Lorenzo & his humble friends

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool

Pistole scariche

Remember the 100-kilometre bike night that Giallu, Nicco and I did in 2015?
In June this year we did it again.

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Yet – this time was different. First, there was no preliminary 48-hour hike on the Dolomites; and, second, the altitude difference was now -10m as opposed to +1.200 in 2015. Our bike night of 2017 ran from Ferrara (here) to the mouth of the river Po: easy. Or was it?

 

Things to remember. The fun and excitement of our first 10k. The sleepiness that followed.  The pursuit of the big group at km 47 in the darkness, after all our three lights had run out of battery. My flat tire and the 15 minute-delay. The mad race we did afterwards and the early arrival to the beach – too early perhaps? The cold. My parents arriving at 9 in the morning to rescue us. San Luca outside Bologna, another sunset.

This was a peculiar ride for Nicco, who moved to London shortly thereafter; and for me, since June was probably the toughest month of my adult life. Perhaps the one of us who enjoyed this race the most was Giallu, who took care of the organisation and all.

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Notes for the future: get some sleep before the race; remember to charge the batteries of the light; find Trattoria del Gallo in the town called Osteria del Gallo and ask for the desserts.

 

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Trains that I have lost

Post written on Friday, the 2nd of June.

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The moment I write this post I am leaving Berlin. I flew here two days ago to teach a master’s class on the multilevel governance of immigration in Europe. The campus and the hotel where I was staying are situated in a stunning neighborhood outside the city: Wannsee. This morning I went for a short walk in the forest and I swam in the lake. There were many joggers around, most of them aged 60 or 70, some younger at around 30 or 40. Ah, beauty.

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But the problem is that in the last few months I started suffering from insomnia. The disease is getting worse day by day. I can now count the hours of sleep I have had in the last week on the fingers of two hands. This makes it very hard for me to enjoy all the beauty that I have around, even when I walk around Florence or Berlin at 4AM in the night.

Yet, there were a few moments I could still appreciate: the class, the meeting with Felix on the Klunkerkranich (the improvised bar on the roof of the shopping centre Neukölln Arcaden with the special charme of Berlin imperfection) and the two evenings out with Jonas whom, by the way, successfully defended his Ph.D. the day I arrived.

May day

May is usually my favorite month of the year. But this time around I could not do as many things as I wanted, caught up in a perennial process of moving, writing, thinking.

 

I have to thank Giallu, who brought me for a few rides together at the beginning of the month. I am happy I took Doman on a ride to the Giro d’Italia, from Florence to Consuma, for a total of 80km – a record for Doman, who was riding on Daniel’s bike. I’ve spent a weekend in Udine with Fabio and Giallu, between the Sacrario Militare of Redipuglia, Villa Manin, and Viarte in Cormòns. There we also met Giulia and Mattia, with whom we spoke about the Brussa and we ate fricco. And that is pretty much it.

L’ombrello vagamondo

Fabio, che oltre ad essere un amico d’infanzia fu anche una delle prime persone a comparire su questo blog con una bella tripletta (qui, qui e qui), ha appena pubblicato il suo secondo libro. Si tratta di una raccolta di racconti sulle mirabolanti e picaresche avventure di un ombrello vagamondo. Io gli faccio pubblicità, perché Fabio scrive in maniera schietta, sarcastica ed elegante: guardate che non è facile.

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Trovate il libro qui: potete comprarlo online, oltre che in tutte le librerie del Trentino. Io, che ho appena ordinato alcune copie, mi auguro di ritrovare il Fabio che conoscevo in questa sua raccolta di racconti.

Great will be your reward…

… in the Kingdom of Heaven

Jean-Thomas; Giallu, Gianni, and Paola; Pietro; Martina; Marco and Leila; Pedro; Dani and Anna; mum and dad; Alberto and Marcantonio; Marco, Francesca, Isabella, and Camilla; Fabio and parents. These are the people who hosted me at their place over the last twelve months.

Misread

After ten full months on the run, I am now heading back to Florence where I will try to settle down and find my compass once and for all. Among many other things I have burned these last two months there was the sense of the changing seasons. When I left Turin in early March it was twenty five degrees, sunny, clean view. I went to Andalusia and it was thirty degrees and running. Then the very same day I arrived in Madrid there was a snowstorm and I spent the next five days freezing my bones off: the only reason I survived was the coat that Pedro borrowed me. In Barcelona it was pretty chill too, then in Trento and in Milan I found that kind of deliciously temporary heath that disappeared the very moment I landed in Manchester. During my days in the United Kingdom, the temperature was down to five degrees for some nice winter time again.

Now in Tuscany I am really, really keen of finding my own Spring time. This usually comes with a combination of sun, stillness, pretty songs like this, Sangiovese wine, olives, bikes, weekend visits to small-size Italian towns, football matches with the smell of grass at sunset, last-minute train tickets, long swims in cold rivers, little notebooks full of drawings.

Ötzi

I am flying above the Alps this very moment and I am trying to remember the names of the places where I have been ski touring in March and April. Your have to know that it has been a tiring start of the year, both mentally and physically. I have been following the priorities set by my work and I have ignored some of the personal plans I had previously being following so rigorously. One of the few exceptions to this otherwise strict rule has been the luxury of ski touring, which I did over three weekends with my parents and with my Tuscan friends.

In early March I went to Rifugio Carlettini, 1300 meters high. I was with Nicola, Birgit, Federica, Paolo, Francesco, or the slowcai group that I met two years ago: do you remember? The first day we made it all the way up to Tombola Nera at 2413 meters; the second day I am not so sure any more (but I think we reached Cima Ravetta at 2266 meters). Those were two days of fantastic weather, loads of food, little snow. Ideas for future excursions in the area: Cengello, Lasteati, Cima d’Asta.

 

Then in early April I went to Cevedale together with my parents for one day only. The weather was incredible. We arrived on Cima Solda, which is situated at 3387 meters. In the future we will have to go all the way up to the top. For that to happen, we either need to leave our house in Trento at 3AM or get a cabin in South Tyrol.

 

Getting a cabin in South Tyrol is precisely what we did at the end of April, when we skied on the Glacier of the Similaun, or the place where the found Ötzi. We slept at Rifugio Bellavista, 2845 meters. As a sort of retribution for being too kind to me in the previous two excursions, this time the weather conditions were horrible: cold, snow, and wind. The first day we reached a mountain slope next to the Fineilspitze at 3400-and-something meters. The second day we went in front of the Giogo di Tisa but I cannot really recall the altitude.

Next time I will go up the mountains it will be Summer and, who knows, perhaps I will be with Manuel, Mindo and Giallu again.

 

 

 

I vinti

In vista del primo turno delle elezioni francesi avevo pubblicato un articolo per Unimondo. Chi di voi si diverte a leggere gli articoli ex post per giudicare l’accuratezza dell’analisi di chi scrive può trovarlo qui.

Different worlds

It has been a strange fall/winter. I am sharing some pictures as a track record for myself. The photos were taken in Florence, Torino, Dusseldorf, Trento, Sevilla, Cadiz, Barcelona. I have inserted a short description below each one of them.

The road was full of mud

There is a song that goes like this Can’t hold onto anything / So I will go / Call your friends ’cause I can’t hold anyone / Can’t hold onto anyone with hands full of holes. I have been so taken away these months. Work, and the loneliness, and all that traveling, and the instability; and those those occasional sparks of beauty, little they could do. But! It is never too much unwarrented advice, my good friends. Sometimes I really miss not having someone who slaps me in the face and forces me to stop acting like a theatrical crybaby.