Italiot life return to normal after 2 weeks in Holland is very problematic.
Not for capillary bike paths that take you everywhere, however, rather than protected by friendly drivers, while yesterday to do three miles to Milan, I risked my life four times.
Not for the delightful towns, neat, clean. For the perfect little houses all decorated with taste that seems c'abbiano the employee spectacularly square lights that the lampshade.
Not for the music festivals at each stage of the road where you will find hundreds of people of all ages busy to drink their beer and join that compares our teenagers look like wax statues.
not for the happy family of German cycling holiday, parents and three children each with its beautiful bags on the luggage rack.
Della serie: un'altra infanzia è possibile.
E non perché noi in quanto di ciclisti borsati venivamo regolarmente scambiati per tedeschi, e dalla seconda volta ho cominciato a dire che sì eravamo tedeschi, almeno non mi associavano al berlusca e amici dittatori vari, ma sto divagando.
For the first time I felt understood, understood. I felt at home.
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