The Photo Challenge #47 – Tour Guide

I was born and raised in Bologna, Italy, and I’m crazy in love with my hometown.
Why? Because Bologna is beautiful under any weather circumstance, the red of the bricks manages to brighten up even the worst foggy day. Because it has that Medieval touch I love so much. Because its many covered walkways protect you both from the rain in winter and the hellish heat in the summer. Because when it comes to food we are not prone to counting calories and we’re definitely not afraid of body fat. And, believe me, there are at least another hundred reasons.

It’s kind of impossible to accurately describe Bologna to people who were not born here. And I’m referring not only to people born in other countries, but also to people who were born somewhere else in Italy. Bologna is a way of life, something that runs in your veins, something you can never betray.

PS
Two of the pictures are my mother’s. She kindly gifted them to me. Just check her IG account to take a full Bologna tour.

Annunci

The Photo Challenge #40 – Textures

I love to take pictures of raw materials; I find them extremely fascinating. Which is why, from time to time, I like to point my camera to the floor or very close to the side of old buildings. Through the lens the textures of the objects become something else.

The picture I chose for this week’s challenge was taken last spring while I was wandering in my hometown. It may not look anything special to you and I believe it is not, but somehow I like it very much.
The sun light, filtered through a church’s gate gave a new look the same old pavement.


And now, quiz time. After a quick look at the picture my boyfriend told me he sees a skittish horse (or a dinosaur) in it. What do you see?

10 e 25

A Bologna, c’è un orologio diverso da tutti gli altri.
Un orologio che da 37 anni è fermo alle 10 e 25.
E’ l’orologio della stazione di Bologna, l’orologio simbolo della strage avvenuta il 2 agosto 1980.
Un orologio che suscita un brivido ogni volta che ci passi davanti, anche se, nel 1980, non c’eri nemmeno, esattamente come me. Un orologio che supplisce alla mancanza di una pagina di storia che, puntualmente, nelle scuole non viene raggiunta.

Fissare quelle lancette immobili vuol dire mettersi faccia a faccia con quel sabato di incredulità, terrore e frenesia. Vuol dire farsi delle domande e chiedersi, per l’ennesima volta: “Perchè?”.
E vuol dire ricordare le 85 persone uccise da quell’atto di terrorismo insensato, le loro famiglie e quel processo giudiziario che per anni non ha dato pace nè giustizia nè alle une nè alle altre.

Ogni 2 agosto, da 37 anni, Bologna si vela di lacrime e non potrebbe essere altrimenti. Lacrime di dolore, lacrime di rabbia; lacrime che ogni anno, ruggiscono ancora più forte.