The thing I miss is being able to go home, home. Being able to run the station in the middle of the night and take the first train to go away. There are already far away, and that train I've already got. What has changed? - You ask. So many things. But no one in particular. I do not feel freer. Not at all.
And now I continue to travel. Even on its own.
Traveling alone is a special experience. I said 'special' is not sad. Indeed, sometimes it's fun. You are there, at the airport, in the land anyone. Away from any legal jurisdiction. And there are many people with you, and even though nearly all have your own destiny.
Funny how the intersection of our lives will be a 2000-ton metal box with wings.
And so, on the morning of Jan. 21, for some unknown reason, Peter Cavallo is to wander in the huge waiting lounge of the airport of Paris.
the evening of the same day, for some unknown reason, through the sliding doors of the airport of Valen and take the underground train to the heart of the city.
There is barely time for a shower.
Gala dinner: three hundred people, great food but very small portions, path gras, paella Valenciana, waiters pour the wine you every time your glass is empty. And then a lot of fish. One of the most famous of the city, right under the huge structure that houses the aquarium in Valencia. A restaurant with glass walls and thousands of fish that will turn around. Certainly impressive. As the price on the other hand, which, fortunately for me, I can only guess what it was.
And here comes the first English drunk, sitting at the table with researchers around the world. A German who makes the easy irony policy of various nations, a Franciscan who speaks over ten languages, a Chinese who does not speak well either one ..
It 'started so my first experience of an international scientific conference: BIOSTEC 2010 - Valencia.
three days. Only three days. But three days really intense, full of events that followed one another without letting me breathe, packed like sardines in a can.
And I felt like a sardine, canned, packed in a stylish dress that I'm not accustomed to wearing, and that makes me look awkward and ridiculous. But it was the only shield, the only screen between me and them. Between me and an audience of hundreds of researchers, who listened to my words in a language that is not even mine.
And then the new city, the palaces huge / huge / gigantic / unreachable, architectural structures to Star Wars, a major contrast with the former Valencia. How far will you go to see it through?
But bulerias continues, and my evening is lost in a typical kitchen - family, paella indescribable, local wine, which helps your thoughts. Ingrid is a graduate student in French medieval history, speaks Italian as it was her first language, but I'll take it around because he does it with a English accent. Beautiful evening, once again I feel really at home *.
back to the hotel, but I'm not going to sleep. And then I get lost in the night life with a Romanian boy who shares the room with me. The last hours of the night run away like drops of tap water left to lose. He, the Romanian boy, speak English very well. I, however, I speak better "itagnolo" good Italian that I am not ashamed to pull off.
6 am. 6.30 on my phone, my timezone. My roommates are sleeping. I would like. But there is no time. They range in Alicante. You point the finger at Bergen.
* Just a clarification. I often say to feel at home, but when I'm really at my house I do not feel "at home". So my words are not assigned to a feature space, but try to associate this phrase to a state of mind: feeling understood, being at ease.
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