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A Day Walking in History: Twenty-four hours at Marsala

smell. As soon as you get to City of sweet wine, I recognize the smell. Although it is the first time that we reach Marsala. The air smells of salt water, of Sicily, in Africa. And history. Marsala was an integral part of the first civilizations of the world and its past and its future are tied to the broader domain of Sicily, which has honored all the time, Italy, Europe. Natural bridge between Italy and Africa, its history is a chronological series of invasions, wars, riots, intrigues and conspiracies for dominance in the Mediterranean. For the wickedness of man the city walls collapsed, but the centuries have left us a few scraps that remind and remember, if men do not cover with reinforced concrete, the grandeur of this city.

So the sun is shining on these western shores of Sicily that everything is clear, almost transparent. The same waters that caress the old Lilybeo, kissed by the warm rays reflect silver color as if the Lord had given this land two skies, one of the other sea of \u200b\u200bclouds. And from the same waterfront, overlooking Cape Boeo, you can see Porta Garibaldi. Through it is like taking a step along one hundred and fifty years.

The violence of man, with the Anglo-American bombing in 1943, and its equally overwhelming stupidity, with the reckless, and have reduced much of the memory that thousands of years had branded the promontory Marsala. And that is why today, Marsala, is also the city of Cristina, who wants more from life but did not get, that would do more in life but can not, for not thinking about the future, wiped out past.

Marsala, almost, can not remember Lilybeo and squirms in the mediocrity of our day cleaning up the consciousness with a past of fresh paint on the abuses for decades. The pride, the primary characteristic of the people Lilibet and lost over the centuries, today revived the memory of 11 May 1860, when Garibaldi landed on the shores of the city with its thousands of men. This is Marsala today, a place capable of emotions for an event that actually has been finally sentenced her to oblivion. And if half of the nineteenth century could justify the weary resignation of a people who for more than a thousand years had slipped inexorably into the sadness of submission, I really can not understand how today the heir of those people who lived in the glorious Lilybeo not reclaim, with facts and not just in words, the role that history has always given: the gateway to the Mediterranean.

the various museums in the city (the Baglio Anselmi holds the remains of a Punic ship of the third century BC) and especially the rediscovery of quell'inestimabile Mothya treasure that is, they seem to demonstrate how, perhaps, a new seed is sprouting in the far west of the island. And so that can not be.

A gentleman, well covered to guard against the strong wind that blows constantly on the shores of the Lagoon, it makes me sit on a boat docked at the pier town of Marsala, the so-called Pier. And from there we move, lulled by the serene waters of the Reserve, to Mothya. The depths never exceed five feet, and this was just one of the secrets that allowed first the Phoenicians, Carthaginians and then to make a stand against the Romans. It is said that even Hannibal Rhodes, a bold Carthaginian, Roman ships passed the block and come out of the harbor, as if to provoke the enemy waiting for them oars lifted, to give them time to pursue him.

a narrow viaduct, paved with stones and protected from the full flowering of shrubs, welcome on the island. Whitaker in the museum, the first appearance at the end of the short climb, you are guarded archaeological dating over two thousand years. Shivers at the thought. But it just walking in history, through the narrow streets of the islet, which we realize what a wonderful journey through time you Mothya gifts. Protected on all four sides by a low sea by narrow strips of land, the ancient Phoenician colony thriving is a series of mosaics, green plants and amazing views. It 's like if you look out from a balcony from which you can see, depending on the location choice, the whole sea in the world.

Back in 2010, I left Marsala with her scent on him, breathing in peace with its beautiful library and a first step after the calm waters, with the feeling of having seen at first hand a world unknown to modern man so stressed out and lost in useless pastimes have erased from his past.

In the long ride home, though, I had the feeling you have not left Marsala, but had in fact found forever. And with the hope that like the Phoenix, the fabulous bird symbol of immortality because it always reborn from its ashes, Marsala can also repeat the miracles of Mothya before and after Lilybeo. Always reborn. Forever.

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Enna

I open the car door and go down: biting cold. This is welcome that the highest provincial capital of Italy gives you even at four in the afternoon. Controlled

the instinctive reaction to return to racing in the vehicle, began to look around. It all seems so high. They feel right on top of the nearly one thousand meters in height that separate me from the sea.

The first place I visit is paradoxically the most extreme, the "rock". I have a feeling to find myself in front of a rock, only instead of being surrounded by water, you find yourself in the sky. I try to go as far - so I suggest Giuliana - the weakest minds gather all their courage and close their accounts with the world rushing for a flight without wings, about 500 meters.

Prudence - indeed the dizziness - I should soon return to the center of the "Rock" and armed with a camera I try, unsuccessfully, to conceal the company, the inconvenience to my sudden approach with Enna.

few awkward staircases and just a few yards away is the Castle of Lombardy, probably the largest and oldest castle in Sicily. The turn around just very little to breathe the air of history: thick walls, and worn by the winds, which for two millennia have tickled his soul, a breath-taking landscape, icy cold that confuses you thought. Have passed the five, the sun is low behind the distant headlands to the west but its reddish rays screaming the last sketches, enough to make me appreciate the "Belvedere", just a dozen yards down from the Castle.

Intent to breathe the scenery my eyes trying to imagine, I find myself observing the "Rape of Proserpine" with a background in the words of Julie, my personal escort (travel) - by the way, thanks to Facebook - trying to explain what Enna is even in Greek mythology. I take less than 24 hours to not be able to hear her speak, which, however, she has succeeded in considerably less time.

survivor "copy" of Bernini, I run nell'interessantissimo Borremans, which apparently had nothing better to do than making paintings for the Cathedral of Enna. And in order not to hurt the hosts, I have had to invent the formation of Ajax to avoid missing this famous name: I have deployed the right wing. Two days later I still can not forget it.

I faced the rest of the evening with a cold towel over his eyes: continuously projected slides of the few hours spent in the streets of ancient Castrogiovanni.

few hours after you close your eyes the next morning gave me a good morning with a cold sun misleading. Who knows why the slides now told of the smiles of Ilaria and Claudia, Gaetano ironic grimaces, moans of Paul and Sandra disgusted face in trying to swallow the cheese bathed in honey.

Every place, above the sea or under the sky, speaks of people who live there. And that's how a landscape is meaningful, so that the heart turns on the mind. It 's so that everything coming out of the Lombardia Castle took effect.

Just across the weary gate that opens the way to the interior walls, like a whole crazy puzzle began to go in his place. I have seen thousands of years before: the crowds of busy people to animate the streets drawn in the dirt yard that divides the huge main entrance to the fortress from the most authoritative of the Castle, the residence of the Lords. Many archers put runners on the high walls made sure that the disorder is not concealed any danger, galloping horsemen they made their way indifferent to the curses of those who were pushed into the mud impetuousness of their horses from the highest tower, then, the men of trust the Lord peered over the world.

Son back in 2010 because the virus to the voice of Julie from time to time did not fire. And then I found myself at the top Tower: share much. For a moment - just long enough that I feel dizzy gelassero blood - I really thought you could touch the hand of the Lord. The rest of the world was at our feet.

I have to do two things: the first was to reach another famous Tower of Enna, the one built by Frederick to check that other part of the world hidden from the eyes of the Fort. But above all, the true desire was to touch the heart of Sicily. Shortly after I did. Not before, however, to be passed to greet the great-grandmother of Juliana. If I understand correctly, is already part of his tour that the cooperative offers to tourists.

At four in the afternoon I had already left Enna. In twenty-four hours I discovered a land far more than twenty centuries, a place that completely indifferent to the indifference of the people who inhabit it continues its journey through history, struggling with unequal weapons against the degradation of modern man against rape, against the lack of respect for what we were.

comforts me, you understand that despite everything there are people, boys, determined to preserve their identity by opening up the rest of the world, struggling against the current, spending time with joy and love to those who can put it to good use.

The acknowledgments page is enriched with new names, the boys of cooperative tourism Enna. And above all thanks to you, Julie.

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Some of my friends and colleagues, who received during the Christmas holidays my little cadeau, they asked me to publish my blog on my polymer clay creations.


So here for you a little taste of some of the things I like to create with polymer clay (Fimo or? How does the fairy odd?)


Actually I create especially for the pleasure to me to shape the dough and the natural feeling of relaxation that causes me.


actually create addictive, and this is my personal cure for chronic headaches mo.

Here are some trinkets.

For installation you can choose between the simple wire rubber or the tail of a mouse in matching organza ribbon.

Soon I will create a catalog, with fittings complete: For further information please send me an email.

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To all crochet, granny square that mania.

A few days ago I was attacked by a terrible disease: the granny square mania!




It 's a widespread disease worldwide, mainly affects women of all ages and walks of life, has more sick of the feared swine flu but is much less lethal and leads to spending hours and hours with the 'crochet hook in hand, to join a myriad of colors to create modules that then give life and color to your home!

Want some examples? Around internet you will find countless examples of the fruits of this disease. On 24 Attic also find some scheme to try to form. But be careful: it is contagious and your home could become so!

However it must be said that this disease, however, has many beneficial qualities: It is an excellent cure against stress of modern life and against the greyness of our cities, and gives good mood!
Then I just have fun and happy crochet!

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Blog candy galore!


year
Here new and new records. I want to tell a cute site that told me my virtual friend Roberta.
This is the candy of Certain Creatures that is raffling a hand-painted pendant Belissimo!
And the bird is really tender and well done.
How about participating? The deadline is January 20th at midnight!
But see also his rich tutorial and then tell me if you feel like picking up a needle and thread and trying. Good luck for the candy. Meanwhile, I incorciatore fingers for me!

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No integration, it is time for coexistence


I was accustomed to the term "integration". Quite simply, I've always considered the right word to express my thoughts in relation to immigration. All - or almost - believe that the peaceful, loving and charitable to the problem of the migration flow to our country both integration. Of course, between "us" and "them".

I understand why it does not work. And above all, that will never work. So, those who strive in good faith for our brothers "poor" are welcome in our country, they should cancel their vocabulary this odious term and adopt, as a sign of a new change, as a demonstration of a new will, the term "Coexistence."

The word integration "was designated and promoted by those who wish to continue, albeit in a seemingly less harsh, ethnic discrimination and who wish to retain control of social and economic relationships, using images, classifications, and regulations based on the percentage color, national origin, racial characteristics. "

With "integration", in practice, "describes the process by which a white society is and will be able to use it or not, when and how he wants, the talent of non-whites. Privileged few reap the benefits of best contribution of non-whites, while the masses, both white and of color, living in unjust and oppressive ".

Integrate means, then, adapt. It can never be peace, love and charity to force someone else to adapt to us? NO. The real novelty lies in the ability to live together. In accepting the diversity of ' another, its habits, its customs and traditions. And 'certainly a difficult and complex task, because while in the process of integration is asked to sacrifice one of the parties, the protagonists are living in two. We are willing to make way for an "other"? managed to overcome physical limitations imposed by the history of the man who drew the borders everywhere? We envision a church in front of a mosque? a sandwich in front of a kebab? A miniskirt before a burqa?

For example, the Sicilian is "a terrifying insularity of mind", not belonging to geographical boundaries. What I stand out forever in the world is that state of mind, not the city name on the ID card. And as I pretend to live peacefully and lovingly in the world, just as I have - or should - know-how with others.
Integration is hypocrisy, living together is the solution to war and peace.