All the people I meet asks me the same ... " who? " "The Friuli? And that's where it is?" . One such robot, long almost always the same face rhyme with patience and good (not always): "It is a region in northeastern Italy, bordering Austria and Slovenia" . Our correspondent then brandished a gesture of astonishment, twisting the corners of the mouth down and raising his eyebrows up, while nodding in a slight tilting movement and sometimes even longer a "Look at you ... ." However, still curious, there is room for one more question, delving into the reasons for the trip: "and why did you go there?" "That you do there?" . Then with the same patience as before, a long back all the rhyme: belonging to an association that's great grandfather was originally from that region, blah, blah, blah ... While having always weighs the same, it is also comforting to see people are interested in our story, pay attention and some even come to feel jealousy, which unfortunately a comforts him, makes him feel even more roughly than it already is. Others do not hide it and show it openly with epithets such as " That asshole! " or the more chaste " that ass!" . And if it's true that at this age, have the opportunity to travel around Europe with a group of people like us (young, beautiful and Argentina) is a fortune. I particularly never heard my grandfather not to mention the word Friuli, which makes sense if we consider that he was born in Roland, but still helped me to reconnect with family origins and experience a beautiful and interesting region. At times it was difficult to focus on museums and history classes, and the kids waited for the night to visit the legendary "Tony's Bar, where almost every night was missed. There Laurita, the owner, (we learned that Tony had died about a month would be) learned how to prepare the "fernando" tailored to the Argentines, so that in a couple of nights over the provision of Branca, such was the Cordoba expedition thirst (and not just of them ...). And where weakens the Branca was the "Braulio", which was typical of the area, but an herbal liqueur similar to that given in color and appearance, but of dubious origin. He was asked to impersonate at that fateful moment. As Tony met people from all over type and size, perhaps the most fun of the trip: From the first night Boris shy of few words but quick hands, to Fabiano, the rustic peasant rock that marked our hearts with her version of "Rasta Furlan" "My Flag" Sumo in a glass of Cabernet, which Vinazzi friend. I do not want to forget either of Gigi and Chipy, Monica "the difficult" Uncle Charly, Simina and attractive Slavic, Beetlejuice, Thai striker and Hardy "foosball."
In my effort to rediscover my roots, it was a must the people of my great-grandfather, where, however, I found the night without blankets and without transport, having lost the last bondi a Finisterre Udine forgiveness. After a phone call, a raid on a bookstore, a barbershop and bar in town, I gave the last resort: to hitchhike. Poster asked, I was generously granted and left. Romanian Pentecostal an angel with a car too good for an immigrant with 2 children in the back seat took pity on my soul and I returned to civilization. His name was Cristina, and to top it blessed me, make me feel like crap, as I appreciated ... Then the wind
Ryanair cheap deposited on land me where I changed the generous Belgian Friulian wine by the Trappist beer, a very cultural trip as you can see ...
There I received the typical climate Belgian wind, cold, rain, banners flying, machines that you eat euros, impossible to make telephone codes and accordions with nostalgic melodies and very sad. A landscape is not very encouraging. Until I get to the bar and I get my contact "Rameses." It's 3 pm on a Sunday and with fellow Ferris makes 10 in the morning that they are sucking. You take the glass and discovered that indeed the people are friendly, the rooms are deceptively spacious and tidy again, the music sounds even better and one to think you can talk to local flamenco. Belgium is a strange country, full of blondes and blondes on bikes, they drink beer any time and eat sausage, prepare the chocolate richest land and are hospitable to strangers, really do not understand why someone would want to go there ... would have to be crazy ...
The journey took me back to Italy and Rome not only me reacquainted with the group, but also with the Prince of Angola, who strangely spoke in English, such were his talents as a polyglot. Ofendidísimo was because the Vatican's Swiss Guards will not credit the documentation that led to his audience with Ratzinger. Told us about his journey along and how disappointing it would be for people to know that the pope ignored his message of peace. He was a man in search of lighting ... concerned, no doubt, to the powerful fixture of the train terminal in Rome ... We try to show him the way and know that we Argentines, were dismissed with a "To victory!" We were thinking we had witnessed a miracle: the drought we had manged no silver in no time ...
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