other bits of my travel

Marco. When he discovered that i was from Milan he almost screamed in delight, and he started to tell us about his life in his clownesque, hardly understandable Italian. We were in a pitoresque and deserted restaurant all made of woods at the edge of the cloud-forest, with an enormous window along the whole wall, showing the valley below us. We ended up there by chance, trying to sqeeze some sense out of an unfortunate day. The waiter was so bored and lonley and our visit was the best thing that could happen to him. He offered us tea. And showed us a nice path in the forest. When it started raining he came out to look for us with the umbrellas, and when we came back he welcomed us with warm towels and drinks. He told us about his italian origins and of his dreams of opening a museum of Leonardo da Vinci. While we were talking the fog started to rise and we understood why it's called "cloud forest". Within one hour we could see only white out of the window. He put on music for us and he shared a very precious ham that a friend of his sent him from Spain. He was showing us all his treasures, including one thing that I truly adore and that I can't find in this side of the world. A real, green and scented basil plant.

Butterflies. We were cycling fast on the red hilly road, the lake on the right, the volcano on the left. Some puddles were scattered along the way, and at the edge of each of them there were dozens of butterflies, drinking. And every time I cycled across one of the puddles, they would all start flying, all together, all around me, stretching their beautiful colours before my eyes.

Dinner. At Rita's party a young Italian diplomat offered us a precious bottle of real Chianti wine that he had sent directly from Tuscany. And an equally young Mexican who works in FAO brought a delicious delicacy from his country. The Nigerian from the International Organisation of Migrations started a debate on the role of the UN in development, and the Rita's boyfriend from Somalia added some political remarks, that I fully supported and defended against the Nigerian's skepticism. There I was, in a random country in the world with lots of fascinating people from random countries in the world, eating their food and chit-chatting world politics. I was excited and proud. I made it. It was like living a dream. But unexpectedly a little voice in a corner of my mind started to ask. Would this lifestyle make me happy forever? Living in this elitist, close, permanently-detached-from-the-country-they-live-in community, being a perpetual outsider, talking about the "locals". Locals. When I heard this word for the first time in my life I felt disgust for this whole international community world.