Top, the teenager in Chiesa Santa Maria on Via Regina Margherita in Castelsardo, in front of the "Black Christ." Bottom:Caroline as a Vermeer and other shots along the road. |
http://www.castelsardoturismo.it/it/santa-maria-delle-grazie |
JULY 15
After
dinner we said goodnight to Matteo and Fatima.
They’d
keep on boating.
We’d
journey Southeast down the coast to the Agriturismo Nuraghe Tuttusoni.
Meandering
along the road, past a luxurious tree, a feeling, the ups and downs, making our
way around the island.
We’ve
done the same in Lesvos and Vieques, driving around an old island for weeks on
end.
You
want to see the whole place, the whole body, the whole island.
Its
just how we roll, noted Caroline.
But
you take yourself with you, bringing your fears and defenses along
for the ride.
They
dance with us as we make our way, eighteen years of these journeys.
Its
not always easy to move.
Caroline
suggests we stop.
A
lunch here, a medieval castle, a town called Castelsardo, where we walk down
Via Triste into the centro storico through the dark alleyways of this melded
into the grey peak of this 12th century medieval city, founded by a
Genoese family.
I think I've been here.
But I can't remember.
Just a feeling.
In 1448 it fell to the
Spanish, before it became a part of the Kingdom of Sardinia , in 1767 taking
its current name for Sardinian Castle.
Old
women sit in the doorsteps with their baskets, timeless.
Dante
reminds us we all need guides and mentors to help us through the journeys of
our life, even when we’re lost in the middle of the woods.
“O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind
dost thou so fall?”
“Who ,
after having crossed the forest of suicides
(canto XIII), arrives in the burning land”
Liliana Cano’s show, “"... WE TIGNEMMO THE WORLD OF SANGUIGNO"
was inspired by the 19th canto, 34 paintings for 34 songs of hell.
Her pictures point to a history of sensations, of poetry, deep inside.
The
water sparkles below.
Kids jump in.
Bella
luna visits after dinner.
And
moods shift, unplugged.
If
I think of Brooklyn, it hurts too much said the teenager.
Mom
and Dad are more than happy to be away, stepping away think of Christa Wolfe
and the Prince of Tides.
Its
all just part of being on the road here.
“Very
dark under the great carob tree as we go down the steps. Dark still the garden.
Scent of mimosa, and then of jasmine. The lovely mimosa tree invisible. Dark
the stony path. The goat whinnies out of her shed. The broken Roman tomb which
lolls right over the garden track does not fall on me as I slip under its
massive tilt. Ah, dark garden, dark garden, with your olives and your wine,
your medlars and mulberries and many almond trees, your steep terraces ledged
high up above the sea, I am leaving you, slinking out. Out between the rosemary
hedges, out of the tall gate, on to the cruel steep stony road. So under the
dark, big eucalyptus trees, over the stream, and up towards the village. There,
I have got so far.”
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