Savigliano
Savigliano: in the slight intoxication caused by two glasses of wine over lunch, that name suddenly rebounded from the road sign into my mind and confusedly conjured up the situation that a friend had lived so painfully before the summer. He'd been jilted by his girlfriend, whose place of origin was precisely this anonymous town, now sleeping under a layer of chilly autumn haze. The humidity in the air filtered the sunrays so that they didn’t manage to warm up the ploughed earth turned over in rough clods.
My friend had come all the way to see her here, just to find himself confronted with a refusal that she had already tried to bring home to him, if only he hadn't for unconscious reasons persistently turned a deaf ear. He had neglected all half-worded hints from her and eventually come to bear the brunt of bitter humiliation stemming from a much more stinging rejection at point-blank range. But the affront to his own self was nothing compared to the insecurity that he sunk into, for this was yet another direct blow questioning his ability to establish lasting and balanced relationships with the other sex.
After I parted ways with Kim, Jess, Ines and I took the bus to Ioannina, which involved crossing the arm of sea over which they are building a new gigantic bridge. Of course it is not finished yet, or else it would be ready too soon for the Olympics next summer! But someone said they are building the roadway at the rate of 60 cm a day, so the odds are good they can make it, as happens with the underground from the Airport where only the tracks are missing, but they are not so terribly important, are they?