stationary 
Lift wing of you, laying on average sedentary, you know that there is the Val d'Itria. No, quiet, not even me until last week, even more sedentary, I knew that there was nor where he was (in Puglia, on the border between the provinces of Brindisi, Bari and Taranto), neither knew the other part of Italy (Trentino), there was a Antholzertal, wedged between the Alps and the Dolomites, or a village in the province of Rieti (collect) where winter's cold as Dobbiaco. These and other stories (or geographies?), Unfortunately, I have learned traveling, but nailed to the desk in the office, patiently transcribing a series of interviews with butchers. What will become of the cards that I got I still do not know, but, even if it cost me ten days of work, and given the subject, several bouts of hunger, it was pretty funny. Apart from some of my monsters have filled gaps in geography, it was nice to hear the voice of these people totally unknown to me who spoke with all accents: dall'altoatesino native German speaker, who vaguely remembered the pope, it seems that the Sardinian pronounced the syllables one by one, to be sipped like a vintage wine. In the mouth of the artisans, even the cadences of central Italy, always a bit 'in the balance between the hick and the snob, as were cleaned and softened by the air inland (the same that is used to season sausages). So here is a clear Tuscan with "c" as gentle suction caressing and Umbria and Lazio, forthright, no-frills. It was not difficult then, listening to them, imagine the countries where I have never set foot and try to describe them, though, of course, I took some street corner. For whoever has to do with the land, farmers, but also in their own way, butchers, it is still able to tell. And because the Italian regional and, more importantly, the dialect is something more serious than it tells us about the poor Rai spot aired in recent days. I always remember the most remote of my studies, but I do know that the "great three" fathers of Italian - Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio - the invented from their dialect, but also looting from those of other places in Italy words that should seem to them good and not too foreign, creating literary and cultural unity of the previous centuries the political, that someone still is anxious to deny. And that's not me talking, they said, among others, and Napolitano Benigni. Going back to my cards on sausages and cured meat, I reiterate that I like to travel like this: first with the stories and then, perhaps, with his feet. Because even the most seemingly mundane places are loaded with meaning. So it is possible that in some of these places scattered up and down the boot, I sooner or later you get there really, maybe just on March 17. In the face of Bossi and Marcegaglia.
Lift wing of you, laying on average sedentary, you know that there is the Val d'Itria. No, quiet, not even me until last week, even more sedentary, I knew that there was nor where he was (in Puglia, on the border between the provinces of Brindisi, Bari and Taranto), neither knew the other part of Italy (Trentino), there was a Antholzertal, wedged between the Alps and the Dolomites, or a village in the province of Rieti (collect) where winter's cold as Dobbiaco. These and other stories (or geographies?), Unfortunately, I have learned traveling, but nailed to the desk in the office, patiently transcribing a series of interviews with butchers. What will become of the cards that I got I still do not know, but, even if it cost me ten days of work, and given the subject, several bouts of hunger, it was pretty funny. Apart from some of my monsters have filled gaps in geography, it was nice to hear the voice of these people totally unknown to me who spoke with all accents: dall'altoatesino native German speaker, who vaguely remembered the pope, it seems that the Sardinian pronounced the syllables one by one, to be sipped like a vintage wine. In the mouth of the artisans, even the cadences of central Italy, always a bit 'in the balance between the hick and the snob, as were cleaned and softened by the air inland (the same that is used to season sausages). So here is a clear Tuscan with "c" as gentle suction caressing and Umbria and Lazio, forthright, no-frills. It was not difficult then, listening to them, imagine the countries where I have never set foot and try to describe them, though, of course, I took some street corner. For whoever has to do with the land, farmers, but also in their own way, butchers, it is still able to tell. And because the Italian regional and, more importantly, the dialect is something more serious than it tells us about the poor Rai spot aired in recent days. I always remember the most remote of my studies, but I do know that the "great three" fathers of Italian - Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio - the invented from their dialect, but also looting from those of other places in Italy words that should seem to them good and not too foreign, creating literary and cultural unity of the previous centuries the political, that someone still is anxious to deny. And that's not me talking, they said, among others, and Napolitano Benigni. Going back to my cards on sausages and cured meat, I reiterate that I like to travel like this: first with the stories and then, perhaps, with his feet. Because even the most seemingly mundane places are loaded with meaning. So it is possible that in some of these places scattered up and down the boot, I sooner or later you get there really, maybe just on March 17. In the face of Bossi and Marcegaglia. 
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