Пытаюсь стать лучше, хочу связать жизнь с языками, писательством, когнитивистикой и путешествиями. Люблю собак и игру слов.
Trying to be better. I would like to connect my life with languages, writing, cognitive sciense and globetrotting. I love dogs and a pun.
«My Italy»
I adore rain, but it doesn’t mean that sun isn’t to my taste. Not at all, I could sell my soul (or even kidneys) for Italy — a child kissed by the sun, who is already permitted to drink coffee. Italy — is a place of art, and every cell of the country breathes with humid and nice air while human one — with happiness. It’s hard to transfer the whole range of emotions filling my heart and blood which my body feels. Sunsets are getting the point of life; dawns are reasons to doubt weather I am in paradise. And how about the Italian language? Lilting sound, which well-known boys-band’s soloist would be jealous of, it flies into you through the skin where it’s too light (earlobes, for instance). Words, as drink of vowels, never end; like good wine they flow from one Italian glass to another, making me drunk.
You can survive hot sunshine complaining to the Universe and getting for you suffering a scoop (or two if you’re not on a diet (even if you are — buy it, fells like a miracle got down into your mouth)) of a delicious gelato. People must create something better than superlative degree because this ice-cream doesn’t have any competitors among ‘’the bests’’.
V.
Venice bribes with her shading streets which sun cannot cover. I want to buy a Plague Dr mask, but prices are very high. Don’t believe those people who say that Venice smells with waste and slime. It’s just a stereotype, nothing more. Anyway, I didn’t feel anything but hiding happiness inside my soul. Trying to find a café further from crowds and having a pizza listening to the Italian boys laughing and talking. How did they get this talent to speak this way?
T.
We went to here from the place not far from Bologna, where a hotel-owner carried some fried tomatoes on the hilarious table. You can see contrast immediately, see it with your nose. Salty air crashes into the lungs, filling alveoli with the fresh suffocated humid. The very first evening I took my mum to the beach without lights, though there was a huge lantern with craters in the corner of the sky. Give me a slap in the face if a first-year sand between your toes doesn’t drive you into ecstasies!
Friendly Italian waiters are for breakfast, juicy nectarines are for lunch. I remember as now, a huge moll was across the road without the light, and me, drunk with happiness, running between rushing cars and laughing all alone. A waiter brings us the wrong dinner and crazy apologizes. C’mon! We’re in Italy! You can even bring us bird saliva!
Next morning I’m reading Haruki Murakami’s book with bliss, my face keeps a smile though I’m usually frowning. Coffee’s for breakfast, the sea’s next. People have got towels, umbrellas, themselves and now are enjoying life under the star. I hope heat and joy are transferred through the screen.
R.
Rome affects. It’s too hot in the city and the queue to the museum is bigger than my ambitions to buy a flat in London. But there’re so many free things that make us happy!
The heart of Rome, located painfully in the right (according to map), is the Colosseum. It’s a strong stone ring, so ancient and tired of tourists, though secretly liking anyone who pays attention to him, — so unbelievable creature which can survive the life itself.
The Spanish Steps’ wind is definitely the best that can touch my skirt and fluffy hair. When I’m going downstairs I can see roofs, low sky and flying joy. Then I’m spinning in the maze of streets, meeting sometimes the Tiber, sometimes a café.
I spend the evening with yet strangers. They are all so interesting, we even have a helicopter pilot. There is a hearty dinner and a slap of falling me to bed two hours later. I guess I felt asleep in the lift.
On the agenda of tomorrow is Vatican City. The sun is very strong here and after little time something magical happens. I’m getting into the Sistine Chapel. If I needed to choose a place where I should stay until death, I would take this room. Here is coolness with barely noticeable beams of low lights and silent, which is seldom interrupted by guard’s ‘’shhh’’. I raise my head and star at the power and talent of Michelangelo until my neck’s getting heavy. I Inhale and my soul is filling with tears. Art is forever, its power is omnipotent.
The evening adds with lovely bus driver Olando who persuades me to try a wine. Tart and nice beverage dissolves inside me and conversations at our international table. I dance in the lift.
- & N.
Today is going to be the hottest day of our trip. Of course, we are going to Pompeii. A monument-city which is forgotten by time but remembered by people. Millions of tourists go to there to look at the remains of the empire, dying under the sun. Mum even took an umbrella which I refused to open above me (and later did it twice).
There are so many ruined and, as I think, similar stones. Somewhere in the walls or pavement you can see nasty things, but I can keep quiet about them though can’t not to mention. We go straight and stones don’t end, their stories are scattered like beads of torn necklace.
Noon got passed, tormented us are led to the café where is shadow and conditioners. We set at the table with a young couple. It’s pure happiness to eat wild cherry and talk to barely known guy about my unrealistic plans on life. The most important thing is that he supports my career choice without any hint of neglect.
Now we are in Napoli, and I’m sorry, world powers, I didn’t try pizza here! The first thing that pleases me and makes me laugh is a person getting out of his car and fixing the steering wheel with the lock. A steering wheel! In a closed car! I get that the city is awesome though a little bit headstrong. We went to the grocery shop and there is an army of paper glasses filled with limonchello. It’s a yellow-orange sweetness, soft and nice, like you’re taking sips of sun, getting a ton of energy.
F.
Well hello, Florence, one more time. Maybe today I’ll love you?
I see same narrow streets and feel the same heat. Santa Maria del Fiore continues flaunting, posing to the tourists. Traditionally we keep abroad the Arno with just-now-bought ice-cream. Agh, it’s again very expensive and not that much delicious. I guess I’ll never learn how to choose this lactose food right. Coolness from the water flows away all bad thoughts. Something in my soul is already whispering about my affection to this city (the whisper will turn into love fountain in one year).
In Florence you literally breathe with singularity and culture: on the on hand there is a Beatrice’s grave, on the other hand (if you turn around) a house-bridge and a lot more houses, which walls are the daughters of history. Florence is a living museum, mixed up with tourists on every meter of pavement. And still I love her the way she is, sunny and hot.
Always in my heart, my love and lover, Italy.
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