Some Christmas tales: ode to the people I know and I like.
And, by the way, I realized I might have a slightly alcohol problem.

Bassano remembers me. And I drink grappa with Alessia. Liver screams

Bassano del Grappa is to the spirit called Grappa what Lynchburg Tennessee is for the whisky called Jack Daniels. People are proud of it, old people still drink it and young people are more than happy to buy it and drink by the great old bridge.

Destroyed in the first world war, rebuilt, destroyed again in the WWII, rebuilt again: this is what I call love for alcohol. People on the other side of the bridge didn't give a crap if the Austrians or the Germans destroyed the bridge. They wanted the grappa and they rebuilt it. Twice. How about that?

Grappa is a weird alcohol. They drink it only in the north Italy, usually by old people, but everyone I know enjoys a sip of the "too strong to be real" liquid. Italians exported wine, limoncello, sambuca and other nice drinks but grappa is just too strong and difficult to be exported properly.

And I like Bassano del Grappa. It's a beautiful town in the North East. And they recognize me there.
I used to spend so much time over here maybe 6-7 years ago, but they remember my face. I met more people who welcomed me in their town thanks to nice (well, almost) memories of a past glory than in my home town. And driving around with Alessia and her old 500 was incredibly great.

They know if you're not from the place. They are all cousins. If you're not part of the few families around, it means that you're from outside. Ok, it sounds a bit too much like the Appalachians (hillbillies) but at least they don't do incestuous things. I hope.

With Michela, Alessia's lovely and single friend (because I know some of you need a girl) I spent a day eating and drinking and talking about the usual things that grappa makes you talk: sex, Japanese anime, dreams about sex, old memories from old times and previous sex experiences. Great fun.
You can always learn a lot from two girls talking about sex (I always do, and I have a good memory).

I left Alessia's house the next morning for another trip back, to spend my last two days in my home (hole) town.

For some reason, on my way back, I slept on the train with some Chopin music in my ears. Chopin, nice polish chap, you know?

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