Iphone On Silent Alarm Clock

SAIC, for example the Japanese

While Japan is shaken by earthquake-tsunami disaster-atomic, the example of an old Monaco explains the composure of the sons of the Rising Sun.

They wanted us a gift, the monks of Mount Hiei, and have hit the mark. After the morning prayer, we move away from the east of the temples (To-do) to get closer to the West (Sai-tō), perhaps the one less traveled by tourists, but in the more full of meaning for the monks of Mount Hiei . After a walk under umbrellas, surrounded by high forest, along a path and accompanied by antique lamps of stone, we reach the Temple of the Pure Land, Jodo in, surrounded by a beautiful garden of gravel combed spiral, the place where he was buried founder of Tendai Buddhism, nell'822. Saicho Dengyo Daishi wanted to leave this land, among the holy saints. The Monaco who now lives here, is called Jishin, and must comply strictly with all the hard ascetic precepts taken by the founder. It is no coincidence that this is where they face 12 years of isolation practice their penance. When you step on the spot, a melody comes to our ears tantric through the cracks of a wooden temple: is the voice of the monks who can not be seen, the boldest. The Monaco

who live here, and that makes us by Cicero in his brief visit, I am closer to a sort of wooden barrel. The uncover. Inside, on a bed of uniform sand, a path is traced partly burned, some still amber. It is incense. "I turn on every morning at three, and must remain on until three in the next day, ie 24 hours at a time. It is also a challenge to show what life is all about the spiritual. "

Returning to the parking lot, I find other temples hidden in the woods. In particular, I see it a couple the same, They are joined by a covered walkway, I explain, the Nina-Sun, classrooms for practical exercises on the Lotus Sutra and Pure Land, which are also taught jointly. And here's the Tsubaki-Sun, small, old, pretty and perfect size. And further up the vast Shaka-Do. Let us finally

before a large statue of SAIC, that our smiling guide will take us to see. Before that, here is a large white circular tank in which, on March 16, the day of prayer for peace, are burned all the prayers written on scraps of paper that people deposits rose during the year around the temples of Mount Hiei .

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Novara, the dome almost discordant

It is more of the Piedmont city because of its undertakings football team in Serie B. Visit for a delayed departure from Malpensa, 2008.

There are cities - worldwide best known and least known - of which the town is dominated by a building, a tower, a tower or a mountain, a peak, a valley. An element, which synthesizes and summarizes, or maybe flatten the rest of the city. Consider, for example, at Chartres Cathedral, visible from any backwater to a radius of several tens of kilometers. Consider, again, the Sugar Loaf in Rio de Janeiro, velvety rock chlorophyll, disturbing and reassuring presence at the same time, omnipresent. Consider, finally, in Varanasi, the spiritual capital of India, swallowed up by the presence of the "mother of all rivers, the Ganges mysterious.

Novara "is" the dome of the Basilica of San Gaudenzio Antonelli. Tall, slender, almost discordant in the relationship between height and width, however bold. Curious history of this place of worship, built from 1577 and designed by Pellegrino Tibaldi (with bell Benedetto Alfieri), would, with its unusual decoration for the time, be somehow the symbol of artistic effervescence the Baroque era. And he became, but not only one style in particular in the era of Napoleon's penetration in the Po Valley, became the refuge, the repository of works of art saved from the destruction of monuments razed to make way for new, so-called new. And continuous additions to the Renaissance basilica of the patron saint ended up making a real museum of the people and the entire city.

Until the nineteenth century erupted in the lives of Novara and integration of the Kingdom of Savoy - and then to that of Italy - urged administrators to redesign the entire city in depth, sometimes with the unfortunate demolition of churches, walls and buildings. But without doubt commendable initiatives not lacking, such as its building of the dome of the Basilica of San Gaudenzio, headed by the great architect Alessandro Antonelli. Who spent the last 44 years of his life, from 1844 to 1888, working on the project and its implementation, in parallel to the building of the Mole Antonelliana. Overlap, in fact, obvious structural problems in financial shortages, el'avversità of much of the population. But the long gestation allowed the Novara to get used to the daring structure, even reaching to affezionarvisi. So today Novara "is" the dome Antonelli, no ifs, ands or buts.

Walk the streets of the old town on a Saturday cold but sunny. Novara is a big village, more than a small city. The people know each other, greet each other, gossip wander around the pedestrian streets, the windows peeping while the children skate in an ice rink and the old marquee party conversation on the benches of the government crisis and battered around the old castle. In the courtyard of Broletto - X and XI centuries - a fine example of medieval civic architecture, and rouged young mothers walking their technological frugoletti man treating them like princes. A city gratified, "bourgeois" that more can not be rich or even wealthy. Antonelli and reassured by the soaring dome, that rises every time turns a corner, as if to say to Novara that the world changes and renews itself, of course, but with caution and slowly, very slowly. Climbed the steps to the dome - like all bold - view of the placid, sleepy town seems to say that the world does not change, is always equal to itself.

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72. What is important?

A

heard a Zen master who addressed him thus Monaco:
"What's important in life? You owe me an answer!"
The teacher knew that these questions fade away when you live with full awareness of this, when you feel the importance of every detail as an inseparable part of the whole. To understand everything with immediacy to Monaco, having noticed a stray dog \u200b\u200bwho was passing by chance in the courtyard of the monastery, he replied thus:
"It is important that the dog is moving in the yard!" The Monaco
not attained enlightenment, he shook his head and walked away with discomfort.
As he crossed the courtyard was attacked with unexplained ferocity by stray dog, which bit him causing him several injuries.

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donkeys


Journey to the Holy Land / 9
In the Gaza Strip, an open-air prison, returns half of locomotion of the past.

it normally is a presence in Gaza and the Strip is one of the donkeys and mules. There are everywhere, is the only system where the price of renting rooms by the day. In some streets of Gaza City on their driving was even banned, not to obstruct traffic, however intense these days ever. The car fell in a bad way, it is incoherent to say the least. It is rare to see a car with the windshield intact: that of our taxi has three bullet holes ... The gas that comes from Egypt is cheap, but it's bad, that Israel is dear, more than in Italy, although its quality is good.

activities in Gaza are very poor and limited, and you just hold on goods coming from the tunnels to Egypt, in Rafah area. The shops seem idle, inevitably there are people sitting outside the gate waiting for hypothetical customers who have little or nothing to spend. In

city tour we approach the border with Israel, south of Erez. The area experiencing, one of the hardest hit by the Israeli offensive in 2008, fell ill. There is no house that does not preserve traces of the attack: the beads of the impacts of the bullets still make an impression. At the end of the quarter, already in the open country - a land green and fertile, but neglected as a few - there is what they call the "graveyard of the martyrs," actually one of the cemeteries in Gaza in which they were buried many of the thousand deaths of the Israeli attack. Then factories and warehouses, donkeys and sheep, neglect and carelessness. Piles of scrap and rubble, cement silos, which are the raw material in their destruction: "We live only with the spirit of God," the taxi driver tells me, trying to overcome a depression in the ground filled with rainwater, yesterday morning fall very profusely.

The desolation of the fields at Erez is frightening: piles of debris or earth, trees left without care, cultivation summary ... carts pulled by donkeys and mules, women bent on some pile of brushwood, homes never finished, in any case never plastered. Then the long tunnel of humiliation. Dust is everywhere, the pen that glides on the pages of my notebook creaks.

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Gaza Hebron, the Tomb of the Patriarchs


Journey to the Holy Land / 8
where hatred hath been materialized. The tomb is divided between Muslims and Jews.

Tomb of the Patriarchs in reality is a complex building that contains in addition to the mosque and the synagogue, a church and the Machpelah Cave - a place that biblical tradition believed to have been bought by Abraham to the Hittites to bury his wife Sarah, and then he was buried there, along with Isaac and Jacob and their wives - with mixed architecture of the Herodian age, and Islamic crusade.

The tombs of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Rebecca and the other patriarchs still in itself is not particularly attractive. At least the building's interior, often bent in its austere beauty to the needs of each votive and others, does not seem extraordinary, while the exterior is powerful and elegant at the same time. But the checkpoints the spoil, in the silence most complete of the classic voices of tourists, there are more on the massacre carried out in 1994 by an Israeli settler at the entrance of the tomb. I am the only visitor who is not Muslim-Palestinian mosque in the section, or jew-Israel, a synagogue in the section.

In particular I am struck by the depression that Muslims living in the mosque, trailed by their prayers and painful, I would say bloody, and the other side of the frenzy that seem all very orthodox Jews, on the verge of fanaticism. In the synagogue there is a large influx of soldiers, young soldiers seem to me, all tasks and very absorbed in prayer and waving syncopated typical of the Jews. They act as if you were not there, give me the impression of people so focused on themselves by not realizing that the world is colorful. Fear is a funny thing.

On the way backwards along the shopping street that leads to the Tomb, Palestinian merchants all, without exception, and an unknown number of mocciosetti who want to sell the bracelets in the colors of the Palestinian flag, I invite you to buy something. The Merchant of pulses, also a blacksmith, also a shoemaker. And I would give them something, but it would be endless trouble, a drop in the bucket. I take them with me in my heart, I accept them in their disillusionment, as well as carry with me those tin soldiers. Lead to fear.

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marbles exploding light

Journey to the Holy Land / 7

Visit the esplanade of the Flies is an anthropological, theological and even political

I had been to the Temple Mount, or time, depending on your point of view. I had already grasped the extraordinary evocative power, beauty, aesthetics, acrobatic Arab presence, the unspoken and unspeakable pride of Muslim Palestinians who still occupy the most expensive is the soul of the Jewish religious and ethnic. Not for nothing here began the second intifada, when Ariel Sharon - September 28, 2000 - dared to bring hundreds of Israeli riot police in the mall, saying that finally the Jews resumed their place of worship to more expensive, which belonged only to them and nobody else.

I had already visited the Dome of the Rock and the al-Aqsa Mosque, but I was able to photograph the interior. And I never had Muhammad as a guide, a sixty enthusiastic that could be an imam or a mufti, such is the passion and expertise that enables us doth during the long visit, what unusual, citing the Christian Scriptures with accuracy, without the traditional approximation of many Muslims. By Muhammad realize once again that anything is possible with the Arabs (including photograph, also visit the most sacred sites), provided that the report, the report is that the sincerity and respect by building trust and open all doors. This is the key, I am sure, in this Holy Land has not yet been proven. There is suspicion rather than respect, the proliferation of suspicion rather than letting space trust.

marbles exploding light, the blue tiles combine the sky, the golden dome calls for reconciliation in the name of Abraham, is unanimity. Women, men, old people and children are united by prayer and the feeling of liberation that every Muslim to try before God in prayer to the Temple. Yet in their eyes is anything but a feeling of peace, there is frustration and sometimes hatred. God knows. An old man reads the Quran and white on the red carpet of the mosque of al-Aqsa. It comes from Ramallah, but lives now in East Jerusalem, because his son has found a job as a plumber. In his few English words he can say there is a whole people; "Allah gave me birth, God has brought me to the holy city, Allah makes me experience impotence, Allah will take me with him as soon as possible." He looks wet. She hugs me.

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The party

Journey to the Holy Land / 6 The Holy City is also a place of celebration for everyone, even if at different times. There is only one party truly common to all the inhabitants.

Approaching the time of the sabbath, the waiters at the bar arrange the tables, the shopkeepers close their doors, the young Orthodox students to drag their trolley back home from the university. The tradition first. And the city of para calm before the frenzy of prayer. Muslims, however, have just finished their ritual, their shops had not ever open, enjoy the satisfaction of the festival honored. Only Christians seem engaged in their traditional occupations, as usual, waiting for Sunday. While they should always be on Sunday, according to the teachings of the Master. But seldom is, otherwise the whole world would be a party.

There are places in the world that could not exist without being intersections of chaotic bundling of human, collections of paradoxical and contradictory feelings. Jerusalem is such. Woe to those who sought to make uniform would be cursed for life.

The wall in Bethlehem is somewhat equal to that of the Temple, that of Berlin, the metal barrier between Texas and Mexico. It is equal to Hadrian's Wall and the Great Wall of China. All the walls are the same at the end. Though we strive to highlight the differences. The walls are statues of force. The walls are confessions of impotence. The walls are illusions of identity. Shortly

often speaks of love in Jerusalem. Rather you are looking for words related to the deity, the struggle between good and evil, the rise and asceticism. Yet all is love in the heavenly Jerusalem.

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Haifa, the Gulf of tolerance

Journey to the Holy Land / 5

harbor, Mount Caramel, cohabitation is possible.

A bride in white with a train and her husband all white, he too. It is they who greet me at the foot of the majestic gardens of the headquarters of the Baha'is, who have seen their birth in Iran in the second half of the nineteenth century, the work of Baha'h'ulla (buried here) who was said to inspired from master Bab. The modifications made by architects and gardeners finds its fulfillment in the beauty of the spouses, the love that binds them, that shines from their faces beaming. Religion is their love that radiates. Nothing, really. Whether the assessment of the Baha'i religion is suspended, meaning that the syncretism of which you advocate - their records are liable to the Torah, the Gospel, the Koran - is unsatisfactory, the beauty of nature shaped the beauty, more that shrines and temples that host this Greek-like hub of religion, hits, some tracks show the infinite imagination of God I climb the steps of white marble from Carrara, I see perfect perspective of steps leading to Heaven and to Earth.

do not see soldiers or police the streets of Haifa. Above all, there is the cloak of grief and suspicion hovering over Jerusalem. The city, we know, is that in Israel where the coexistence of the three religions of the Book is not difficult, there are ghetto neighborhoods, but living together is something normal. The shops are alternated, the kebab restaurants or kosher food or Western ... It is particularly encouraging to see swarms of children after school three religions. It is no coincidence that in Haifa, during the recent crisis in Gaza, took place the only meeting brought together Christians, Jews and Muslims to pray for peace. It is no accident.

The blue sky and blue sea protected as the two palms of the hands of the white shell town of Haifa. View from Mount Caramel, top view. Yes, because Haifa is a place of blessing, the friendship of God that infects humans if men let themselves be infected. From Haifa show is an exception, but also by the lower performance of daring and creative. Not for nothing that monotheism was born on this hill, Eliah here has realized the oneness of God, His infinite mercy and beauty and power. The cave Eliah, who knows if it is the right one. There are hundreds on Mount Caramel, who knows if this is the right one. But no matter. Import that here the Lord has manifested itself in words and action of Eliah to witness the world its uniqueness.

Lunch on the heights of Mount Caramel, on a terrace with stunning views over the Bay of Haifa, there to Lebanon, a landscape of peace but not peace. A Greek ship in the port is ready to set sail for Cyprus, Limassol. The sun makes the day as the first fruits of summer, spring or a couple.

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The two coffee

Journey to the Holy Land / 4

Jerusalem is a city where the paradox is at home.

I took two cups of coffee. The first at Damascus Gate, in a closet without taxes, exposed to cold and wind, fairly dirty, sitting at a table stained plastic and lopsided. Three guys approached me trying to guess my nationality, then tumbler with pride on their knowledge of Italian. Only after five minutes I managed to order my coffee, I was served five minutes later, accompanied by myeloma pastries that I had ordered. Coffee, Turkish, smelled of cardamom. I sipped surrounded by three boys, extremely interested in everything that concerned me. We greeted with much backslapping and promise of new friendships. The second
I sipped coffee in an elegant local shopping arcade built under the Jaffa Gate. All very clean, maids clean every action was monitored by digital counters. A good espresso but ordinarily European chocolate with the ordinance and a dry cookie with hazelnuts frankly stringy. I sat at a table on the terrace warmed by gas flames. There was an unusual silence, while a subtle jazzy music wafted in the air like a tranquilizer. I brought the coffee tray on the order, after a minute servitomi a round beginning to write these notes. Coming out I waved the waiter, he replied with a nod of the lips.
How do they coexist in the same city two peoples so different from the rituals? Only the presence of foreigners, dell'avventore in this case, it can stay together. You need the odd man out.

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How much money coming here in Israel! The Jewish solidarity is extraordinary. He says here that a rabbi is more important than the quality of projects that their monetary quantification: the money, if the project is good, come anyway. What do you say "power of the idea", Israel is still an idea extraordinary.

desert winds, slamming against the eyelids and teeth. Which smooths the skin like stone. In Jerusalem there are faces that look like granite and stones that seem to velvet.

Jews almost always recognize them. Sometimes immediately, sometimes after a while. Jewish culture reaches the depths of man, dating from the skin and psyche, dictating behavior and attitudes. Being Jewish is neither a conviction nor a vocation: it is simply an ontology that combines a phenomenology. Here in Jerusalem

nothing is obvious, but at the same time everything lives of ritual repeated endlessly and never changed over the centuries. Repeat is the only way to become citizens. When exemption from rituals, one of two things: either it is expelled naturally by the multi-faceted community of Jerusalem, or it becomes a new tradition. (This latter case is rather rare). The anguish of kitsch

get anywhere, and easily replaces the traditional standards of beauty. Because the screams kitsch, while tradition whispers, the first requires the second evokes; kitsch plays on the amount and speed, the tradition of quality and safety. Even in Jerusalem on kitsch can be right for thousands of years (for the moment).

Within the Damascus Gate, and I see a face unusual. A Chinese. Once you meet one of China was an exception in our districts. But not anymore. The Chinese are everywhere, and even more made in China. But foreigners still seem absolutely everywhere. While Europeans somehow know inculturate abroad, camouflaged in the folds of the cities, identify with the places visited. But not for long: the Chinese will find their homeland in the world ..

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observing from the city ' The high vacuum of Jerusalem

Journey to the Holy Land / 3

Stones and antennas, a combination difficult to accept.

Maronite Archbishopric From the terrace of the Holy Land, not far from the Tower of David, you can enjoy a breathtaking view of the holy city. I got there, being literally open-mouthed for the umpteenth time observing many domes, steeples many, many minarets, many synagogues. And a lot of dishes, many air conditioners, many repeaters phones. Urban landscapes are changing due to technology. What you have to do the tombs of the Mount of Olives with white satellite dishes? What the gold of the Dome of the Rock with the stems to the god phone? None. Yet these are our current city digital technology can not withstand even the white stones of Jerusalem I have seen the sorts of things in thirty centuries of history! The important thing is not to think that the stones are only ... support to the antennas!

From the window of my room for three hours I was able to live an Armenian wedding. The audio of the party. At first I thought it was a Jewish lullaby, although the district where they are housed, near the Damascus Gate, is decidedly Arabic. Then I thought, however, that they were Muslim prayers, because someone has started a sermon. Then, instead, I had to think again, because the rattle of the tongue was neither Arab nor Jewish. It was an Armenian wedding, since not far from my residence is in effect the Armenian Catholic patriarchate, one of many in the city. What convinced me was not so much the language, but that seemed unusual, because the rhythm of the music, so characteristic and unique, neither Western nor Eastern, Armenian and nostalgic of the harsh mountains while dotted with extraordinarily sweet green.

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Journey to the Holy Land / 2. Walking around the holy city, visiting the Holy Sepulchre and found "my" city.

walk at dawn to the Holy Sepulchre. The void, the steps resound on the steps of paving stone in commercial galleries from shops still closed by iron shutters peeling. Worthy preparatory to Calvary. The folklore of vestments, gestures that seem dictated by superstition than by faith, frenzy of pain that does touch the very site of pain.
Emptiness, video, kenosis, vacuum. He wants to touch the pain and found only a hole, one of the cross. Indeed, there is not even one, there are many where the wooden suspension of Christ can be inserted. Vacuum.
Nor silence is faithful awaited appointment. In the chaos of music, language and selfish that thronged the Holy Sepulchre. Only the interiorization of pain creates silence in person, because the Grid can still be heard.

When you get lost in the alleys of the old city of Jerusalem, triggered a virtuous cycle, not just trying to figure out where it was finished, but you enjoy the views that occur under your eyes, until we find ourselves facing. Of course. So the city becomes subtly but inexorably "your" city. We are all citizens of the holy city par excellence.

In Jerusalem feet hurt. Almost always, almost without interruption. Not only for the hard pavement stones never regular, but also and especially in Jerusalem because there is never stopped. Every corner calls for another corner is reached, each point of interest never becomes an end in itself, but needs to be placed in context. That is surely known. On foot, of course.

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Arriving in Jerusalem

Journey to the Holy Land / 1. Thoughts.

Again in the Holy Land, and again - is the sixth time we come, 'he confirmed the border police - the mystery burns. Will be attending the scriptural never ceases, it will be the collective imagination that links the two writings, Arabic and Hebrew, in perpetuity conflict. It will be like the mystery emerges from the depths of the folds of memory and thought. And the feelings s'aggrovigliano in extricate himself from the heart and mind, extricating himself from the soul alone. Where Job and Abraham, John the Baptist and Christ stand as darkness bright.

The charm of the land remains leaving the emergence of rock and veins the blood of stony banks.

walls of every texture, color and shape. Specialists on the Israelis. Olive trees and barbed wire, palm trees and walls.

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How to Preah Vihear

the border between Thailand and Cambodia armies of two states are fighting for a piece of land, around a Khmer temple. We are not far from the immense temple complex of Angkor. Visit to one of them, Bakong, similar to that contended (December 2009).

is located a bit 'set apart from all'Angkor all'Angkor Wat and Thom, east of the city of Siem Reap, Cambodia: Bakong is the oldest "temple mountain" of the entire Angkor complex, given the ninth century, when he ascended the throne Indravarman I. It is therefore a Hindu temple was originally dedicated to Shiva, which he wrote that the Lingam was deported on the spot in 881. I'm half past eight in the morning but is already a heat almost unbearable. It enters into a settlement for several kilometers along a frayed red dust and stone. The stilts, typical houses in the region, already at this time seem to cherish the rest of the people who do not know what to do. At the end of the road, is a votive relief, the so-called temple-mountain in five towers, along the lines dell'Angkor Wat itself. A rhythmic music but light, almost a dirge of bells and pieces of wood struck, come to my ears while walking through the bridge leading to the temple, which once certainly spanned a wide moat that surrounded the entire site. A young

monaco dress saffron forward, looks at me, smiles at me, play with my my physical appearance and clothing. It seems more interested in my pace my camera equipment. Thank goodness. I climb the five steps of the pyramid, I try to understand why the elephants at the head of each terrace qausi remained intact, while the rest of the temple seems to have suffered irreparable damage of time. The Monaco I explained the mystery: the stone is different, coming from far away, from the mountains thai, the then Khmer. I went down, I follow the river from the top of the music becomes more precise, more marked, more human. And I find myself at the foot of the pyramid, in a tent where he is carrying a Buddhist ceremony, which brings together over three hundred monks, a nun in white, shaved, moving in their white tunics and wrinkled. We leave the picture. One of them approached me, took my hand with his, old and lean. Takes me to a kind of human lump, which I understand to be a dozen women busy to cook something, the smell is inviting. It takes a barbecue skewer and a hands it to me as if I wanted to feed to attain nirvana. The meat is nice, sweet and spicy. Snake.

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71. Nothing special

Master Yoshimoto never tired of explaining that self-realization did not come but miraculously was also the result of discipline, commitment and accountability. For a young bored
who asked what was the meaning of life answered:
"What did you do today?"
"I do not know, nothing special ..."
"So you answered your own question." Yoshimoto
hoped for an epiphany. The young man went instead to do nothing special.

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The Citadel of Cairo


that dominates the city, where the army has moved from where we hope for a change. Visit of 2005.

To try to understand, I get to the Citadel, including school groups visiting the most significant areas of the city faithful and devoted to the mosque of Mohammed Ali rose to testify that God is one, although the city is manifold. Tourists? There are despite the bombs against them, but seem to decrease, rather than crushed or dispersed and scattered by the majesty of the place. Here is from Cairo, wrapped in the pall of smog and foul-smelling waste fumes mephitic a fleet of the most dilapidated in the world. In the foreground two beautiful mosques of Sultan Hassan and that of ar-Rifai, where the remains of the last Shah of Iran, Reza Palha. Here is the Cairo property but mobile, because even on the roofs of new stems dotted round the god cathode life teems, the terraces also seem to accommodate the dance without rhythm and without any apparent sense of the chaos of civilization. I understand from up here that democracy is compatible with these lands and these people is not and will not be that of Montesquier and Moro and Tocqueville, but perhaps a more authoritarian, with more strength and determination, some enlightened, and respectful of human rights, but perhaps more with less, or rather with the simplest of our laws. Maybe even with the law Koran interpreted with clemency and mercy, shari'a revisited. Who knows.

Why, I say, there is chaos, and not very impressive in size manageable by the resources of men of power. But at the same time, from that chaos always manages to get out, and not so disappointed. And not so destroyed. And not so upset. Living in chaos, however, creates unexpected antibodies able to reorder the psyche and soul. Maybe it will touch a biologist to study this phenomenon, rather than a sociologist.

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Sidi Bou Said, where he lived Ben Ali


A fabulous presidential palace was built by the deposed President Ben Ali near the town of Tunisia. Visit of 2005.

Sidi Bou Said. Or when a village, although having a clear tourism destination at the same time expresses the vocation of a people and a country.

Sidi Bou Saïd, a few miles north of Carthage, is the sea and the sky is. The land? The hides in its belly, as he can. There is the blue of the sea, there is the sky and the doors, windows, railings, frames, benches, streetlights, the dustbins, canopies, cover page, stalls ... Sometimes even the tiles and sidewalks. There is the blue, especially the balconies covered with wood which protected - and protect - the Tunisian and Arab women from prying eyes. Blue camouflage, now the sky, now the sea, depending on the time and the inclination solar.

It's no accident that the country will attract Tunisian artists - and more - on this hill that slopes toward the Gulf of Carthage. Paul Klee, a name for all of these lands to the blue one who knew how to associate any other color, as if the white - the lack of color - which only emphasizes magnifies and illuminates the blue, would explode inside its tone implied nothing that is everything. It is with surprise that suddenly the blue multiplies and fragments into a thousand blue, each different, intense or soft, possible or impossible, bold or collected.

the country culminating in the minaret of the small mausoleum dedicated just to Sidi Bou Said. But at his feet is the Café des Nattes placid, a meeting place for artists of yesterday and today, where we sipped the famous mint tea with pine nuts floating mocking and laughing in small glasses. A break from the balustrades on the terraces of course blue wooden, writing some notes on tables also suspended between sky and blue sea, is one of those experiences of peace in the exaltation of the senses very difficult to forget.

You reach the shore of the sea with a long paved climb that sometimes, here and there, with no apparent logic, seems to change in light and gentle stairway, together with left and right by the blue-white quilted Housing cured, just stained some bouganviller or tuft of green or orange juice a lemon tree. Perhaps it is a staircase, but the imitation of the ripples of the sea, or just fluff of clouds that veil the sky. Sidi Bou Saïd

, Islam made blue green gold by the sun. That is absolutely no air of violence. The moderation of the lack of moderation. This is what you enjoy as evidence in the latest offshoot of the country occupied by a lovely bar with terrace, the Café Sidi Chabanne, overlooking the bay and the beautiful villas of the seaside town. Lovely bar, delicious coffee tables white and blue, lovely sun in November. Unrestrained beauty of the place, with its stepped terraces that seem to infinity of blue. Islamic? Divine.

Then the slope to the harbor, a long stone stairway victim of the usual neglect of the South. It would be enough just to keep it clean, almost charming. But then I discover that the descent is the land, which is also exasperated: red, boldly red and green, soft green as the agaves that cover it. Sidi Bou Saïd hid the red earth.

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70. The right thing

presented himself as a pilgrim to a Zen master: "I come here so that you explain to me what is the right thing to do to give meaning to my life. I listened to the advice of many people and, as I think about it and think back, I can not understand what this thing right. "
"You must not do anything but to free your mind of these thoughts. When you have exceeded the concepts of right and wrong with your dilemma vanish"
The pilgrim, who was fascinated by the words of the master, he stopped to sleep in the monastery.
The next day it started again, after thinking all night, he decided that staying there was not the right thing to do.

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Carthage, where chaos now reigns


The delicate political situation in Tunisia has had as one of its main centers of fighting the old city of Carthage, near the palace of deposed President Ben Ali. Visit of 2005.

I've seen so many old buildings around the world. Not all really interesting, not all height of the evoked memory. I fear that Carthage was a victim of the curse of the looting and cement. I fear that the neglect had the better of the rightness of the old, on his great modesty. And who knows if I will be able to capture that feeling that will never die.

brooded on these questions taxis darting in the thin strip of land that cuts off the saltwater lagoon of Tunis. The driver runs like a madman at the wheel of his VW with 400,000 km, I still wonder how you do not fall apart in the middle of the road, many are the creaks and noises affecting it.

Carthage, Carthago old, being announced with the steeples and domes of the Catholic cathedral dedicated to Saint-Louis, an example not to follow architecture at the same time wants to be colonial, Gothic and Romanesque architecture. You can imagine ... The museum stretches lazy and acquitted at his feet, full of artifacts Phoenician, Punic, Greek and Roman. The mosaics that captures and preserves are not just, make reference to ancient times of glory. The Phoenician pottery is with the grace and the boldness of accumulated millennia. A couple of skeletons that tell you Punic compounds show almost enough to inspire affection. That's it. Leaving the museum, the space opens up a snapshot of marine and archaeological: columns, capitals and pediments and sea. Nothing more. The cement business and are hidden from the heights.

It's all right. And then I see that Augustine admonishes and encourages Christians threatened by so many heresies of the time. I see Hannibal admonishes and encourages his troops ready to campaign craziest thing you could imagine. I see Hadrian, the emperor, who admonishes and encourages its fans using his eloquence and his deep vision.

The amphitheater - three thousand spectators - is marred by the metal structures that make summer arena still in use. Moreover, it rests on a minaret cheap. At Ephesus is the most complete, most picturesque Taormina, Pompeii's oldest ... But here, again, I can imagine in the company of Adrian, Annibale, Agostino. And the magic is reborn, and this certainly s'oblia in a more glorious past.

Some Roman villa, a few broken column, s'indovina an area that once was a circus up. Little else. And a flight of steps, they say, did ascend to the Temple of Apollo in Roman memory. The staircase is now reduced to little more than a steep grassy slope. It matters little, Carthage is now in my memory, and we have left.

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Forio and the sea and something else


A stroll in one of the prettiest towns on the island of Ischia, in the passage of years between 2010 and 2011.

The right of the Neapolitan urban disorder - I would say a vocation rather than a conviction - even on the island of Ischia operates at full capacity. Indeed, they say that these aprti up area is 80 percent in one way or another abusive. Incredible figures that telling a person in the world "rather than a mass escape attempt, plus a dasein that un'imbrogliatina corrupt. People have to live. Yet in this chaos (relative, because in reality you live on the island very well) and emerging Bourbon Baroque jewels adorning the town and its inhabitants. Hopping from one to another - Covatta Palace, Palace Biondi, Queens House, Tower Street Mansion - not as a tarantolato but as a pilgrim who comes to the nobility, as a nomad of the transient human beauty.

I only stop at the edge of, on the promontory occupied - it seems to preserve the beautiful location - a precious church, absolutely marina, I would say rich quintessential Mediterranean. Santa Maria del Soccorso has its own history is not insignificant, and an endless series of legends: old Augustinian convent of the fourteenth century, they say that it was built because, during one of the most violent storms that the Neapolitan coast had ever known, perhaps in the thirteenth century, there emerged a crucifix that lags behind the rocks of the cape without wanting to know more to be reabsorbed by the undertow, or gale, or storm surges.

The tiles chipped and stocks washed out, nevertheless shine on the whitewashed walls, as wakes the god of light, which on Earth is forced to sign compromise color cosmetics and circumlocutions to suggest the idea of \u200b\u200blight, which then it is beauty itself. Nothing will shine if the intense blue of the sky, I would say the ground, not defining the boundaries of human mastery over the divine, or perhaps more-than-human-human. Surrounding the church steps and affection - a basilica style unknown and mysterious, "the main facade there are other examples," wrote the Saved, "official biographer" of the island - I realize that water paves the horizon school education and the earth. Rippling of the north wind, sun cream, sparkling with foam, the other half of the world - the part changing - s'atteggia a nectar of the gods, or rather to amniotic warmth, or a carpet of light and concise thoughts. Suomi Forio and the sea, and something else.