travelling back to EU

The second train from New Haven to Penn Station is about 6 or 7 cars, again quite comfortable and on time. On my laptop I watch Sokurov’s Moscow Elegy, I have never seen anything by this Russian director, I am somewhat suspicious of his fame to by mystical. I am struck by the images of Tarkosvsky in Italy that open the movie. I did not know it was a documentary. It is a paradoxical way to make my way back to Tuscany. From my backpack, I take out my three tomatoes and some pecocrino romano and have an early lunch as I watch Tonino Guerra conversing with Tarskovski. The sight of New York in the background is quite moving. As I get off, in a dustbin, I leave the knife I have been using for lunches since I got in the US. As I arrive early at the airport, it is still raining, I have a last American coffee at the Tuscany Coffee, the one nearest to the Lufthansa check in area. On all the tv screen they are showing the view from the elicopter of the place in Los Angeles where the private and family service for Michael Jackson is being held. After I check in it is instead the procession of black limousines that transports the corpse and the vips to the staples center. The commentator on CNN are amazed by the fact that the freeways have been closed for this very special convoy. The obvious comparison goes to the funerals of Elvis Presley. As I am about to board the young daughter of Michael Jackson, Paris, makes her very brief and moving speech, is she the only person with true feelings in that crowd?
As I board on the plane the speakers welcome us in German: even if I do not speak the language, I like the sound of it, and also, for reasons unclear to me, its sounds is familiar, and somehow tells me ‘welcome back home’. That’s however is the question, as an Italian song goes, la casa dov’é? At the Frankfurt airport, it is raining, I cannot resist using euros for the first time again for a cappuccino which, I know it now, stands midway between the Italian and the American ones.
As the small plane reaches the mountains, the clouds disappear, the sun is shining on the alpine lakes, some haze on the Padan Plain. I can already feel the hot July Italian sun preparing to hit me badly. Instead, south of the Po river, clouds reappear and when I land in Florence, it is warm, but it is under thirty degrees celsius, that is mild to be July.

on the way to JFK

At 6 45 in the morning I am all ready and waiting for the taxi that will take me to Hartoford Union Station. Here I am, a week ago, as I traveled cross country, I had a car full of stuff, finally I managed to reduce everything to the original volume with which I had landed 6 months ago. It is impressive.
Hartford is one of the poorest cities in the US, it would be difficult to guess it from the skyscrapers that populate the downtown area. The Amtrak train station, that sits above the bus station from where I took the bus to Boston just few days ago. The place is in decay, there is only one track serving running on wooden laid track. Once this was a three platforms train station with en extra fourth track running on the outside. Now the main platform is not used and only what once was platform 2 is the only one where trains runs. As it should in a moment like this, it rains, lightly. One of the reason I chose to take the train on my way to the airport was also to try the Amtrak train, on my way up, in January I had run on Metro North, Amtrak is the national company that runs across country. When the two wagons plus the locomotive approach, I feel like sadness, this is after all the line that runs from New York to Boston, and all that is running is a couple of wagons. Nothing compared to what runs on the highways. Inside seats are equipped with sockets and you can comfortably run you laptop on the fold up table. No wireless though.

4th of July in Boston, the irish pub story

The craziest thing about the day was one of the pub we stopped by with my friend T. We enter this Irish pub, 10 people in it, a sad family at one table, few men at the counter and a woman with a Red Sox bluse, nobody says a word, nobody gives us a look, the bartender does not welcome us. It is a local pub. Irish gig music is playing. If Dante's limbo in modern time can be anything, it is something similar to this, spend the eternity in an Irish pub populated by silent souls staring in the void and back to their drink. And Gaelic music. An old poster of JFK is hanging with under it a black and white photo of the JFK aircraft carrier. A Budweiser map of Ireland. a Samuel Adams old clock. a sign saying 'we proudly serve Guinness'.
After 10 minutes, however, as I am watching the dark pattern of the red bricks and mortars that compose the wall near our table, a realization takes forms in my head: this is the real thing, IRA and Sinn Fein, there are no signs but the walls still smell of them, these people are the orphans of "the cause". Who knows how many meeting, how much money has been raised on Sundays afternoons? Few minutes afterwards the confirm comes from the music, political ballads from the 1920s on Ireland and IRA come through the modern digital system. We remain for a couple of hours, paying drinks to the local, Jameson, the republican whisky of course. We play Irish songs by the Pogues, and some old ballads. The other damned souls appreciate and they rescue for us some comments and stories about being 'republican', the pub has been here throughout the 20th century and the fathers of this people dwelt here, some even tell the story of visits to Ireland in the 1970s and 1980s, stories of family, awful food, and religion that possess a powerful scent, coming from another century.

4th of July morning, from the bus

My day starts at 830 with a taxi ride from farmington to Hartford Union station, with a Pakistani driver who does not bucle the belt. He has been in the US for 20 years he tells me, but he complains: no matter how much money you make, no social life. I ask if he has tried to go back to his country, two times, he answers, but with no success.

So this is my first time on a bus in the US, at the very end of my trip. The ride from Hartford to Boston on the Greyhound bus, costs 32$. If you buy the ticket online it would be 22, but then you have to come and pick it up one hour before depart, a clear way to discourage online ticketing. If you buy from the Peter Pan Buses web site, the african american lady at the counter explains me, you can print the ticket yourself, but they are not very strict with the greyhound rules either.... This is a tip for everybody travelling by bus in the US.

The 9 15 Boston bound bus (they do not call them coaches on this side of the atlantic) is a Peter Pan bus, evidently the two companies Peter Pan and Greyhound have now joined forces. A normal bus with 52 seats, a bathroom, and a black dust bag in the front as common bin. We are about 20 25 people on board, difficult to see who they might be, normal people, of different ages, races etc. The driver welcomes us onboard through the speakers and reminds us that smoking and alcohol are federally prohibited on buses, with the accent posed on the federal. Restrain from the use of cellphone as a courtesy to your fellow traveller etc, and there is free wireless on the bus. Thus I am writing this very note from my seat at the front. I have been to Boston less than a week ago but I was too tired, I hope today is going to be better. I have found a guide book, not very good, but informative. Now I remember a movie, a bad romantic comedy (I am not good judge of romantic comedies, I do not watch them) Everybody wants to be Italian, which is set in the north end district of Boston, the one traditionally lived by Italians immigrants. Really I do not know much else. It means that I will learn a lot today.

Car finale...con brio

so, after the cross country car adventure one way and back, I get the car insurance adventure. Complete experience, till the end.
On monday evening the accident, the phone calls. Tuesday afternoon the appraisal guy that works for the insurance company of the car that hit me comes round to have a look at the car. He has italian origin, from Puglia. He explains me that he is just collecting data and pictures and that he will do an estimate when back to his office. Subsequentely I drive the car to a car body shop, one that has been recommended by one of the librarians. He looks at the car and predicts what may happens. The car is too damaged for a repair. Even if it is just the body it is not worth repairing it. The insurance is going to declare it a total loss and "total it". That is it is going to give me money and substantially buy the car from me. This is the best solution, as I will not have to find a buyer for the repaired car.
The following day nothing happened, they let me in a frying pan of preoccupations the entire day, will this be solved in time? will I need to reschedule my flight? At the end of the day I called the insurance, the profecy was fulfilled, it is a total loss and we are going to buy the car from you.
At this point I could start to relax, I would not need to sell it, time and how much? are now my concerns.
Today again was a day of waiting, waiting for receiving the phone call that would tell me the final word, how much and when. In the end, around 3 30 I received the call, they are going to give me 4000 $ and the check is going to be there by tomorrow.
I will need to provide them with the title of ownership duly completed. The plate need to be taken off and sent back to the DMV by post ( one could actually just take them there, however it is closed from thursday to the tuesday for Independence Day).
The incident was on monday afternoon, we have a solution by wednesday, and a check by friday, this is an incredible efficiency for a insurance to give money away.
Celebrate the 4th of july.
My last question to the appraisal guy in our last conversation was, what will happen to the car? The car, he answered, will be sold at an auction, and will be bought either by a salvage yard who will break it down for parts, or will be bought by a rebuilder who will repair and try to sell it.