The night mare

I could not sleep last night and stared at the wooden pannels on one of my walls. Suddenly I spotted this what looked like a part of a beautiful horse-head.

Arona

Whispering angels

Relief painting in San Graziano Church

Arona

Cruel ballerina

Orchid flower

Arona

The floating Trojan Horse

Lake Orta

Orta San Giulio

The 62th edition of the filmfestival in Locarno...

...has just closed. The winner of the 2009 festival of independant films is Chinese film director and writer, Xiaolu Guo, with She, a Chinese. Over 157.000 spectators have attented this festival that gives the opportunity to the smaller and independant production houses to show their often most interesting works.

Locarno

Switzerland

"Oh, no...it is closed!"

I said while trying to capture the inside of the shop through the window. "Thank you, Lord!", I heard my wife whispering. She knows and fears my unrestraint passion for antiques.

Locarno

Switzerland

Testarossa

Hibiscus

Varallo Pombia

Summer continues also...

... for this grasshopper near the swimming pool.

Varallo Pombia

In certain moments there is nothing better than...

...a relaxing atmosphere in a family home which brings back dear memories of a happy childhood.

Codevilla

Only clean lines and warm colours...

in my son's and daughter-in-law's apartment

Busto Arsizio

The Waste Land

La Piana,

Codevilla

A good nap after lunch

Jan

Codevilla

36° Celsius

We left Arona at 14.00 hours sharp last Friday. We had an appointment at 16.30 hours with an important winery in Wine Paradise that same afternoon, to discuss the final details of the winetasting event we are organizing in New York for the end of September and of the forthcoming trip to Turkey to meet with the main wineimporters/distributors there. It had rained uninterruptedly from 4.30 till 7.00 that morning which had refreshened the air . Then a gentle breeze had swept away the clouds and I could see the lake glistening again in the sunlight in the back-mirror while driving up to the highway. 26° Celsius (79° Fahrenheit), an ideal temperature for travelling. We knew that there wouldn't be much traffic on the road as most of the Italians had already reached their holiday destination. The trees on the hills around the lake looked at their best showing off their lush green leaves. A perfect summer-day, we said. It couldn't have been better.
Then we left the Region of Piedmont and drove into the flat land of Lumbardy with its typical yellow and red ocre colour farmhouses. My wife looked at the indicator of the outside temperature which in the meantime had crept up from 26°Celsius to 30° (85° Fahrenheit). "I am not going to like this!", she said while remembering her preference for the climate of the more northern European countries. The esmerald green of the lands along the highway was slowly changing into straw-yellow while we proceeded, notwithstanding the hughe water-spouts trying to do the utmost to keep the land moist. Some far-away tractors moved like snales over the dry land and disappeared in swirls of yellow dust under a merciless sun. "I am not going to like this at all!", my wife repeated while staring at the red numbers on the black electronic device sticking out of the wall of a Bank: 36° Celsius (97° Fahrenheit) was the temperature of our final destination.
We opened the doors of our car and were welcomed by hot burning air. At least there isn't any humidity, I mentioned, trying to convince my wife to keep her good mood while leading her into the airconditioned winery. We stayed there for more that an hour defining our projects and when I looked out of one of the windows, I saw that the blue of the sky had in the meantime made way for that typical grey that promises a generous distribution of humidity. "Not a breeze whatsoever"!, said the porter of the winery while he opened the door for us wiping his forehead with a large handkerchief with the other hand. He looked soaked in his blue shirt. We took a deep breath and ran to the car which had baked in the full sunlight for over an hour. I immediately started the engine trying to ignore the 49° Celsius (120° Fahrenheit) that had flung on us like a hot wet towel.
"You look lovely all the same!", I clumsely tried to console my wife looking at her hair which the hairdresser had so carefully arranged that very morning and which had now lost every possible structure. I felt her beautiful green eyes piercing through my cheekbones and she did not say a word till we reached her sister's home where we were going to stay three days and two nights. It was only when she was given a glass of chilled Prosecco that I finally spotted a glimpse of foregiveness in her eyes, and I swear that I heard "psssss...." when we finally let our overheated bodies sink into the cool water of the swimming pool.

The end of a hot day in

rural Codevilla