April 03, 2005
Return Thoughts
Over are the holidays and the days of sweet fooling around and excellent home-made meals (but fooling around becomes boring after a while, and plenty of food adds to my girth), and now I settled again in the British land. The trip did not go too bad, but a girl shouting in her chellphone on the coach from Stansted to central London - and it was past midnight, on a 3/4 empty bus - made me snap and I told her to finally shut the fuck up. Rude, yes, but it was effective too. Once at home, I looked into my suitcase and found that a jar of vegetable in oil opened during the trip and spilled oil around. Fortunately, the damage was contained and no items were really ruined. But it's one of those things that do not help to achieve a good mood.
However, last night the flight controllers set my plane on an unusual route: from Pisa, following the coast of Italy and France of to somewhere like Marseille, then overflying France, the Channel, Brighton and London, while already descending towards Stansted.
London from the air, on a clear night, is an awesome sight: her lights shine from kilometers away, and her major roads glow orange like the blood vessels of a gigantic organism that grew during the centuries eating and incorporating everything on its path.
London is vast, huge, street upon street, block upon block of houses, millions of people from anywhere in the world. It has the best and the worst of humanity, the best and the worst of "diversity", all on display for even not-so-acute observers. From the window of the 737-800, I could see the big picture, and even small details: the well-illuminated Tower Bridge in all its bulk of granite and British steel, and even street lights switching colour in the streets. And now it's where I live, in the belly of the monster, just another person in that enormous hive. I came from a tiny hamlet in the mountains of Italy, just a bunch of houses on a hillside where almost everyone is on first-name terms with each other. I wanted to see the world out there, and of what I see, part I like and part I dislike. I'm pretty sure I want to stay around for some more time, but the bond with my motherland cannot be rescinded.
However, last night the flight controllers set my plane on an unusual route: from Pisa, following the coast of Italy and France of to somewhere like Marseille, then overflying France, the Channel, Brighton and London, while already descending towards Stansted.
London from the air, on a clear night, is an awesome sight: her lights shine from kilometers away, and her major roads glow orange like the blood vessels of a gigantic organism that grew during the centuries eating and incorporating everything on its path.
London is vast, huge, street upon street, block upon block of houses, millions of people from anywhere in the world. It has the best and the worst of humanity, the best and the worst of "diversity", all on display for even not-so-acute observers. From the window of the 737-800, I could see the big picture, and even small details: the well-illuminated Tower Bridge in all its bulk of granite and British steel, and even street lights switching colour in the streets. And now it's where I live, in the belly of the monster, just another person in that enormous hive. I came from a tiny hamlet in the mountains of Italy, just a bunch of houses on a hillside where almost everyone is on first-name terms with each other. I wanted to see the world out there, and of what I see, part I like and part I dislike. I'm pretty sure I want to stay around for some more time, but the bond with my motherland cannot be rescinded.
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