Il Diario di Tinton

{2009-12-27}   Bagni di Pisa

Xmas at Bagni di Pisa, a spa. I think its the first time i went to a spa. Great time, very relaxing. Was there with Olga, mum, dad and Cinzia.

The present opening session was much better than usual: we did one gift at a time, whoever got the gift was up to go get a new one from the pile and give it to somebody.

Did a scrub based on honey and brown sugar. Was very pleasant. The massage therapist from bulgaria, Natalie told me she doesn’t have sex anymor, masturbates rarely, doesn’t whatch much TV… Talked alot.

Olga tried some more things for the hip/leg pain, in addition to the thermal baths, saunas she jad an injevtion of ccortisone and tried muscle relaxants on the way back. Little relief.

On the way back we stopped at Anna Caravella’s place and had coffee, and she showed us her new stuff and style and we might get us her sink when she changed everything.

Posted by Wordmobi


{2009-05-27}   Auguri Debora e Maddi

Bigliettino Auguri Deobora e Maddi

Cor Loff

Cor Loff owns a nice little house in Broek in Waterland just outside Amsterdam. He has a little web site. That’s how my father found his place. He rents out rooms of his house. He actually has a separate building were he lives, so guests and hosts are not mixed.

Every morning his wife and a beautiful young Dutch girl prepare breakfast for us. It is many of us, actually. There is my 2 sisters, my 2 parents and me. Then there is my sister’s boyfriend Gianni, Francesca and her boyfriend who came in the second day. But on the first day, actually, also Karii showed up. She told us she was going to come, and eventually did. What an amazing thing. She stayed 2 nights, then left. We are not too sure yet what happened to her after she left. She was going to meet a good friend of hers who went to the airport without the passport. I wonder if they got together.

The stay was nice. A relatively high stress level, but that is normal in our family: between my older sister and her boyfriend there was some friction. Then she got sick, like as usual. She very often gets sick. When she travels with us, probably always (I don’t have enough data to support this thesis, but it certainly feels like it. As a matter of fact it somehow feels rare and strange when she is feeling fine).

My other sister has to decide what to do and were to go, because all the rest of us is too passive for her, and, according to her, we would probably end up doing something really boring (this is my interpretation, at least).

My mum and dad kind of tag along, my mum every once in a while complaining about the usual problems with my dad. My dad was usually in a good mood.

Gianni, well, Gianni is kind of new, and he was trying to adapt, trying to get used to the fact that he was in Holland and not in Italy anymore. He certainly was enjoying the stay. He was having a rough time with my sister, who was constantly making fun of his little blocks and personal problems. Not in bad faith, poor girl, she’s just like that. For instance, food: he is very picky with food. Well, he ended up in a family were members are not too picky with food. And that was good for him, since he seems to be in a phase of life where he likes to make changes. But every time he wouldn’t eat something, my sister would call him a “slave” according to my dad’s theory, which says that if you don’t like some food you are it’s slave, because it makes you do what it wants (you not to eat it), and it makes you feel uncomfortable. Well, then, since the theory is my dad’s and he always uses it with the nieces, when my sister brings it up, my dad can’t miss the opportunity to brag about being food slaves.

Karii met us the first day when we were walking around Edam, or a little town close to it. Very cold, short, rainy and cloudy days make looking around a challenge. She showed up without a jacket, because she was extremely warm from the trip over. A bad idea. She was freezing the whole day. But it was not until the next day that she started having some problems too: looking for a place to stay in Amsterdam for the end of the year seemed to be a challenge, especially alone, when somebody else is supposed to be there. So she went to the airport, stayed there 3 hours after the flight came in, trying to figure out why her friend was not on the plane. Then she came back at night, tears on her face, asking if she could stay an extra night at Cor’s place. We arranged for an extra bed, and the next day she left for real. It seemed she was a little disappointed about us when she left, but maybe it’s just my imagination.

Francesca and Morgan were great. Morgan is a nice guy. He really knows how to appreciate Francesca. He has gone through life and girls and has learned quite some things. I am pretty sure he did. I can see this from how he likes Francesca. I am really happy she found someone like that. It’s nice to live appreciated. But then they were always together and I couldn’t really talk to her, as I wished I could. My sister did. She simply forced it. She had things to say to her, so she just took her in the room, kicked people out that wanted to come in, and just did the catching up thing a little.

During the days it was fun. We would try to separate, and mum dad sister and her boyfriend separated in 2 groups, while Francesca Morgan my sister and me would stroll around coffee shops and enjoying Amsterdam in a little more mellow fashion. I mean, come on: the weather was horrible! You certainly had no urge to go anywhere, or to walk around! My older sister always took the public transport, to the point were her boyfriend got sick of her at some point, and wanted to just walk around and get a feel for the city, and they parted. Then at night we would meet up somewhere in the city and have dinner together.

New Year’s was pretty relaxing too. We had dinner in the city. We ate separate, and separately we went home and then had a little to drink and eat there and went to see the fireworks. You cans see Amsterdam from far away from Broek in Waterland. And you can see, since Holland is a big plane, all the fireworks popping up from the city, like little oil bubbles from a frying pan when it’s too hot.

Amsterdam 52°22’N

Then on the third of January I was left in the city with my sister. Mum, dad, sister and Gianni left for Italy. We had to take care of tickets to Brazil: since our return to Genova was part of the trip to Brazil, things got a little hairy. No problem, though. We straightened things out, then went home to bed. The next day, I slept in, and she took off to go meet a friend maybe and go to Germany to meet more friends. I went to a hostel, the famous “Flying Pig”, and left the next morning hitching a ride to Recklinghausen meeting up with Federico and Kai who were heading up to Copenhagen for a drum audition.

Before going home to bed, we did some Internet. My sister went home, I hit a coffee shop, a nice one, close to a bulldog on a canal. Met an American guy from a small town in Wisconsin around Madison. Curtis is his name. He was a military guy for 6 years. He was in a central Americana war, I think Nicaragua in the 80s. He was out there with bullets coming at him only 7 times in his life, he says. Only, I repeat in my head. He has fucked up knuckles from crawling really fast when at war. He narrated of how a usual fight goes: you get up, hike out to the site, stay out of trouble, follow orders, help friends, then hike back to town, get some drinks and some ladies. The problem appears when going out to the front to kill, all pumped, and then nothing happens, no way to discharge the energy. He narrated of how the superiors knew of this problem, and tried to make them jump and sing on their march back to the camp to avoid fights and other violent ways of discharging energy. He got a bullet that damaged his leg. Got that fixed and they didn’t give him enough rest. He basically just kept going for 6 years before finally getting out of it. When he got home, he said he didn’t do nothing for 1 year. Just nothing, just recovering from all the abuse he had to take. He expressed how he felt used, how it was not nice and that he disagrees with what America is doing now. It’s funny: it really appears as if there is no one who agrees.

The hostel was fabulous. It was easy to get a bed for €21. The place is a palace. Bar closes at 5am. I put my stuff away, had a spliff down stairs with some smart Jew, who beat me at chess in a flinch (I was so stoned I couldn’t really play. Sober I think it would have been a more interesting match, but I still would have lost. It was funny. He played chess with another dude before me, who after 4-5 moves gave up. Just couldn’t take the pressure, maybe. I took this as a challenge: winning didn’t matter. I knew I would have lost. I probably would have had I played against the wall. But I just didn’t agree with the dude that just gave up because he couldn’t keep up). He was a smart dude, no questions asked, I mean he is a Jew, right? But he was showing it off, you know? He had that bored look that is typical of kings and princes when all normal life for them is too boring. Maybe he was showing off with chess too: I am so good I can beat you no problem at chess also stoned. And he did. He always had me under control, he let me take back the typical queen suicide move, but he was too stoned to plan for a nice attack. He was just sitting there waiting for a hole to open. I went to bed after this. It was like 22:30.

I woke up at 3:00 not tired any more. Instead of turning around in bed, I though it would be better if I just went downstairs at the bar. So i did. Had a beer and a spliff and sat by the pool table. A young lady came in, with the pool players, and sat next to me. Her name is Erin. She saw Bob Dylan in New Orleans. I asked her if it was a good performance, and she said that it depends with Dylan if it’s a hit or a miss, but in a big arena it is usually great. Then there was this New Zealand guy who kept on trying to communicate with us, but we had some serious communication problems with him. Besides we were trying to talk with each other, not with him. He told me that New Zealand is very conservative, as far as drugs go. She told me to visit the little mermaid in Copenhagen, which I have. And then she told me what she thinks is the best fucking beach in Mexico: Zipolete, a little beach by Puerto Escondido (1.5h East). I wrote my contact info on her notebook. She added a note to it, so I wouldn’t go forgotten. Not many names had a note in her booklet. It felt good. The note said something about me having a note-pad as well. Maybe I should have taken her address as well. I wonder. just to get her behind the spam wall…. I go to the pisser, and when I come pack, Mr. New Zealand is now sitting next to her, totally jealous of me, and she can’t take him any more and goes to bed. I, instead, go to Germany.

Copenhagen 55°40’N

sign with thumb on it

et cetera
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