The Rotunda Cuneo railway station is not the place more intimate and quiet to make a date, let alone in a late sabato pomeriggio di pioggia. Sprofondata nel sedile ormai deforme della Opel, con la radio a volume vergognoso, osservo sonnacchiosa i lampi di luce che s'allargano a macchia d'olio nelle colate d'acqua sul parabrezza e sui vetri laterali. E' ormai buio da un po'. Clacson, rumori, auto che passano a due dita dal mio specchietto retrovisore: in effetti, non si può dire che io abbia realizzato un parcheggio magistrale. "Sono alle porte di Cuneo, adesso cerco di ritrovare la piazza", scrive Matteo. Sempre affannato, pover'uomo: ma non è lui che è in ritardo... Sono io, che sono in anticipo!
Aguzzo la vista per individuare, tra le tante, la sagoma del suo furgone bianco, ben sapendo che il mio è uno sforzo inutile: se the wretch had to rely on my eye of lynx, could also dig a trench, by dint of turning around the rotondone, before I was able to locate it. As expected, he has to find me wins a parking lot, at least as my master, ten meters ahead. Disregarding traffic furious and the concrete risk of becoming an integral part of bituminous, we leave both posts, but only decided to go to park a little 'later, in one of the many bars of the Avenue of the hospital. Leaving the poor there
Opel, with a bit 'of concern, as always. In the pouring rain, Matthew moved my mountain bike on the van: I throw my luggage there, a nearly empty bag and a box full of food. Eye man in the street, we seem at least to leave for a Himalayan expedition. But no: Destination Valle Roya, Breil a few miles down the road to the Col de Brouis, already at a federation where we once found pleasant hospitality. The French matron manages a jovial and likeable, but I think, judging from the physical structure reminiscent of the trunk of an old oak tree, it is prudent not to offend. Matthew says that the gentle girl, already on the phone, has remembered him: and I believe ... I do not think often suffer from these parts, the scourge invasion of locusts. With what he eats for breakfast, of the budget recorded a net loss to be carried over for ever and ever!
The rain did not let up. Robilante, Vernante, Lemon, windscreen wipers are working tirelessly. And my mood rolls ever closer toward the bottom of the socks. I know that tomorrow, the bike ride me dream. Or, if I were to force me to jump in the saddle, will be a torture. Matthew, not only water but impermeable to any other source of discomfort, it is more joyful than ever and decided: both for the trip tomorrow for the walk is scheduled for tonight, from the Col de Chambre Brouis and back, eight or nine miles, more or less. To me it is already the creeps: true, are the first to torment myself myself and my neighbor if I get my daily dose of movement and effort, tonight, though, I admit my failure. I can not find the will nor the courage to throw me out in this weather, I'm here, hunched on the seat, already shivering in the warm cabin ...
The tunnel tent seems to be the secret passage to another world. The usual few minutes of quivering anxiety along the gut dark and narrow, and then ... No more rain, it seems to me to see even one star. It 's a star, in fact. And then down for a few turns, the morale that slowly rises from the bottom of the shoes that had taken refuge. The van
Matteo means that travelers, at least those sitting in front, suffer the 'bus effect. " The seat is higher than the road surface and makes the curves, or rather the gulf side, even more impressive. Luckily, Matt knows that I suffer the car and, especially, are terrified when the wheel is not in my hands and grant me the grace to go slow.
The lights of the countries, and faint yellowish, light up the desert. The shutters closed, the skeletons of abandoned fruit banquet waiting for a new working day. There is little illusion, the weather forecast for tomorrow, and announce horde difficult now, wrong. Double anger: Breakfast is set for eight and a half ... I had to call on all mia pazienza, per dissimulare il nervoso. Ma dico io... Partiamo per un giro in bici in un giorno in cui la mattina, forse, sarà l'unica finestra salva da pioggia... E facciamo colazione alle otto e mezza? Vero, la colazione della padrona di casa, al B&B, è eccezionale, ma cavoli, svendere così una giornata in bici per i comandamenti dello stomaco... Amen, vorrà dire che partirò con il nervoso. Una cosa devi mettertela in testa, Gian: per quanto tu possa incontrare il miglior compagno di viaggio al mondo, e Matteo senz'altro lo è, la situazione ideale per il tuo carattere è sempre e comunque la solitudine. Niente compromessi, fai quello che ti pare, quando e come ti pare. Da sola, domattina me ne infischierei della colazione e partirei in sella alle prime luci dell'alba, a dispetto del freddo. Invece, mi toccherà fare buon viso a cattivo gioco. Che mostro che sono. Ai tempi, il mio ex moroso aveva sentenziato qualcosa del genere: "Quando vuoi una cosa, sei capace di passare come un rullo compressore sopra a tutto e sopra a tutti". Voleva essere un'accusa, credo, ma io l'ho preso come il più originale dei complimenti e ne ho fatto una sorta di linea di vita. Solo, dovrei essere più altruista. Non sono capace di costruire un legame che resista all'impeto dei miei capricci ed alle mie passioni sportive, quand'essi lanciano il loro richiamo. In altri tempi, avrei piantato su un bel quarantotto, avrei messo la sveglia alle sei, sarei partita da sola and who we have seen we have seen. Now, they are more old and less prone to explosions, I just thought to myself, brooding, while the van climbs from Breil to Col de Brouis.
A few miles from Breil, c'infiliamo in a tiny street on the left, including a hole and the other, leads us to the B & B. A renovated building is rectangular in shape, simple, like many others in this area olive trees and sun, with doors and window frames painted in a lilac. We are welcomed at the door a big man, moustachioed, a marcantonio with a belly which denotes a multiple pregnancy advanced, a few moments here and our hostess, florida, smiling as always, in her dressing gown. We are welcomed like old friends, with a jovial too overwhelming to be so. The room is already open, we can settle down as we please.
We settle, in fact: we have not set foot in the room that we already do a clean sweep of the ornaments on a small desk and table full of food for dinner. Yogurt, cheese, bread and a good pie courtesy of Matthew. Food outlets on our destructive fury, not even sit down: a few minutes for preparation and yet we find ourselves outside in the cold to step on the wet gravel, wet earth, the wet asphalt. All in all, the company helps: alone, I would be interred under the covers, dressed and fit as I was. Instead, a movement of pride prompts me to restart the lower back, despite everything. I've got to defend my reputation as a woman of fierce, "but especially" crock of ...
The climate is not as hard as it seems. Walking uphill helps to warm up, a few tens of meters and already take off some layers. We climb at a good pace, strictly by the roadside, a few homes, very few cars that come across. On our left, the lights of Breil, opposite, the faint trace that divides the sky from the dark outline of the mountain. The battery is hardly front, the cold light of the moon illuminates us. An eye to the stone figures that, at the roadside mark the miles and share: Matthew has clearly communicated to me, the figures, but as usual io ho rimosso. Così non ricordo da che quota siamo partiti, a che quota arriveremo, nulla. Beh, non ha importanza; non sarà l'ascesa al K2. Chiacchieriamo, di tutto e di più. In cielo, una distesa di stelle: e chi l'avrebbe mai detto, solo un paio d'ore fa? Un barlume di speranza per domani si accende. Chissà se riusciremo a pedalare senza prender pioggia, o, peggio, neve. E' vero, la mountain bike è già più gestibile della bici da corsa, sul bagnato, ma pedalare al freddo ed all'umido non è la mia massima aspirazione. E' assurdo recriminare contro Giove Pluvio, ma ho tanto desiderato questa gita, che lo sgambetto del meteo sarebbe per me un'offesa personale! Scivoliamo da un argomento all'altro, da una curva all'altra, finché raggiungiamo, quasi di sorpresa, il colle. C'è un ristorante quassù, forse un albergo. Un edificio un po' discosto dalla strada, illuminato da una fioca luce. Un cane abbaia furioso al nostro passaggio. Ci spingiamo appena dall'altra parte del colle, per buttare l'occhio al paesaggio; subito torniamo sui nostri passi. Il cagnone, sempre più indignato, decide di verificare da vicino le nostre intenzioni; ci corre incontro, ma senza intento bellicoso. Ci controlla, ecco. I suoi latrati richiamano il padrone di casa, che fa la sua comparsa sulla porta. Lo rassicuriamo... Siamo solo a spasso. In effetti, a sera inoltrata quassù, dev'essere insolito incontrare anima viva. Torniamo giù, di buon pace, well wrapped up, the descent, now I know from experience, brings a sudden sense of cold and shivering. The trip, fortunately, not very long, I confess that I'm cold, and even sleep. Tomorrow morning the alarm late is the only sorrow that haunts me ... Okay come on, Gian, instead get a reason. A little 'rest every now and can not do well. I say it all: why will not believe ...
It 's the second time that housing here, and already I feel a little' home, when your feet just slip on the gravel, the key turns in the lock of the door lilac, the room simple and clutter welcomes us. Get under the duvet is one of the most celebrated moments in the season Cold ... And to say that we are close to the sea, this one can not define cool, and I already beat the teeth. I'll do this winter? Suffer, as always ...
The clear light of morning, tricks, if you look through the glass of the window. It is expected to go out and enjoy the warmth ... But you just expose a toe outside to realize that is not the day. As tired and night owls, we are late risers, however, been in operation for a bit ', we have to wait until the hour of breakfast. Tremble: I would like to jump on your bike right away, leaving Matthew to the delights of jams and running. But hunger is felt, even for me: if you combine a number like that, it turns out that weir in ten miles. Yes, no, maybe ... The sky seems to promise a fine day. We are moving toward the kitchen hesitant: let's try to knock ... Yes, the lady of the house is already in action, we are welcomed with the usual overwhelming friendliness. On the table in front of a veranda, an expanse of jam jars, what Matt and I well remembered from our previous visit. Jams a lot of choreography, as well as delicious: What I'd give them free ride for a spoon, one after the other! Especially those from the bitter taste, always my favorite, lemon, mandarin, orange. And there are cherries, plums, peaches, apricots, plus the odd jam rhubarb, perhaps the only one who leaves me a bit 'puzzled. I can not decide if I like it or not. And bread, cakes, fruit juice, coffee, tea, milk, butter, there is everything. I would like to brush up more than they dare put in the pot, Matthew, completely indifferent to such scruples, takes on the demeanor of those who laid it touches food for a month. But it is clear that this man has won the hearts of the matron, that if the big laughs and continues to bring food on the table. Other than tapeworm, in his case, it is an army of tapeworms that temporarily gave up the life of a hermit.
The leave by the owner, and especially from the table, is slow and tiring, want to leave so much to the displeasure bendiddio, want to embrace the warmth, Regards,'s goodbye. I would not just cut, I, for this work: the compliments are not my bread ... I can not fake ones, those honest I do not come. Anyway, I'm not able to cook, and even I'm interested to learn.
picked up the last things. Matt moved the van on a pitch along the main road I join him in the saddle. It begins, finally, the adventure destination, Col de Turini to an unnamed dirt road. Although, from a quick look at the peaks dusted with snow, I do not think that today I will be able to get up there. It starts downhill, short but cold toward Breil, and then turn left, up a tarmac road that comes in rampe cattive in mezzo alle case. Mi colpisce una bici ancorata al lampione con una catena: chissà se la catena serve ad impedire un furto o piuttosto ad evitare che la bici, data la pendenza, rotoli giù per la strada?
La carreggiata è stretta, tutta buchi; man mano che procediamo, è più sconnessa. Nessun problema per me, che viaggio con la mountain bike in assetto da fuoristrada; nessun problema neanche per Matteo, che pedala in bici da corsa ma è un funambolo. La salita riscalda i cuori e tutto quel che ci sta intorno: direi che posso levare la giacca. Non capisco se davvero la muontain bike richieda più fatica in salita, rispetto alla bici da corsa; quel che è certo è che il mio allenamento per le due ruote lascia molto a desiderare... Sbuffo come un mantice, spingo sui pedali ma con pochi risultati. Pazienza, finché splende il sole va tutto bene.
Le case si diradano; la stradina sale lungo la valle, sempre più sconnessa, fino a diventare una carrozzabile sterrata. Un po' di emozione: questo è uno dei miei primi itinerari seri su sterrato, il primo in compagnia di Matteo. Fin qui è tutto facile...
Il primo bivio ci costringe ad una sosta per consultare la carta. Dritto, in falsopiano, o a sinistra, su per la rampa? Optiamo per la seconda soluzione. Il fondo qui somiglia già più ad un sentiero, benché siano evidenti le tracce del passaggio di veicoli. La pendenza è severa; una fila di alberi ci separated by a nice grassy slope. Someone's home, hidden, a dog that barks. Climb winding: I, despite myself, find that the curves, though uphill on the gravel I create a problem of stability. But you ride well. Matt joins me in a hurry, having lingered for more research and put the paper, but another fork forces us to another stop sign. Right or right? Poles trail there are a great help, but who cares? What matters, at least for me, pedaling, make me a bit 'bones on unpaved roads. That we go to Turin or elsewhere, then this is not much difference. This flat is beautiful. Start driving again, a bit 'shaky. Still turns, even forks. Now we lost the direction we proceed, out of curiosity, let's see where the road ends. If it ends. More than a hairpin, it becomes little more than a rocky path, very bumpy. I go on more pride than conviction: the going gets tough, very tough and will be also a stone that I'm going to knock the skull, if I fall. It 's amazing, because I feel very unstable, despite the ridiculous speed and the seat is very low. Rationally, I know that fall, so it is almost impossible. The trouble is that the instinct is not convinced ... Any bumps bother me. From what little battered my eyes I can, I try to focus on every square inch of ground on which they will go to my wheel. Matt goes racing bike, with no problems, nor does a turn for the holes, nor the furrows, nor for the stones. Probably Levite, a few mm from the ground to not reveal the trick.
The trail passes just below a row of houses. The only form of life, as well as ours, is a hunter despite the repellent for the category, make the best of a bad situation and ask him where he is going to come out of our track. Anywhere: in fact, a few dozen yards ahead, we face a fork in which both branches are manned by menacing signs that define private property. Turnabout. The first descent, I must say, I find it in a more than decent: I let go of the bike, with a burst of boldness that surprised even myself. The medium seems stable, jump, and proceeds without jokes, I almost enjoy it ... He also sees Matthew: "Go almost stronger here than on asphalt," he says. On asphalt, precisely, with the race bike ... Because the bike descents are no longer a worry, at last.
free reach a junction in front of which we are already gone uphill. It was decided to explore this path: Matteo Turini still longing to and I out of curiosity, since I have not the faintest idea of \u200b\u200bthe geography of the paths of the place. A gravel-covered road. Go one short stretch of the climb: I stopped after a mile or so, a sign indicating the prohibition of transit vehicles, everyone, even bicycles. Damn ... Probably, if tirassimo straight, not anything bad would happen. But I always bans inspire fear. About-face, again. The idea is to get back down to the first dirt of the day, and groped at the fork the other way. Again, the bold start my descent ... But for some reason shortly thereafter, I attack the brakes. I take the fear of slipping, the center of sharp stone, to fall. Irrational fear and unstoppable, as I clearly addressed the ride a little while ago, a fund with far worse ... Nothing to do, worry, agitation, fear. I can not win and go down to brake pulled, with the onslaught of anxiety ad ogni curva. Mi vedo per terra. Ma perché? Perché mi succede una cosa del genere? Che rabbia... Io lo so già, se lascio che la paura prenda il sopravvento anche una sola volta, è finita. Eppure...
Il supplizio si conclude al bivio. Carta alla mano, svoltiamo a sinistra, lungo la strada sterrata che presto prende a salire a tornanti in mezzo ad alcune abitazioni in pietra, in via di ristrutturazione. La salita, a tornanti l'uno sopra l'altro, ricorda molto il profilo delle vie asfaltate al Turini; ovvio, è lo stesso ambiente, la vegetazione di mare, ancora rigogliosa a fine ottobre, scura nel contrasto con la terra bianca e sabbiosa. Il cielo non è più così limpido; corrono le nuvole. Salgo tranquilla, cercando all'orizzonte la traccia di una meta che non vedo, ma intuisco soltanto. Matteo spesso allunga, mi semina anche qui, anche oggi che io sono dotata di mezzo ben più adeguato al terreno, rispetto al suo. La pedalata è sciolta e la fatica contenuta, almeno fin quando il fondo è agevole e regolare. I guai cominciano con le buche e, soprattutto, con i frammenti di roccia grossi e spigolosi: faccio lo slalom, a caccia di una linea di marcia ideale che non esiste, e spesso mi sento sul punto di essere disarcionata. Ogni volta è battito che accelera, fiato che manca. Butto i piedi a terra, ho paura: l'ansia poi ingigantisce il pericolo. Non mi sento più in grado di pedalare, qui: lo so, sono certa che il problema sia nella testa and not in the wheels ... I get off the saddle and push, while the poor Matthew waiting patiently. Shot down and push the saints of the calendar, in turn, three or four at a time when the foot crashed against my calf, leaving the legacy of scratches and bruises. This makes me worry stumble and anger mount. And, together, a sudden feeling of weakness. The legs become the lead within minutes. I still stubbornly, with results a bit 'pathetic and anger even more acute because I see that Matthew, without batting an eyelash, is progressing well on the bike rocks ... Now I know them, my depths of despair. At the time, it would take a bag of sugar to raise off the weak. At times, where the path seems a bit 'less difficult, go back in the saddle, but along a few hundred meters and then are dinuovo walk. We are now at high altitude, the road climbs with minimal slope. A flock of sheep grazing in the meadow to the left of the path, under the watchful eye of two Maremma shepherd, some sheep fleeing from the path, broken and scared. E 'cloudy, slight wind blows cold. My head is spinning, the better off still. A providential
fork leads us to a stop: jot down a few bites of dried fruit, in the hope that it is enough to plug the hole. The first alternative is to turn right on a road unknown, moreover, prohibited the transit: I have already fired the quills like a hedgehog in a position of defense, now I know all too well the "should be "according to Matthew. At a minimum, there are cliffs, steps to be addressed on the glacier and crocodiles with his bare hands. As for me, not even take into account the hypothesis. You go to the left of the target ring Turini, or rather the 'Authion. Still a stretch of dirt road, a slight climb that makes me weak like a Mortirolo, we reach the asphalt, asphalt so to speak, a tiny, shabby street that goes along with some pastures. Wonderful view on pasture and on the tops of its a shame that something that has come down all the air to be ice ... Tiny white speck flying around. Yet on the skin did not feel anything, perhaps because the only exposed portion is the minimum face ... I say nothing, for good luck, as long as Matthew, a mile further on, he realizes: "But .. It's snowing!" She exclaims. Oh I know ... The rise ends a little later, in an open space with an orientation table and parking. The sky is now definitely closed, gray. Bitter cold: flakes you are now more specific. We wear what we have and so, going downhill without restraint, now that the asphalt is my friend. Away, as quickly as possible, because there is snow, but rain will be down ... Already damp, we reach the Col de Turini, where she awaits the bitter surprise: you do not pass. E 'being a test of the rally, or something like that. I can not believe ... But is it possible that every time I got here, you should run into the rally? But they run a week? Barely repress the urge to get their hands around the neck of the policeman, the pilots and the entire caravan of mechanics, assistants and so on. May you be cursed for eternity ... I am here on a bike, it's raining, it makes a cold lady and you tell me that I can not pass? What's worse is that the roads up here are three that come together and obviously the car up from one of three, down from the second and the third is just happened that affects us, just leave the clearing pass ... No, nothing to do. But vaffan ####, hiss. Quietly, because of the police across the border are certainly bilingual. We just have to seek refuge in a bar on the hill: half an hour of waiting, we are told. C'infiliamo in a room decorated in wood, a theme bar dedicated to Harley Davidson. A large group of patrons soul and warms the environment: all strictly motorcyclists, all Harley-style, black leather jackets, long hair, earrings ... The phenomenon of the moment is certainly un'arzilla Ma'am, that is closer to seventy than sixty, a plug-foot, dry, dry, with hair dyed in improbable reflected neon color, wrapped in a pair of black leather pants More than ever, in the lively conversation. If nothing else, no one worth a look: it is already a point in their favor. Eat two hot chocolates, most welcome because of the temperature, not so much for consistency: in France, I mean hot chocolate hot milk with cocoa, at least, this is what I have always experienced myself. But today I'm not complaining, that's okay. Delay, with hands clasped around the cup, cuddling with the warmth of the fireplace: I know that out of here and face the wind and the rain will be more km pure suffering ... The herd of elephants in skin swarm towards the exit: as evidenced by a disastrous crash of broken glass. Farewell to a glass, well, all things considered, I feared worse ... We leave ourselves: time, reality must be addressed. Clothes wet and cold, an explosive combination. Just a little 'wait, we are told: I will spoil these ... Cars do not spend more, but nobody moves. Shivering; Matthew, softie, endeavor to keep me warm my back, but I already have the terror of the next twenty-odd km of descent. Now the rain is rain in earnest. Rivoli slipped into cracks in the tarmac and small streams in flood. Matthew insists it seeks to pass, it is hard to understand these square heads that our intention is to get Moulinet ... Finally, give us the green light. It starts, already dripping with water. We ride next to cars coming from Sospel, in turn blocked, someone gives us courage ... We need it. Believing in the power disc brake, sling me down, with the only thought to go down, lose altitude, leave behind the cold colder. The asphalt is slippery, as always when the rain has just begun, Matthew warns me: that emotion ... No one had ever warned of the risks of downhill speed! In fact, it is better that I go with caution, okay do not be afraid, but this does not necessarily turn into experienced pilots. I would not keep going in some hairpin bends. The tremor did not abandon me, the descent is long and endless. And 'even the beautiful valley, still green, then dark green of the first autumn, but I can not, unfortunately, admire, and I must keep my eyes firmly on track. Here the curves are not lacking. Moulinet is the first bastion of life in this beautiful valley and desert, ma Sospel è ancora lontana... Litigo con le lenti degli occhiali, bagnate, con il freddo che m'indurisce i muscoli delle gambe. Le scarpe "normali", in particolare un paio di scarpe con protezione in goretex, pensionate dopo lungo servizio di corsa sui sentieri perché prossime alla distruzione, offrono ai piedi una protezione migliore rispetto alle scarpette che uso in bici da corsa, ma non possono far miracoli. Sono combattuta tra il disagio del freddo pungente e l'euforia della guida di un mezzo che sento, finalmente, stabile, dopo anni ed anni di terrore in bici da corsa... E pazienza se l'asfalto non è il tipo di terreno a cui la Trek è destinata.
La pioggia si dirada e cessa poco prima di Sospel. Mi attardo per scuotere feet in a vain attempt to push a little 'blood to the big toe. If nothing else, now we wait a bit 'climb ... Cross Sospel, Unida, sleepy, languid-eyed at the bakery desperately closed on Sunday afternoon. I do not know what time it is, but it does not matter, the sun is still up, that's what counts. And, anyway, not knowing how to read or write, I put in front of the battery pack.
The first hint of a lift to the Col de Brouis offers a comfortable warmth under the jacket, much to persuade me to remove a layer. Matt goes on his step, after a day spent waiting for the brakes to bite, I proceed slowly, but better than I expected. I muscoli surgelati si sciolgono in fretta; pedalo tranquilla, mi godo le ombre che si allungano, le curve morbide di questo stradone che ormai conosco a memoria. Poche auto. Qui pare che la pioggia non si sia nemmeno fatta vedere. La gita volge al termine: un po' mi dispiace, anche se ho una certa fame e desidero tanto il riscaldamento del furgone. Non è stato un itinerario lunghissimo, ma la fatica l'ho sentita e la sento tuttora. Trovo Matteo in cima, "all'ombra dell'ultimo sole": credevo fosse già sceso all'auto... Parte, infatti, mentre io indosso la giacca, anche se la discesa sarà breve, e lancio un ultimo sguardo là dove dovrebbe vedersi il mare. Non lo vedo, ma voglio pensare che sia colpa degli occhiali appannati. Giù at breakneck speed, thanks to the wide road and the smooth surface like a pool, one of the few houses and smoking chimneys, no time to cool down and are already at your destination, squirming on the seat in a vain attempt to change by exposing all 'air-less skin as possible, and for the shortest possible time: certainly not out of modesty, just to keep from freezing! I suffer very cold when I'm running, but ever since I suffer from the firm. In this season, and for the next three or four months, will assume the appearance and mood of a mass of quivering jelly. And to say that the layer of fat, which are well supplied, without false modesty, should protect and insulate from the cold weather! We see that the science of insulation, applicata alla sottoscritta, non funziona...
Prima di rimettere in moto il furgone, diamo fondo a buona parte delle provviste rimaste; yogurt, formaggio, succo di frutta, pane. Poi via, infreddoliti e soddisfatti; abbiamo scoperto la quarta via al Col de Turini, e chissà se ne esistono altre. O meglio, l'ha scoperta Matteo, che ha ben più familiarità di me con le carte e l'avventura. La mountain bike mi ha fatto vedere dallo spioncino un mondo tutto nuovo: peccato solo che i mondi in cui vivo siano già troppi ed il tempo da sfruttare sia sempre lo stesso, anzi forse sempre un po' meno...
Al Tenda, la prima neve sulle cime, azzurra al riflesso della luna, è il segno che l'inverno è arrivato really. The journey is still long, but I dream a cup of hot milk and a nap.
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