It 's the first comment, hot, a journey that took all eyes and hearts, legs and brain, adrenaline and charm. Have been busy days, lived a little 'by reporters and a bit' by tourists.
Above, a photo stolen from the Marrakech event, organized by the Movement of 20 February. We had all the parade, not even time to put your luggage to the riad. The people took us for fools, while Italy and not only rained cancellations.
Graduates and multilingual, but without a decent job. With few resources, little information, with a few open windows on the world. They asked for more rights, shouted their anger in see a corrupt government, too much concentrated power, extraordinary riches granted only a few, those who perhaps five or six would be enough hands to count. And the rest? How can they arrange.
Here is sudden, day after day. You go into the streets, banquet or just a carpet to be the most dignified and decent seller in the world. Or the best actor, if you are more inclined to the arts.
can be tiring always having to negotiate, reach an agreement, be taken a bit 'because it is around the right side of the world. But what is striking (and I needed), is the direct access, contact, the breakdown of physical barriers that we weigh more. Be touched, importune, inquire in a petulant without posing the problem of being petulant. Direct contact, no frills, no tirarsela. Attacks of authenticity, spontaneity bombs. And small hurdles to overcome every day, to more normal operations, to get a bit 'to the test and be able to appreciate what you have.
And then, the wonders. The sumptuousness of certain places, it almost feel undeserving, which command respect and instill peace and sacredness.
The beauty of materials such as wood, ceramic, marble. The colors, with the sun at 26 degrees which is a dream. The storks, tortoises munching one foot while you eat.
Heda jamil!
Then, call you by the editors of Foreign Affairs of the Republic. The adrenaline of thinking: shit, is the right time! But since the events do not have blossomed into a civil war, good news is not a news. Too bad. Too bad that while you lick his mustache between jams, fritters and bread, the phone rings and Attilio Bolzoni ask you how best to follow the protests, information, contacts. They sent in Morocco, but good news is news and therefore not a "sooner or later will put the piece." I bow to the experience, I'll be wearing a sparkling sensation that smacks of ink.
Heda jamil!
Trains, taxi, walk, Ryan. What a journey!
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