che poi non è esattamente trieste ma è duino. l'unico posto dove tutte le vie hanno un unico nome, e si chiamano con il nome del paese. vai in via duino, all'angolo con via duino. giri a destra, entri in via duino, e quando arrivi in fondo, prendi per via duino. questa è una cosa che non capirò facilmente. per fortuna mi oriento bene nei ricordi vicini e lontani, e trovo via e casa a colpo d'occhio. ma andiamo con ordine: mi sveglio morning, as dawn departure, and I do not know what it takes to want to check the tire pressure. that will be new, that will be the first time you mount the tires carved on race bike, fattostà the key, and raccapricio I realize that the front is deflated. but how. mounted yesterday. ride through Milan last night. and this morning is on the ground. panic. time there, I take the tools and dismounted. around the hole has a Segnacco strange, it sounds like a defective tube, the spring there and the exchange rate, with no little effort (there is a reason why I wanted the tires and flexible rather than rigid circle).
arrival at the station in advance, I take off too the satisfaction of doing the new tunnel door, even though it is forbidden to bicycles. is a matter of principle: you can not build a new road in the center of Milan, the runway diclabile us, and bars the bike. arrival at the station in front of the train, where there is space for bicycles, and the guard sends me back: the bikes in the queue, he says. only in that queue space is what it is, but I adapt. Brescia passed before the cops go up the fans away, better to put them there and stop it is dangerous. one more reason to hate football, I tell myself. Brescia and making me go down the road between the hooligans (very quiet and polite, at a glance) limped to the front of the train, which of course is very crowded at that point. two boys in ciclogita I have borrowed the pump. verona after the train finally runs out, even down to london hooligans. remains in the partition with me, a family - his young, her older and foreign, two bilingual children - he chats a bit 'on the bike, then note the book: not enough for me three years to read a book like that. I look at the book, I know that I have exaggerated, but I do the wonderful: I hope not to finish it in less than three weeks, otherwise I would not know what to read at the end of the journey. approached by a gentleman a little 'touch, those who speak for themselves but then they want a comment: What do you think of Italy? of this poor Italy? I'd tell you gladly, cosa penso di questa povera italia. ma non credo che capiresti, e soprattutto non credo che riuscirei a farti stare zitto, quindi evado la domanda con un commento da enrico bertolino in ascensore. quando scende, a padova, il tipo di prima indica il libro e mi dice: pensa a me, quando sarai all'ultima pagina.
arrivo a casa e citofono alla vicina per prendere le chiavi. io li adoro, i triestini, franchi e diretti come nessuno. la gentilezza è di rigore ma la falistà è bandita. mi dice - mi comunica - di aver fatto il letto. io lo sapevo, ma per cortesia e farle capire che ha fatto più di quanto mi aspettavo, le dico ma non doveva. ecco. lei si offende. mi prende in parola. non avrebbe dovuto, ha fatto male. capisco al volo dall'espressione and go back, thank you and bon. is cleared. they were all like Trieste, the world would be better.
Trieste is beautiful and elegant and quiet as I expected. Trieste and the few tourists strolling in the lead up to the pier. kids sitting with their legs dangling over the water to flirt. rich sports cars that show off unlikely. coffee full and empty streets. I dine in a restaurant with the subtitle "the story of the poor fish," holds the promise, the commander is nice, I congratulate him, sincerely, for the best stir-fry I've ever tasted. back to the station in time to jump on the train, if I lost I had to wait two hours or riding, and the storm coming I would have taken in full.
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