This has been the longest driving day up to now, but rich in landscape for us. Here our memories, without need to exchange a single word, go to our recent past memories: Trieste and Friuli.
If anybody from Trieste could be able to drive from New York, to Jersey City, to Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Chicago, strongly attracted by the sound of the music that transpires from every corner of this wonderful land, the other part of this same place, surely not missed by the real Friulano, would hostilely emerge to the senses of the Triestino: going west an infinite, huge, incommensurable “Furlania” emerges, assuming proportions that not even the worst nightmare of a Triestino, nor the best fantastically creative moment of Rado Strukelji could describe. The endless fields of corn at different stages of ripeness, promising millions of tons of polenta are more than enough to suffocate in an unmanageable anaphylactic choc even the strongest of the Imperial Town citizens.
For this main reason we decided to dedicate this day to all our friends from our old city, who will never be able to complete a visit like the one we are half way through now. It will be our duty to report in detail, with images and feelings to the community we left, still allergic to so much green and abundance of still water.