Here's a literary joke, kindly published in blog Written Paper Rossana Massa, in the review of stories for the summer.
When the clock begins to glow continuously and ears are full of intergalactic sounds you know three things.
The first is that six in the morning.
The second, being just six in the morning, you're on vacation and you should sleep at least until the hour of meeting beautiful girls on the beach. Moreover, the quick glance that the downward confirms for you that you had a tan is slowly but surely getting closer to that corpse-like color that is hidden from the strap of the pants.
The third thing that attracts your attention is the way you look at those miserable hiking boots, which you back to the reality of the dawn and the fact that you're not at sea and there are even girls in the program, but a notorious outing.
Whether it is a notorious fact.
feet hurt already paving the road of the village while preparing to rendes vouz you when you realize that in the silence you hear noises mattuttino indecent laughter and asinine. In front of the little bar of alpine adventure of your comrades, that would be good to define " trek to the bread and salami , eat breakfast with bread and sausage and a half glass of white wine, although, in truth, it seems that is more than half a glass as two-thirds are already drunk before you leave.
Across the street other unfortunate early, certainly foreigners. Designer boots, shoes, clothing, water bottles. Have breakfast with snacks and other foodstuffs with a high energy content. They circulate chocolate bars, we have the cream.
They are not ours and it shows. They are perfect enough to look young marmots. Everybody with his hat and shorts.
Of our clothes there is no equal, is a competition to see who is dressed worse. There the soldiers with camouflage pants, the Forest transplanted with jeans, and nike straw hat, dressed as the local peasants with boots with holes and other guys dressed in a undefined. One shirt has a feast day, a pair of trousers from goalkeeper blacks and colored socks. The backpack is given to items inside the gas station where you can put in perfect order plates and forks.
While others quietly observe the map on our part is crap shoot as I could (usually starting with the stories of naja) and lively discussions on "packed lunch".
E 'need to know that while the trekker professionals the meal is an intermediate step or at least secondary to the primary objective, namely to reach the top in the shortest possible time, for hikers villagers eat is a need primary and the true purpose of the whole ascent, however long and hard.
Our alter-ego, in the beautiful colorful backpacks, will surely have canned biscuits and maybe even freeze-dried food with a nice bottle of water or minerals.
But we caught in the backpacks in the back of the attic and in many cases date back to the grandfather at the time of the unification of Italy, brought a whole lamb done already in pieces, salt and pepper, sausages indecent amount, and a dozen loaves of the diameter of a greek hoplite shield. The weight is distributed evenly among the various members of the expedition, except one. The man leading the group and on which rests the responsibility for the entire day: the stoker. That is the one who leads the grid and tools for turn on the grill and cook. Fortunato ...
E 'Needless to say, what they are filled with bottles and bottles.
Among insults in dialect, profanity, and collegiate laughter several (including the sneers trekker forests), we go.
the country down into the valley, cross a marshy plain, and then follow the path that climbs the mountain side. You have to start climbing that already smadonni through the mud in your shoes.
Along the way languages \u200b\u200bare not silent, but continue their ongoing work. Only one group member does not speak.
And 'dozers (define leadership seems to me too): the most emblematic character.
E 'greater knowledge of the places and through scrub and woodland with points of reference that has made its own during the long years. Leads the other with disdain, a look that seems to say: " first come, first round . Even his clothing consolidates its position as a reference. A red polyester jumpsuit with under a t-shirt sponsored by a known local construction company and the baseball cap turned backward. At the foot of the Superga canvas of the seventies with socks courts: the snakes when they see it are party to arrive.
Former municipal guard, and then use a very little dialogue, but silent man is trying to achieve a semblance to socialize. At each stop, you approach a different company, making him the same question: "So how do you live in your city?". Do not laugh, it barks, the effort does not mark his face ever, undaunted, grim, impassive. Clint Eastwood has compared a mime.
decides when to stop without saying a word. We respectfully when he does not stop him, when he drinks he drinks.
In the chaos of the stories, shows the oppressive smoke a cigar old and the annoying noise of a spring clip that tinkles on the aluminum bottle.
when landing on the head and rivers already bursting tendency of local wine vinegar are almost useless, you're already gone. The pods burst indecently and we roll on the deck strictly wool chess as children of twelve years.
What if they can see, it is worth it.
Violate the summer heat, the laziness of the holiday and be close together.
Blessed (and sleeping) in the post-meal, popping over the ridge trekkers professionals met in the morning. Rose to another street. The patented guide with lots of badges and patents from the Great Mogul to the other shows the different peaks that we know of at least twenty years, then turns around and sees us. From a distance there is a sign with his hand and a smile.
Our forerunner, even in the dark face drunk, looks at him, stood up leaning against the trunk of a pine tree and raises his glass suppressing a burp.
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