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The first step


Indnesia, Sumatra, Bukit Lawang, agosto 2009

Quando misi il piede fuori di casa, non c'era nulla di strano. Tutto era come al solito. Percorrendo la solita road, went down to the station, as every day. I greeted the crowds, the usual friends. Where are you going? Childbirth. I was making the first small step, but it was equal to a thousand more steps each day. Except that that step would take me away. I do not know how to describe this strange feeling that normality of the gestures contained instead the beauty of departure, the excitement of "who knows where I'll be tonight." And then: Camogli station, chatting as we waited for the train, the friends met by chance. The usual train that departs late, the usual route to Genoa. It 's just that the air entering the airport change, comes the awareness.
And then everything speeds up and so I find myself to write the first frase sul mio quaderno intatto: "Quanto tempo ci vuole fra la stazione di Camogli e la giungla di Sumatra?". Assurdo e azzardato come collegamento, se non fosse che sono sotto una tenda, in mezzo alla giungla, nel buio più profondo, con una ranocchia minuscola a far da guardia contro le zanzare.
E' stato un attimo arrivare a Jakarta già con il programma di viaggio sconvolto dalla decisione di non restare lì, ma di andare a Sumatra. E poi, arrivati lì, andar via di nuovo fino a Bukit Lawang, a nord. Il pullman con la ruota di scorta al posto dei passeggeri e i ragazzi che salgono sopra a vendere cibo mi danno il benvenuto in Asia. Adesso lo so: sono arrivata. Due ragazzi con una pseudo acconciatura rockettara salgono a suonare la chitarra. Humor that only can be found here. A man sits down beside us and starts talking. Then he tells us to be a guide of the natural park of Bukit Lawang. Slowly forward with his real purpose, but then have time to do it quietly, the trip takes 4 hours. In the end I know that there is no way to escape the jungle trip, so I resigned. I'm not particularly fit to face so suddenly: from the desktop to the trails ... Yet the next morning I find myself starting with a backpack that contains very little spare underwear, a Kway, camera and a bottle of water. For seven or eight hours we are left to follow our guide, Sunny, that brings us joy in the midst of the vines, the giant spider webs and and down the paths, but also very off the beaten track, to search for the orangutans. And the orangutan we find them, even very close, large, beautiful, with their intense gaze.
Eventually my legs tremble from the effort. The knees do not hold me anymore. If you do not feel that we come to the camp begin to slip on muddy trails. I can stand the vines and roots of trees until they finally come to the River. Here is ready the camp. In short, it is ready to put down a tent poles. Under the mats, similar to those for exercise, will be our beds. A man has prepared the tea, and dinner is cooking over a fire. As soon as darkness falls, the light of small candles, there in the middle of the anything, we eat rice, vegetables and chicken. Then we tell stories of jungle animals. Sunny imitates them all. When you turn the laughter and the candles started the company more tough: sleeping on the floor!


Indonesia, Sumatra, orangutans in the wild, in August 2009

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Still here.


Bali, Goa Lawah, August 2009

We wanted the bridge and rainy days to get me back here. The time I ran away without me noticing and my pages still remain empty.
Greetings in August and then ... we are in December.
What about now? The impressions were gained, the images are already part of the memories. But they are all there, crystal clear, strong. Speaking of faces, stories of strange, poignant, of distant peoples of different customs, languages \u200b\u200bold and new. They taste of discovery. And I hope to be able to tell, at least for a while.

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Bye, bye!




See you in September! Happy holidays to all.

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Teej, the festival of monsoon


India, Bundi, Teej, August 2009

I've read some accounts of travel, running on networks that Bundi is a horrible place, filled it smog, trucks and pollution. In fact, the arrival of Bundi is not più rassicuranti. Venendo da Chittor, la strada sembra breve: solo 150 km. In realtà non si arriva mai. Fra strade deserte e sabbiose, lavori in corso, tornanti e buche... ci mettemmo ben 6 ore per percorrerli, tanto che dalle due del pomeriggio arrivammo solo alle 8, con il buio. In effetti molte volte pensai che il nostro autista, mai stato troppo sveglio, avesse perso la strada e ci avese portato chissà dove.
Quando poi cominciammo a vedere una lunga fila di camion con le loro lucine, bè, allora fui quasi certa che fossimo finiti nel posto sbagliato. I camion non finivano mai, erano puzzolenti, polverosi: pareva che tutti i trasportatori del Rajasthan si fossero dati appuntamento là. Su questo, dunque, avrei potuto dare ragione the American traveler who wrote of Bundi.
But then the road is divided, crossed a bridge and appeared in the fortress atop a hill. She was beautiful, charming, even in low light at night.
decide to stay in a haveli in the heart, of course recommended by Lonlely Planet (Haveli Braj Bhushanjee), but an incredible crowd he hangs around and we all make mention that we can not pass. Notre-driver seems to have understood, but since he can not say a single word in English, we who fail to realize what happens. We go down and groped we decide to walk. We just in time to arrive all'Haveli, take the room and go back to recover a minimum of luggage, just the essential first step that is blocked completely. That evening we can not go because it is the festival of Teej.


India, Bundi, Teej, August 2009


I read that the festival is held in Nepal and that takes its name from a small red insect that comes out of the ground during the monsoon. Typical of Jaipur, but evidentemetne also celebrated in other parts of Rajasthan, Teej lasts two days. It 's a festival dedicated to women, because it celebrates Parvati, wife of Shiva and the monsoon that blesses the earth with water. Married women pray for their husbands, the young to be married.


India, Bundi, Teej, August 2009


For two nights, a procession of floats paraded through the streets while people watching from the windows, from above the walls, roofs, terraces. The idols, especially Shiva and Parvati, are carried in procession, while the wagons are dancers, boys dressed as gods, or representations of demons that frighten children.
The atmosphere is festive and fun, a little carnival. Everything, then, except that this inhospitable town of which I had read.
Apart from anything else, is beautiful even without Teej Bundi.


India, Bundi, Teej, August 2009

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Thunder sea


Camogli, from my usual window, June 2009

As it happens I had a camera at hand. See also the case that cavallettino low, that weighs nothing and the machine falls forward. As it happens, was also fortunate that it was night and the storm came from the sea.
Ok, I washed according to the window. Okay, I looked silly to hold the stand on the windowsill, terrified that the wind carried him down and the car gets wet in a serious way, but .... want to put the satisfaction of being able to "catch" lightning?

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Istanbul, Erensler cafè, giugno 2009

Amo molto la fotografia. Ed in effetti di solito ho solo voglia di pubblicare qualche nuova foto, ma ne ho pochissima di scriverci sotto qualcosa. E' così che molte volte penso che questo blog non sia nè carne nè pesce. Troppe parole per un blog fotografico, troppo fotografico per essere un blog di lettura. Di fatto, io mi limito ad accompagnare le immagini con due righe di spiegazione. Ci sono fotografi bravissimi che non hanno bisogno di spiegazioni sotto le loro foto, perchè le immagini bastano da sole a spiegare tutto. Ed a questo proposito, sto aggiungendo molti link ai siti di meravigliosi fotografi che vi invito a visitare, per scoprire la magia di tante immagini.
Io non I think I go that far. So here is that it takes two lines. The story unfolds, then, image by image. One tells the other.
Among my small photos, including those who may not say anything, taken alone, there is this. In black and white because the colors were unnecessary and not actors. In black and white because it is not locatable at any one time: this is a moment that is so today could be many years ago. The dark tones of the photo corners accentuate the attention of those who look on the face of the man who smokes. But the man who smokes is absent. Do not see who is watching (which I photographed me) too got the taste of tobacco and who knows what else mix, too kidnapped suoi pensieri, unica macchia bianca in questa scena scura.

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Istanbul, the nearest faraway place


Istanbul, Yeni Camii, giugno 2009

Istanbul è vicina: neanche tre ore di volo. Ma è già un altro mondo. Quelle tre ore bastano per sentirsi altrove e trovare le atmosfere di un altro mondo, sentire i muezzin scandire le giornate con i loro richiami alla preghiera e vedere le persone che si radunano per il Namaz; le donne con il velo in testa, le donne con il volto coperto, le donne che invece rifiutano il velo; gli studenti universitarei che discutono ai tavolini dei cafè all'aperto, sotto l'ombra di alberi giganteschi, davanti ad un té fumante; i disegni intricati di fiori e geometry that adorn the walls of ancient mosques, the remains of ancient times but ANRA symbol of unity and life. Istanbul is a great mix of East and West, but it maintains a very strong personality and a great office. A city full of charm, making himself fall in love with the first bite.

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Aung San Suu Kyi


Burma, Mandalay, in the little house of mustaches Brothers, in August 2007

morning Aung San Suu Kyi has been arrested again. Daughter of General Aung San, considered the liberator of Burma from British rule, the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991, founder and leader of the National League for Democracy party inspired by the principles of nonviolence and respect for human rights, Aung San Suu Kyi has lived and studied in India and England. In 1988, he decided to return to Myanmar to care for her mother in very poor health, but was immediately put under house arrest by the granting of freedom if he agreed to leave his country. Aung San Suu Kyi refused, knowing that if he accepted, would never be able to return.
As a result of popular movements of 1988, the military junta decided to hold general elections, which took place in 1990. Aung San Suu Kyi won overwhelmingly, so that was to become Prime Minister of Burma. But of course the Government would never have been able to allow, and in fact, a coup, took power over Myanmar, nullifying the election results and setting new Aung San Suu Kyi under house arrest.
In 1995, the arrests were dismissed, but she remained in a state of semi-freedom, without being able to leave the country without seeing his family. She was not even allowed to return from her husband when they were diagnosed with cancer, because if he had left the country would not have been granted a visa to return. Her husband died two years later.
In 2003, aboard a convoy with many activists of the League, suffered an attack. Many people died, but she managed to escape. However, it was once again arrested and time under house arrest. Since then, arrests have been continuing until today, despite international pressure and the hopes of his release that she had circulated in the aftermath of October 2007 uprising.
seemed that Aung San Suu Kyi would be freed soon, but today the news of his re-arrest because, apparently, the violation of house arrest for having hosted an American who would reach his home by swimming across the small lake on which stands the house in Rangoon.

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Women Padaung


Burma, Inle Lake, Donna Padaung, August 2007

During our trip to Burma, we had a few days on Inle Lake, Shan State. The Shan State is inhabited by people of different tribes and ethnic groups, such as the Intha, the Shan, the Pa-Ho, the Padaung. During the visit of the lake with the canoe, one of the must-visits (in the sense that the guides do their best to take you there and there's no way we have to go) is the "giraffe women" ugly name for Women Padaung who still use to stretch their necks with metal rings. With my usual Western mind, I was rather shocked that you did this idea is still to young women, not to say to girls. It really bothered me that some of these women were, so to speak, "month in the exhibition" in a specie di negozio di souvenirs, dove tutti i turisti venivano portati a vederle mentre tessevano le loro tele.


Birmania, Lago Inlè, Donna Padaung, agosto 2007

Da qualche giorno, però, ho iniziato a leggere un libro che sta cambiando (almeno parzialmente, perchè continuo a pensare che sia orrendo il fatto che vengano mostrate come animali in uno zoo) il mio modo di vedere le cose: "Il ragazzo che parlava col vento". L'autore, Pascal Khoo Thwe, è un uomo di etnia Padaung, un esule, che ha partecipato alla rivolta del 2007, riuscendo a salvarsi. Nelle prime pagine egli racconta la sua infanzia nel villaggio, nella grande casa dove le nonne erano le undisputed queens, storyteller, master of the house, wonderful characters with long necks. He explains their unbelievable tradition
" The rings are formed by a long coil made of an alloy of silver, brass and gold. Only girls born in the auspicious days of the week while the moon is growing and are chosen for wear them. These girls are starting to take animals from the age of five, when the neck is ringed for a short time daily. As they grow older, you add more rings. The rings are changed when they marry, and added spirals longer - one above and one below the main one.
(...) Our ancestors allowed us to touch the their "armor" when we were sick. You could touch the ring only to draw their magic power - to treat a disease, to bless a trip. They were like a sacred portable shrine of the family. It is a practice trative pù ancient Buddhism, but was later absorbed by religion. Women also slipped some money in their rings. For us children it was like walking among the Christmas trees, filled with family treasures and miraculous powers. (...) They were wearing white robes and black skirts with red linings and their heads wrapped in swaddling clothes pink. Wove sheets, dresses, skirts, towels and the like on a traditional loom.
Mu Kya grandmother's neck was longer than a foot. He had spent a couple of giorni prima di essere in grado di sostenere la sua testa dopo aver deciso di togliere gli anelli per sempre. Le sono state fatte speciali camicie con colletti molto alti. Eravamo soliti prenderla in giro - e adularla - dicendo che Elvis Presley aveva chiaramente copiato il suo stile ".


Birmania, Lago Inlè, Bambina Padaung, agosto 2007

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Firenze, Papavero, maggio 2009

La mia nonna aveva una passione per i fiori. Quando ancora abitava in città, in un palazzo anonimo, davanti alla sua bottega, il suo piccolo terrazzo era l'unica macchia di colore in tutta la strada. Riusciva a farci get everything in those two miserable square feet of space and all bloomed profusely.
When my grandparents left the shop, came to live with us, in a small apartment next to ours, but with a huge garden around. It was then that my grandmother was expressed to the fullest. Under her care grew and grew the most beautiful azaleas and rhododendrons blooming longer. The pots were always filled with colorful flowers and roses bloom from May to October. He had a space for diseased plants, where the cured, where planted in small pots, where he put the cuttings to make roots. There were always bottles of dark glass with sprigs of oleander in, put into water to root, and camellias, they loved the shadow, there were cared for.
There was no time of day that I could find to remove the dead leaves, weeding, remove faded flowers.
And following her I learned the names of plants, counting the nodes of the branches to find the point where it should be pruned to distinguish the desired land for this or that type of plant.


Florence, displays of flowers, poppies in bloom, in May 2009

When I was little, she would take me every year at the Flower Show, held in Florence from 25 April to 1 May. It was once held in Piazza della Signoria and I still remember that made me choose an annual plan for myself. Once I chose pink and white azalea, then was the turn of the Black Rose, Daisy, Rhododendron cream.
Then she grew up and whitewashed. So it was that the parties were reversed and I was to bring the exhibition, in the meantime had moved in Piazza SS. Annunziata, and then to the Parterre. For her it was a party bigger than Christmas.
then, I never stopped going, even when she is no longer able to come. And then he left us. Only
transfer to Camogli I finally stopped that appointment, but I felt a touch of nostalgia each year, when he arrived April 25.
This year, for a fortunate coincidence, they are able to return. Now the show is held at Horticultural Gardens for several years, in a beautiful park. Girare di nuovo tra quei petali, quei colori, quei profumi, mi ha emozionato più di quanto potessi pensare. Mi sentivo felice, come da bambina, accanto a lei.


Firenze, mostra dei Fiori, maggio 2009

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memories and family ties and hospitality



Quello che segue è un altro dei racconti di viaggio di Consuelo, che ancora una volta ci porta in Vietnam. Non voglio aggiungere altro, solo: buona lettura.

"Dicembre 2003. Vietnam del Nord.
Lungo uno dei percorsi del nostro “mototour vietnamita” ci fermiamo in un villaggio a salutare la “seconda famiglia” (lui la chiama così’) della nostra guide. Living in one of those typical Vietnamese houses in stilts, with where we are held in large animals, where they chat while working on the frame where you rest when it's hot, where children play. Above is a single large room with bamboo floors so thin that I try to walk on the beams for fear of smashing the floor and find myself in the manger of the pigs. In one corner of the hearth, in the opposite corner of a wicker basket hanging from the ceiling that acts as a cradle for a small newly born. The young mother's kitchen or from time to time to give a gentle push moves to the basket so that continues to rock the baby who sleeps well.
We are presented to all members of the large family and obviously in a short time in the village spreads the voice of the arrival of two "foreigners" and that's a good reason to celebrate. The whole family is in turmoil, to prepare a worthy reception. Typical course dinner and drinks. One by one they all come to know us and greet us and at some point we take away his passport ... well tell us that it is the practice of local police. It will be so? Also arrives at an uncle with a liquor strong enough to burn rice goes everywhere. And the festivities begin.
We are seated on the floor in the middle of the great hall, all in a circle, our men and women of the family ... and after they eat separately. Only the grandmother sits with us and I embraces all the time. They serve many different dishes and the usual doubt creeps ... we are at the beginning of the trip and also running ... there will not hurt? It is not polite to refuse, and then try to force majeure enjoy the diversity of local food ... and what will be will be. The uncle then every now and we want to make a toast that we are almost at the limit "pretend" to drink with him.
Our guide and "his second family" have a lot of things to say and then we begged to stay there to give them time to talk about everything. How to say no? The beauty of this great and unique room, typical of Vietnamese houses, is that by day serves as a great room but at night is divided into many compartments by sheets hanging from the ceiling. Thus created for us a room, give us a mosquito net and blanket our staff. Below us feel the heat and noise of the animals that eat again. And the bathroom? You say ... ... ... the bathroom is outside in the middle of the field. The only thing you hope to not need it at night. But that wonderful night, only the quiet sounds of nature around us.
the morning we woke up with the "perfume" for breakfast: Servitec basically the same thing the night before. (In Vietnam, the typical breakfast consists of noodles in broth. In every corner of Hanoi from the earliest dawn we can see women with their pot serving steaming bowls of noodles to passers-by, who eat sitting on tiny stools or on the ground.)
This is very welcome: a cop who comes to greet us back our passports. Hurrah!
The greetings are always melancholy even among people who have just met. We are invited to move from their Chinese New Year to be held in February ... I think maybe!
We are told that in Vietnam is a good idea to make a gift to the guest who has stayed in your house ... the pool! We stare in amazement. It 's a huge quilt and being in motion, of course, we can not, though with much regret, accept this gift cumbersome.
We continue our journey ...
( As is often the most beautiful adventure in life, this journey began by accident . "Titian Terziani)

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Ancient gestures


Camogli, nets of tuna, March 2009

Each year, In April, the networks of the trap of Camogli are lowered into the water in front of Punta Chiappa. Every year, fishermen tie the new networks, extending them on the pier, the lighthouse to the castle.


Camogli, dela trap nets, March 2009

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What color is .... The loss of a child


Camogli, drops to the window, in April 2009

"There's nothing nothing nothing

that bind me to you is a great emptiness in the depths

you tell me a little of that color
is another day without you"

E ' a dreary rainy day and the song of Noemi (yes, that X factor) I bounce in his head all the time. But something good, I pulled out the same: I like the game of raindrops on the glass and the microscopic view of Camogli in each of them. The color ... maybe it was a bit 'more gray. But I've had enough of gray.

For those wishing to hear the song, this is Crumbs

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India, Varanasi, funerale di un bimbo nel Gange, agosto 2008

La tragedia del terremoto in Abruzzo mi lascia senza parole. Vite distrutte, la perdita di tutto, la ditruzione di ciò che amavano e conoscevano. Ma a tutto si può reagire, con forza e coraggio. Ad una cosa, invece non capisco come potranno sopravvivere: alla perdita dei loro figli. La vista delle madri che piangono i loro figli, o che li cercano, con la speranza nel cuore, mi è insopportabile. A tutto si può sopravvivere, a qualunque dolore, ma non a questo. Il tempo non può rimarginarlo, la mente non può concepirlo, il cuore non può reggerlo. Non può esserci più nulla.

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Work in progress

Camogli, December 2008

I understand why it occurred to me to change the old model with the "new" layout. I do not understand anything. It was so easy to make changes cn the old system! Now I'm lost for things half way and I can not enter them again. Ok, it takes patience! Sooner or later I will understand ... maybe.

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hundred monks


Myanmar, Amarapura, August 2007

few days ago in Tibet, were arrested about 100 Buddhist monks, who were accused of rebellion against the government in Beijing. What this means, it is absolutely obvious. I monks are imprisoned, tortured and treated in a completely inhuman. It will come out a few of those prisons. The testimonies of those who managed to be freed and left China are terrible.
In a different world, money would not count so much to continue to have relations of any kind with a nation that is implementing a genocide and cultural annihilation that radical. As we are hypocrites when we worry about the extinction of strange breeds of insects completely unknown and then continue to pretend nothing has happened before all this?

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Uncle I


Vietnam

What follows is another of the good stories Consuelo trip and this time the image is yours. Enjoy it.

"December 2003. North Vietnam. We travel aboard the legendary Russian Minsk in a period when the mud is the master. They gave me a helmet in which I'm three times and each time we make a hole, and many, the risk of losing it. We are three bikes, one is ours; one of our guides who will accompany us in this new adventure and a new guide to a future that must learn the craft. It's definitely not the period of rice paddies and lush green but the landscape is the same exciting.
We stop at the first "Autogrill" which is none other than a small restaurant in a remote village. It was no entry our triumphant: ingoffati within a few men in their heavy overcoat and the military-style cap, dark eyes, cruel, not a nod, not a word or a slight movement of the body. We sit in small chairs in front of a small table and, of course, our leadership ordered for us. Meanwhile, they continue to look. Even more obvious that there are no hard and groped cutlery to eat with chopsticks. For my companion every bite is a terrible ordeal and flying pieces of food everywhere. But they did nothing, look at us as hard as ever. Meanwhile the small television room in the bottom of the sad passing images, accompanied by a melancholic music but I would say almost the same time rigorous militaristic. "That's what" I say .... "The funeral of Ho Chi Minh." The lady who served us had heard my last words and his face lights up all over the cassette proud we put it back up again. "Help, again!" I think ... but first, a step towards our acceptance we did. In fact, the memory of North Vietnam in Ho Chi Minh is still very strong and all is friendly called "Uncle Ho".
At some point, and finally, my partner in the enterprise is able to bring a morsel of food to the mouth ... well all stand and clap their hands. Ovation. Friendship made?
"A people who courageously opposed French domination for more than eighty years
, a people who fought alongside the Allies against the Fascists during these last years, such people must be free and independent "Ho Chi Minh - Declaration of ' Independence of Vietnam "

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India - Pakistan


India, Punjab, Attari, August 2008

Over the last years of British colonization, while Gandhi preached tolerance (" Who gets to the heart of his religion, comes to the heart of all "), pushed through the idea that Muslims should have their own independent nation. This idea was the one that prevailed e così gli inglesi si misero all'opera per stabilire i difficilissimi confini fra le nazioni a venire. Quando gli inglesi lasciarono l'India, non solo questa acquistò la sua indipendenza, ma anche il Pakistan. Il 14 agosto 1947 segnò l'inizio della nuova nazione (che allora era composta da un Pakistan a est, l'attuale, e dal Pakistan occidentale, che poi divenne il Bangladesh nel 1971). L'evento, che prese il nome di Partition, fu traumatico e da un giorno all'altro migliaia di famiglie indù che si trovavano nel Pakistan furono depredate, uccise, costrette a fuggire verso l'India, perdendo tutto (si raccontano alcuni episodi in numerosi libri, fra cui "Giochi Sacri" e "Delhi"). Lo stesso avvenne dall'altro lato del confine, where Muslims were hunted, killed, forced from their homes and to come to Pakistan.
Since then, it seems that intolerance and hatred have never dormant, ready to explode at any time, as happened a few weeks ago in Mumbai.
The closing night ceremony of the Indo Pakistan border at Attari was for me proof of how nationalism is strong and potentially violent, on both sides. Thousands of people each week attend this ceremony, a kind of ballet among soldiers in uniforms virtually identical, but in different colors: khaki the Indian, the Pakistani black. On one side encourages the audience shouted "Hindustan Zindabad" and beyond rispondono "Pakistan Zindabad". Persino con la musica gareggiano a chi la fa suonare più forte. Il pubblico si alterna a portare la propria bandiera fin sotto il cancello della nazione "avversa", e lungo la strada tutti ballano al suono di canzoni nazionaliste. Dopo ore di questo spettacolo, la cerimonia si chiude in pochi minuti, in cui le due bandiere vengono alzate alla stessa altezza (nessuna delle due deve superare l'altra) e poi riabbassate e piegate. I soldati si stringono la mano e il cancello si chiude. A questo punto la folla urlante dei patrioti si lancia in corsa verso il cancello a mostrare le proprie bandiere e ad urlare.
Uno spettacolo orribile, ma che valeva la pena vedere, perchè dà la misura di una follia della quale non ci si rende normalmente conto.


India, Punjab, Attari, agosto 2008

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India, Rajasthan, Al mercato di Bundi, agosto 2008

Anche queste donne le incontrammo ad un mercato. Fui colpita dai pesanti bracciali d'argento e dalle splendide sari. Se penso a come ci vado io al mercato... meglio lasciar perdere. Spero di riuscire a farvi sentire una canzone mentre guardate questa immagine, così per potervi immergere di più nell'atmosfera di quel momento. C'è qualche anima buona che mi insegna a far aprire il link in un'altra finestra?