:

You are invited to an official lunch. You are welcomed by an Englishman. Food is prepared by a Frenchman and an Italian puts you in the mood and everything is organised by a German.

European hell:

You are invited to an official lunch. You are welcomed by a Frenchman. Food is prepared by an Englishman, German puts you in the mood but, don't worry, everything is organised by an Italian.

That joke was proposed by a Belgian as the Official European Joke, the joke that every single European pupil should learn at school. The Joke will improve the relationship between the nations as well as promote our self humour and our culture.

The European Council met in order to make a decision. Should the joke be the Official European Joke or not?

The British representative announced, with a very serious face and without moving his jaw, that the joke was absolutely hilarious.

The French one protested because France was depicted in a bad way in the joke. He explained that a joke cannot be funny if it is against France.

Poland also protested because they were not depicted in the joke.

Luxembourg asked who would hold the copyright on the joke. The Swedish representative didn't say a word, but looked at everyone with a twisted smile.

Denmark asked where the explicit sexual reference was. If it is a joke, there should be one, shouldn't there?

Holland didn't get the joke, while Portugal didn't understand what a "joke" was. Was it a new concept?

Spain explained that the joke is funny only if you know that the lunch was at 13h, which is normally breakfast time. Greece complained that they were not aware of that lunch, that they missed an occasion to have some free food, that they were always forgotten. Romania then asked what a "lunch" was.

Lithuania et Latvia complained that their translations were inverted, which is unacceptable even if it happens all the time. Slovenia told them that its own translation was completely forgotten and that they do not make a fuss. Slovakia announced that, unless the joke was about a little duck and a plumber, there was a mistake in their translation. The British representative said that the duck and plumber story seemed very funny too.

Hungary had not finished reading the 120 pages of its own translation yet.

Then, the Belgian representative asked if the Belgian who proposed the joke was a Dutch speaking or a French speaking Belgian. Because, in one case, he would of course support a compatriot but, in the other case, he would have to refuse it, regardless of the quality of the joke.

To close the meeting, the German representative announced that it was nice to have the debate here in Brussels but that, now, they all had to make the train to Strasbourg in order to take a decision. He asked that someone to wake up the Italian, so as not to miss the train, so they can come back to Brussels and announce the decision to the press before the end of the day.

"What decision?" asked the Irish representative.

And they all agreed it was time for some coffee."

Un poquito de nostalgia

The past few days have been a joy. Sunny, mild, springish. Café Belga put its tables outside on the square. Place Flagey has been a come-and-go of skaters and baby buggies, of street musicians and mums, of students and workers. All enjoying the springish atmosphere, the friterie, the open space and the pond to play with swans and birds. As all good things come to an end, today it started to rain again. I had to feel blue.

And then, out of the blue, I found a lovely surprise waiting for me in my mail box. The German couple we had met in Bolivia finally sent the photos made together in Uyuni! Impossible not to notice how they all look like a foto montage, but surely they have been food for memories and nostalgia! A weird feeling of happyness.

How about being a film music composer?

Charlie Chaplin - This is my song

Since I watched Woman On Top, I have been looking for its soundtrack compilation here and there. It is not that uncommon that I watch a movie and its music remains in my ears for days afterwards…most of the time I don’t even know what I am actually singing or humming. But who is it to play the music? Well, generally orchestras, bands, singers...but they just execute. The right question is actually: who is it to compose the music, to write it, to put musical notes on sheet music?

Composers and songwriters are normally overshadowed behind their famous and catchy music in films, Tv-series and the likes. The theme of Two and a Half Men is now obsessing me, thanks to Grant Geissman, Lee Aronsohn, and Chuck Lorre (who wrote the music) and to Elizabeth Daily and ‘other Studio musicians’ (who performed it). Looking at the show, I actually thought Alan, Jake and Charlie were singing it! Funny, uh?

If Morricone goes with Western’s, Nicholas Hooper is the one of Harry Potter’s films. Maurice Jarre is the one behind epic films such as Lawrence of Arabia or Doctor Zhivago, whereas David Nessim Lawrence is the one of the American-Pie-kind-of-stuff. And who did not enjoy Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl by Klaus Badelt, or the music of Gladiator by Hans Zimmer (allegedly the king of music scores)?!? On January 30th, John Barry died. Without him, James Bond would have had all a different sound. The Guardian wrote this music-blog page for him "John Barry: a life in clips" and among his aficionados, one left the closing comment: "if music has the ability to instantly affect the emotional and intellectual state then John Barry is the Grandmaster Wizard". Who's your favourite one?

European Roma Woman

Video: I'm a European Roma Woman

One of my current job's tasks is to monitor European Parliament's debates in those areas of interest to the organization I work for. I am sent off to the Parliament for work purposes, but I have to confess this duty amuses me quite a lot...many languages in my headphone, meeting new people, socio-political VIP's, cool building, unexpected fun at the meetings, a walk through Leopold Park...I like going there.

Often, participation to the meetings turns into an occasion for actual learning and reflection. So it was yesterday. I discovered that Hungary is the only EU member state who has brought a Roma to the European Parliament. Lívia Járóka is one of the new generation of leaders. At EU level, she is on a mission so that Roma can get their voice heard. What strucks me is that in this person, there are all necessary ingredients to bake a quite exotic and unpropable cake: being a woman, being young, Eastern European and from a minority group, certainly not a privileged one. And yet, she made it to the EP. Quite noteworthy!

Stories of Roma, Gypsyes and Sinti have always attracted me and I await the day that the nobel peace prize will be given to the Roma people for moving around pacifically since ages, without harming a soul, without weapons and without starting wars against other nations. Instead, we only know stories of criminality and failed integration, which surely are the only kind of story the newspapers catch and like.  I bet the older collegues of Járóka in the EP make it a challange for her to be actually heard and taken seriously. I like this woman. Let's see if we manage to come face to face next time.

Flagia, the art of frying

I fear I have just discovered the BEST friterie in Brussels. It was Friday, and I profited of my lunchbreak to get both food and some fresh air out of the office. There was this kiosk there on the square, which seemed to attract quite a lot of people. The queue was disarming, but I took it as a testimony of the quality of the food and I put myself in line. Inside the kiosk, a man, no, THE man. 

At Friterie Flagey, right on Place Flagey, the man isn't just frying, splashing frozen food in hot oil. He is, I dare to say, rather cooking! He literally takes care of every request, of every potato and of every little frie. His moves are almost those of a pizzaiolo, moving gently and deflty, almost hinting at some dance move. You've got to see him. And then, when your typical Belgian cornet of fries is ready, you do realize why this frietkot is an institution of the Brussels' heritage. Gold, crunchy and selected. Yes, because THE man has also cleverly selected the best fries for you, removing black spots or overfried stuff. Someone would like some more salt, whereas I only wish it weren't so cold. It looks in fact that 3° are enough to turn mayonnaise and other sauces into a hard sticky thing.

It seems also that this kiosk in Flagey has so far survived a process of removal by la commune d'Ixelles, in the interest of some works on the square. On internet you also find petitions to sign to keep the Friterie Flagey on its spot. Selfishly said, I hope the friterie will stay in Flagey at least as long as I will, but it would definitely be a loss of revenue and image for the square if THE man will be moved away. And while the bourgmestre clears his mind, I'll keep enjoying this frying flagey magia, let me call it Flagia!

Check Stop Schuman

I get to the bus stop at Schuman, excusez-moi, c’est déjà passé le 60?, she doesn’t know, she’s American, but of course the bus is late as usual. Me and five more people are standing and waiting for the same bus. Two Southamerican women keep checking the time, calculating how many minutes they are taking away from the babies they are going to baby-sit. Bus 12 and 22 arrive, people get off and on. The newcomers to Brussels get off and wonder where to go: to the left or to the right, to the left on the sidewalk or to the left through the square? The works and the noise in the area make all look chaotic while is not. The girl, clearly lost: excusez-moi, où se trouve le metro? Two Norwegians walk together to the Norway House right in front of the Commission and of the bus stop. They are dressed light. They must be among the happiest here in Brussels, considering that in this period of the year the sun doesn't rise before 11 o’clock in the south of Norway…and never rises in the north (!). A couple comes, hand in hand, they kiss good-bye and the guy leaves. The girl is Italian. Of course. It’s like “Nespresso. What else?” (Hi George!). That tall guy in his suit runs to work, with his badge jumping up and down. Bus 12 and 22 come again and I am still waiting. The people who get off represent a good half of the world. I have troubles distinguishing among Scandinavians and Asians, and I assume not all Africans come from Congo or Morocco. ...Bus 60 finally arrives! See you tomorrow Schuman.

Flying Ryan

Over the Alps

They say that soon or later Ryanair will make passengers pay 1euro for using the toilet on board. Everyone already knows that the company offers no service whatsoever and the reason why people like it is for its cheapness. I can’t complain at all. My first Ryanair flight was in 2006 from Milano to Oslo in occasion of my Erasmus exchange in Norway, and Ryanair was just inaugurating that new route...from cold to frozen! Back then flying with Ryanair was the only affordable option to get so up north. For uncountable times I’ve been flying to The Netherlands and back, then to Spain, to London, to Paris, to Latvia...and now to Belgium. The cheapest ticket I’ve ever bought was only 5 euro to Berlin. But of all trips and destinations, my favourite is always when I’m flying back home deep south.

I must say that flying over Italy is amazing and whenever I’m directed to Trapani or Palermo, Ryan feels to me like a high school friend taking me home while telling stories...from the Alps downwards is all a changing landscape of harbours and beaches, mountains and islands, sea everywhere, and the country’s unique shape to suggest what is what. Perhaps, it's that Italy everyone falls in love with.

Not that far from 'home'

Not long ago I was saying that living in Brussels for an Italian feels like living in Italy. My observation finds confirmation once again in the bus service in Brussels. Waiting for the bus is likely to take much longer than the actual ride. Taking two metro lines might paradoxically be an even faster solution. Guess what, in Italy you can't rely on any bus, while timetables are to be taken as an opinion rather than a fact. I have no experience of bus service in the very developed north of my country, but what 'comforts' me is that according to Bruno Bozzetto they are totally unreliable. To conlcude, if Brussels is Europe, I would then suggest Bruno Bozzetto to make some changes in the bus scene (and the bureaucracy scene too) of his video 'Europe and Italy' (excellent video for the rest :))

Petite Italie

Fact.

There is this nice little place in Brussels where all Italians come together. Many are young and bright expats, fed up with their youth-unfriendly country, yet nostalgic and with a touching Italianness. Piola.Libri is a library-wine-bar, it is THE Italian library in Brussels, and clearly a lovely cultural space. Probably it is just too small to host its wide population of fans and friends, but perhaps it is rather the numbers to be blamed. Italians are historically a folk of migrants and in Belgium they represent one of the biggest communities. La petite Italie is actually not so petite. The known fact is that Italians are everywhere, they really are, but I'm dazed by the fact that since I'm here in Brussels I've spoken much more Italian than in the last three years I've spent abroad and travelling around. And that happens also when my interlocutor is not Italian. Here I've so far found French, Polish, Germans, Dutch, British and Romanians all more than happy to practice their Italian with me. I think they are all way too fluent! 

For an Italian it really isn't challenging to live in Brussels. I'd say it's rather more challanging for a Dutch. They experience a cultural schock whenever something doesn't work as expected. Italians have clearly different standards as they are already used to a place where things do NOT work, or actually work much worse. Sometimes, Brussels feels like a piece of Mediterranean, chaotic, mixed, diverse, and bureaucratically confused, but then with a heavy weather and the stiff northern way of relating to other people in general. Not that this really counts, because the Brussels we live in is an international bubble, where no many Bruxellois/Brusselaars are left. 

This said, few days ago we went to Berlin and were surprised to find a sort of Little Italy there as well. Around the world, big little Italies can be found almost anywhere in the USA, then in Cananda, in São Paulo, in the UK and in Ireland...., and if I don't know of any Little Italy in China, Vietnam, Japan or Tanzania is just because, in case, I prefer to be left with the surprise!

TAXI jungle

Today, Monday 18 was the day of the national strike also in Belgium, but the fun unexpectedly started already last night. We were coming back from The Netherlands and after Visé, the contrôleur checked our tickets and said 'good luck tonight, there will be no more trains in the direction of Brussels after ten o'clock!', so we asked whether there were bus or any other alternative to get home...and he, helplessly, replied 'Mais non, c'est la Belgique!'. It was 21.30. We can just make it, we thought. But once arrived in Liege, where we had to change train, we realized that all trains were being cancelled, and it was not yet 22:00. All employees of the nmbs (National Railway Company of Belgium) had it written on their faces: help yourselves, we're going to bed. All happy about it :-/

So, there was no bus, no service, dubious people seeming to profit of the situation...but plenty of taxi's. When asking them how much they wanted to bring us to Brussels, their first reply was 200 euro...which eventually got down til 125euro. Do-able. In the general confusion people asked one another where they were going, taxi drivers were even offering themselves to go to Maastricht, Leuven or any other place. People were creating teams and taxi-drivers were making agreements with groups of people (such as: 'Wait for me here, I'll take them to Maastricht and then I come and take you to Brussels'), unbelievable. 

The best part came when we had found our "Brussels' buddies" and a taxi driver was willing to drive us to the capital. While we were walking to his taxi, another taxi-driver came saying that we had to go with him because we had agreed with him before. Mr A replied that no, he was first. Mr B insisted that he had been the very first. A Ms C suddenly popped into the discussion saying that we had also taked to her. But Mr A insisted that he had been the first we had talked to and Mr B replied saying that it could not be the case because he was the first in line. Ms C then was supporting Mr B reminding to Mr A that there are rules taxi-drivers are bound to. Enlightening and threatening, she said 'C'est la gare!!!'. Apparently we had violeted all rules of taxi conduct at train station. They were fighting and screaming to each other. Mr B's words: 'I'm from Iran and you're from Morocco, but I was first in line!'. Despite Mr A was really the first of them we had talked to, Mr B didn't want to hear anything of all that. To my surprise they insisted fighting between them, but they were not lowering the price to convince us who to go with. To my dismay, we were in difficulty, a hundred kilometers away from home, in the cold of the night, and no one seemed to care about that.

After a while, Mr A got tired of that and walked away saying to Mr B 'alright, they are yours'. And we could finally go. Mr B was really silent on the way to Brussels. He was sorry and proud at the same time. 'Did you really talked to him first???' he kept asking...honestly, the only thing I wanted was to get over those 100km and be home. Luckily the Congolese guy travelling with us was full of good humor and made us laugh by commenting how bad were Belgian roads even compared to the ones of Congo! Finally, we got home. Before closing my eyes I mentally calculated that the Belgian strike had costed me like ten one-way Ryanair offer-tickets from Sicily to Oslo...

Successful multilingualism?

I ended up in Luxembourg by total accident. One of those typical Italian things, I'd say, which made my blood boil at first, but then turned out to be the coolest experience I could ever imagine. The chance to discuss about youth, democracy, arts and culture with a group of leaders from five different countries was unique and highly inspirational. Bloody lucky, I repeat. 

Though what I wanted to reflect upon on this blog, is the funny multilinguistic experiment Luxembourg appears to be. The first thing that struck me was the fact that local newspapers were litterally bilingual. One side French, other side German. Whereas in Belgium they are either in French or Flemish. The two together, never. Luxembourgish people speak three languages, French, German and Luxembourgish, the latter being an interesting sort of German with a lot of French in it, and with an equally interesting history. Funnily enough, some (few) locals, despite trilingual, may speak no word of English!

Having said that, the population of Luxembourg is very much international, with almost 40% of the total population coming from abroad. The Portuguese and Italian communities are visibly the biggest ones and Portuguese newspapers are available even at a bus stop. Now, imagine this: you are Portuguese and married a Serbian who came to Luxembourg as asylum seeker from former Yugoslavia. Your kid speaks Serbian and Portuguese at home, the three official languages of the state at school and in society, and he can of course speak English...so six. Six languages he didn't even choose to learn. They were a given. Just fantasy? Nope. This case is actually reality. And I am amazed!

The pleasure of doing NADA

Today I've done nothing all day and it has been a lovely day. I woke up at 12 am and before I realized it was already 12pm. What I have done is to skype and chat with friends all day long! Virtually, I've brought friends around this lovely little house we've got, shared a chocolate mousse with Jola in Den Haag, sensed the emotions in Brazil before the elections, and then jumped to Rome picturing myself five years younger. I've made a tour on the map of California with my rockstar cousin and checked how much was a bus from Paris to Brussels (too cheap for not having been there yet). And when I was looking for the Jasmine tea bags, I found instead the Estonian liquor Tatjana had brought us from Tallinn. So, I didn't move a foot and yet my day has been quite international. Olé.