Udine. Second fragment. A mouse.
The first meeting in Udine that is most likely a rat. He's the cool of the Canal, seems to return my gaze in amazement.
...
The network of internal canals of the city of Udine is very old. It dates back to medieval times: the canals, irrigation ditches called (ROE in Friuli), were dug to supply water, to help agricultural development in an area otherwise barren. Water depended on the fate not only economic but also political in the city. Who controls the water sources controlled the power.
And not only. Packed in a small inn in via Sarpi, in the historic center. I go to the bathroom to wash my hands, m'insapono before opening the taps. There is no water. I ask the waitress
explanations. Blush goes to the kitchen. Gives me a sponge and a rag, "Excuse me, is that they removed the water, I forgot ..." The wine
have paid them, "Mandi, see you soon. Excuse me again, send. "
...
It remained few, unfortunately, the irrigation ditches flowing survivors, now calm and quiet, now rapid and roaring up the middle. Lapping the main streets, accompanying the flow of passers-by. The water is clear, clear light of day, reflecting in the evening.
...
I also follow the Canal Walk. I walk away Zanon, I see the houses become, I recognize the passage of history through a succession of architectural styles. From downtown renaissance, well kept, clean, white, step to liberty century, a sign of the strategic importance of the city.
little further on the case square and symmetrical herald the arrival of fascism. The Canal flows under the concrete bridge rationalists, reflexes play with the plaster of the houses. The contrast is great.
...
night falls, I go to restaurants. In Udine, there is a density of pubs per square meter, which is unbelievable. I joined eight, if I remember correctly, and I saw one empty.
...
" Who is flying, who is not does not fly. Who is and does not fly is a coward ": so our leader.
have happened in a tavern nostalgic. I read with a smile the mottos on the walls and ordered a drink.
The master did not seem to notice the irony of the contrast: on one hand the passion for the fascist statist rhetoric, other parochial pride for the country of Friuli. The walls are cobbled together excerpts of poems in dialect, mementos and T-shirts praising Friulian pride, right next to pictures in black and white and black-like figurines decades.
fake a strong emphasis Romagna. I say live near Predappio.
"How lucky you! His grave under the house. I never went, between work and family, I can not find the time."
"Yeah, I'm lucky. But you know, once seen enough. Predappio know what I like?"
"What?"
"The bruschetta."
