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Can I sell your products on the web. for 10 € - Cinkue

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The shrine next to the hospital to Pocolum

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Gallery 5

Day celebration in the community of Matzam

(interlude of rain)

(WC exclusively for the priest)



(frame to wall)




(above, with smoked meat)

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Altitude 2000. Thanks to all who have watched in recent months, peeked, read, or transcribed my blog. The contacts go up due to simple sentences, butts words, thoughts or emotions thrown in the network in a drunken evening or a day of celebration. Moments cut the frenzy of everyday life. To all my readers a bit of a song, the last masterpiece is brought to San Remo by Roberta Flack ... because the ideas are like stars, not the storm off ... [Call me love again]

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CHRISTMAS GIFTS FOR YOUR ... COME IN ONLINE SHOPPING CENTER ... THE LARGEST WEB ... FILE NO, NO RESSA THE SPEAKERS, NO PROBLEM IN FINDING PARKING. . . .

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"The Beatrice" by Stefano Benni

REVIEW DE L'UNITA ': The Beatrici monologues eponymous show. Contemporary women who tell their stories, revealing, in the act of narration, the types, the vices, the tics and the virtues of "Beatrice" today. Women "so kind and so honest, but problematic, bizarre and lively. Thanks to Paul and Friends Piacenza ...

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gag-law and "misinformation inconceivable"

Beppe Grillo - Retirees and submerged - Comments Top Rated

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The days of the blackbird

A nice piece of chocolate and a glass of grappa on this night in late January. Between the cold and snow. The days of the blackbird call them. Folk traditions of a past that does not return, including remorse, regret and a present made of high hopes, "Life and dreams are sheets of a book. Read them in order to live, browse by chance is dreaming . Goodbye to all the dreamers ...

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Antonio Filippini, A series in to 1800 € per month

Antonio Filippini, 38 July 3 (the sister Emma, \u200b\u200bwho has worn the jersey for two seasons of Parma, trains the students), to be called "the Italian Zanetti" do not mind. On 6 January, the midfielder rocker, who grew up with the myth of "Born to Run," has taken over the starting spot in Brescia. He signed for one year to 50 000 €. "Lord, I take it in an envelope approximately 1800 € per month. They are at the minimum wage, but I'm happy, "he commented on the pages of Gazzetta dello Sport. An example for many, just as a player. Filippini twins (Anthony is the right one) in a photo of 2004 when for the first time in his career dress two different mesh.

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St. Francis de Sales, patron saint of journalists

The message of the bishop of Parma Monsignor Enrico Solmi to editors and journalists to the communications team:

they could not meet on the occasion of the feast of your patron, St. Francis de Sales, I thought I'd send you some words of omen. In his message last January 13 I have emphasized how the city is "the story of an old and new fabric, originating from infinity of threads that are the people ...." Each of you, with its history of yesterday and today, is a thread of this plot, indeed, thanks to your profession, you have the opportunity to contribute significantly to weave, or if any were needed, to patch up the very fabric or, conversely, you can instead help to weaken and tear. To watch this carefully and with prayer accompany your efforts to make it always face the "texture".

So also my wish is made up of wires that must be forged: read with keen eye the world and avoid slamming on the front page what we like to know the truth and silence other hand, support the value of the whole person, giving voice to the voiceless, and in Parma in the world, to promote communication clear, transparent, and the motivation in your work, and free. So you can promote a culture of peace and cooperate in the maturation of our consciousness of people and citizens. This, I wrote in the aforementioned message Sant'Ilario, "may be the mandate for a new generation of women and men who accept the culture, politics, in social, to be of service to Parma, because every person and every Families can choose, welcoming and supporting the "well-living" of our city and reinvigorate the spirit of genuine democracy. "

+ Henry, Bishop

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COULD BE THE LAST JOURNEY

Chiapas 2010: Travel Notes
(May 18-June 18)

I the eve of departure, a friend greeted me and asked, "What in the ports suitcase on this trip? ". Eluding the true meaning of the question I answered kidding, with a simple list of personal effects and, finally, more seriously, with the significant words of a book, an essay that speaks of the soul. It is a book I've read but I feel I need to bring with me, as a possible key to understanding everything that has happened to me in this extraordinary experience and that can still happen.
Then, when the first plane to Mexico, I heard echoing in my head a different question, entirely mine, not the other less complicated but more insistent: "It will be the last trip?". A question which is why in many of her recent events in Chiapas and gives me strong and conflicting emotions.
are now eighth trip and I could make a significant budgetary experience. In all these years I have traveled by air mileage equivalent to over two hundred thousand kilometers, five times around the earth, I spoke as best I knew of poverty and Maya to several thousand people and I helped raise money in an amount not I know how big or small for me but certainly unthinkable eight years ago. But this, ultimately, what that means? It's nothing much and you think about it: everything depends on whose eyes you look at the whole thing. Of course, in these years I have given much to do, but without the help of many generous and sensitive people I met, the results were then yes, really insignificant. The only answer to the uncertainties and doubts the fact remains indisputable that the project of colorful small hospital for the Maya of Chiapas, designed eight years ago and conceived almost as a symbolic gesture of hope, has taken concrete form, that is where can touch, with its brick walls and its roof made of reinforced concrete.
first leg of the journey this time in Mexico City, to prepare all employees of the Mexican project, the important meeting that I have with the secretary of the Governor of Chiapas, Tuxtla Gutierrez, the capital.

II Mexico is a city that I do not like particularly. How could it be otherwise? It is a nest of over 25 million inhabitants, a powder keg of destitute and desperate, the capital of the State with a record of crime in the world. Two square feet of shops, selling lollipops, mints, potato chips and a little more, are protected by gates and metal grating, so that the customer has to give money and take his licks licks her hand slipping into real gaps between railings. A store selling household goods, shoes or hardware has a guard in uniform regularly within the company during the day watching the clock.
But it seems that this is not enough. The lady I am staying with told me that she was seized with road two or three months ago by two armed men who forced her to go home, take your checkbook, take fifty thousand pesos in the bank and delivered. A flash attachment, much used, apparently, in Latin America. It all happened in broad daylight and in the midst of people, without which she finds the courage to fight back, aware of the mortal danger that he would run. After his story, I could understand what he meant when his niece, the other morning, seeing me leave the house told me heartfelt "Good walk, but be careful, be careful." Now I have more awareness of why this city, despite the still air of the people on the street (addicted? resigned?), is considered so dangerous. The state of poverty of the vast majority of its inhabitants must lead to a situation of insecurity and widespread crime of enormous proportions, and the daily news of the heinous deeds of Mexican drug traffickers in newspapers around the world are an eloquent testimony.
This year I have seen appear on the streets of a type of "business" that I had never noticed before: the pawnbroker, those places that people use in financial difficulties by giving money in exchange for their valuables, large or small, with the prospect, sometimes, to return to take them back just past the personal economic crisis. Now it's all here a swarm of "Casa de empeño" with lots of signs and advertisements inviting outside. If they can see a dozen in the same way, sometimes just a few meters apart, with their reassuring aspect of Banks are polished.
phenomenon equally impressive is the mass of sellers of anything that can not seem to sell anything and yet they give a lot to do. At toll motorways, twenty to thirty people neatly lined up waving their products to poor drivers completely indifferent. Yet their presence is constant, assure me, as it is evident that fail to sell almost anything, even if that "almost" enough them to survive. Same show in the subway, which is used daily by millions of people 5:00 to 6:00 and in which, as I have been experimenting for many hours a day, we crowded like sardines in a can. At each stop entering the same compartment uno-two-three vendors at a time (with audio and video CDs, candy, healing creams, etc.), shouting their wares to passengers half-asleep, bored or annoyed by their advertising and above all scream I decided not to buy anything. Or rather, "almost" anything.
I look and I wonder why all these people wandering in the extermination of most Mexican cities to get it to survive with difficulty, does not decide to commit crimes and mass permanently. But Mexico City, apparently, is not only this, if in its streets can be invested by the most brutal violence, of humanity in the lurch, you can also find among his people Latin joie de vivre in abundance and generosity, to be involved dancing in the streets, discovering hidden treasures of all kinds. And unexpected encounters, the other day how incredibly happened to me.
I went to an ophthalmologist for me to prescribe eye drops for the eyes for some reason I burned. I had my numeretto arrival at the clinic and I had been sitting in a small hallway that served as waiting room, along with another dozen people who were waiting for the doctor to come and visit. I knew that if the "phlegmatic" Mexico that day had not been denied, the wait was long, very long, so I was prepared to fill it as best I could, looking a little 'people, and exhausted all curiosity, thinking simply to my own, which of course material abound. Meanwhile, a man had entered, he had looked around and sat on the bench next to me the last seat available.
When the doctor finally arrived, he started calling patients by their serial number, one at a time. He seemed calm and distinct, I knew it was of Italian origin and, according to what I was told, had to be good. I was curious to know the effect that he would meet with an Italian: the difference between the two worlds is so great and that I was not easy to imagine a good reason why one day he would have preferred Mexico City to the town in northern Italy, near Venice, from whence it came.
The man next to me at a certain moment, I have spoken to ask for something vaguely. Aided by his facial expressions, I realized that I wanted to know what number was called, but I doubt they are made to repeat more slowly, because I explained to him, the Spaniard too fast do not always grasped. I was number four and I told him, while he showed me he had 21. He asked me then if I was a tourist. Not really, I said. I was on a business trip? More or less, I said. He looked at me more and more question. He could have been my age. I noticed that his hands were dirty, washed but not even enough to have lost the dark patina of its likely craft laborer or artisan material dealing with some fat, greasy, or something that did very smeared.
He went to investigate: I would have retained much in Mexico City? Only a few days, I replied, because my goal was to Chiapas. At this news, his curiosity seemed to increase, he stared at me and smiled vaguely. I seemed to think that along to the next question was to me as if to make me in a language he did not know (even in Italian, I thought). In fact, I spoke in English but plan articulating the words.
big questions I did not expect from him because it gave me the idea of \u200b\u200bbeing a simple person, even though his face expressed an interest out of the ordinary, that he did not explain well. In short, questions about demand, has forced me to make him extremely affable summary of why I went to Chiapas, and as soon as he learned, he said, but naturally also with a certain solemnity, "We men go towards spirituality." I never asked what he meant with those words or if I should once again be wary of my mastery of English. In any case I are repeated, because the claim, as I had understood, I was surprised, as much as I was intrigued.
Hence began a dialogue incredible, booming, where it's come a vision of life that binds us together and we shared a lot up in the details. We've gone from the first discovery of similarities to the ideas of a special feeling of empathy between us, comparable to a surprising identity of thought. The man had to know the progress of science, philosophy, culture, but she never used a quote, never a slogan, a phrase learned. His words were simple, were expressions of wonder and sometimes of concern related to human destiny, its history, with emotion, not absolute certainties, but with much hope. Put me at ease so that I could communicate to him, despite my tongue every now and then bind, concepts and thoughts that I had never communicated before even to myself. We were both enhanced by the harmony of our thoughts, it seemed that we grew up together, we had walked the same path of knowledge. The waiting room, with people and their chatter, at some point has almost disappeared, because we were traveling in another room, out of time.
Dialogue was smooth, without wrinkles, and not lose continuity and rhythm even when he climbed on issues as big as mountains. As he begins a sentence, often it to him I finished, so were familiar to me its contents, while harmony and with equal ease him I was stealing time to continue a debate or argue a concept that was trying to express, as best I could I have done . We talked of primitive cultures and their wealth, the modern and his deceptions, the appearance of humans on earth, a man of intelligence who lives and any other life form, plant or animal that is, the history of the world and his destiny. Finally talking about faith, faith as a dialogue, as research as a journey, endless work. As freedom. At one point, almost like a sudden urge, uncontrollable, he asked me my name. "And you?" I asked. "Manuel".
At that point, it's my turn to visit. While my eyes were subjected to a thorough check, I had an essential but pleasant conversation with the distinguished Italian doctor, who found it hard to find all the words of his language, for your questions a doctor but also to support the exchange of considerations relevant to our presence in Mexico: his, with his family, stable and ultimately more than forty years in the land, the my, what a strange traveler always on the look of the goal, which was only a firm and final fund irrepressible anxiety.
When I left the doctor's office, Manuel was still there in his place I smiled.
"You have children?" I asked, feeling our upcoming leave. "Yes, two daughters and six grandchildren. "I have two children," I added for completeness. At that point we looked at each other and alternating with the words as we learned to do well, we said: "We lived in opposite places on the planet and it is as if we were ever together, if we had always known, always spoken ".
"We will continue to speak to us still, Manuel," I promised him absurdly. He, remaining conscious in terms of the absurd, he added: "The next time we meet I will tell you: Do you remember Franco, on May 24 that, when we spoke in a clinic ophthalmologist? I will also confess and you'll remember me. " With a movement of irrepressible emotion we hugged. After he told me a sentence with a recommendation to remember it.
have made me repeat, alas, three times, because there was a term that was new to me. At the end are not quite sure I understand, but I think I have said: "What we have not yet found our way, find him again. " It was an encouragement to not stop trying, not to give up the search for meaning, which we have talked so much about?
"Hello, Manuel, I'll remember," I promised him, hugging him one last time. There we exchanged addresses, we have not felt the need. Maybe we would never met, but the communication was established forever.

III The first thing I did today, just stepped in Chiapas, was to go to the community of Pocolùm ("Old Pueblo") to see the "construction", the hospital in the rough, this creature that I often need to verify the existence, as something which, being resulted from a dream or a project that was very similar to a dream, I still want to make sure that is really the reality.
Along the winding road that brought me up and down in the community, I saw the mountains that turn, they strip off more and more vegetation and dotted with small new brick homes. Some trail becomes tratturo, some sheep-track cover of asphalt. It is a world that is changing, evolving, full of unknowns. Harbinger of promises, but also threats.
When I arrived mid-morning sun begins to warm the air, a measurement and the roof of the new hexagonal pyramid towered sanctuary with its bright red in the green of vegetation, visible from great distances, unmistakable reminder to all religious communities Indians facing the vast horizon. A few meters from the church, the crude hospital, with its adjacent clinic, now a reference point for all kinds of sick.
To my surprise, I saw that there were people in the hospital, fifteen young "promoters of health, men and women who were participating in a seminar given by Rebecca, a therapist coming from the city. Manuel, the coordinator of the sponsors, introduced me to everyone and invited me to the ground floor in a room without a floor and unfinished, participation in the work on such a statement: "Pathology of the kidney: the relationship between emotions and physical health, how to defend themselves from fear." The doctor, very prepared, was there as a volunteer to hold seminars once a month with the native promoters, also volunteers with the help of his computer and appropriate video. I did not understand why the emotion that most of all is taken into consideration, to illustrate the effect on the body and on his health, was precisely the fear or emotion was very present in their environment or I had lost something important in 'introduction, if not in the initial phase of the seminar, before arriving. When are
kindly been invited to give my contribution to the topic under discussion and study, I could not help but give my personal testimony of the close relationship between emotions and health.
over ten years, I said, the fruit advancing age, suffering from muscle spasms in his back, which usually manifests itself in a painful tension when it assumes a static position to bind the spine vertically: it takes twenty minutes by foot, stationary, and the back starts to hurt. Although a long drive or a long period of time spent sitting somewhere give me the same problem.
Yet all this, I told those present, inexplicably never materialized the first time I came in Chiapas. Whatever you do, take on any position on any floor asleep, my back for two months, despite the hardships that were submitted, did not have anything to complain about. It was strange, I did not explain it, but there was exactly like that.
Back in Italy, I asked an explanation to my orthopedist, who knows my physical problem and I had often helped to cure him. Not even if he explains it well: maybe the climate of Chiapas, speculated, the altitude of the mountains or whatever else might be in relation with the characteristics of that land. Then I discovered something else interesting about the phenomenon, I realized, that is, strangely my shoulders kept well, I would say very well, even when I spent hours and hours standing still talking about my experience in Chiapas, with students in schools or with other people around for the province of Bari, or any other latitude here in Italy, in my land. So it was not the climate, the altitude was not objective or some other condition linked to the distant Chiapas that took away the pain: they were the emotions that wherever I was, that foreign land and its inhabitants Maya gave me a painkiller for me, so that at the end of some of my marathons standing to talk about them, I felt much better than when I started the operation.
Not all the participants spoke English and there was a group that is tasked to translate everything in Tzeltal, so the full participation of each of the seminarians in the discussion was somewhat influenced by the diversity of language and the inherent shyness that so much of their young age and to their sense of inadequacy in relation to modernity. However, said they had grasped the meaning of my speech and found it in line with the objectives of the workshop. Even Dr. Rebecca has found relevant and useful to my testimony for the understanding of the interrelationships and psychosomatic phenomena object lesson in progress.
At the end of the discussion, after greeting me cordially, the group out of the hospital and you have to do in the wide space in front of the turns in a circle, mimicking the movements suggested by the therapist, thus creating a kind of slow dance.

(dance in a circle)

IV Yesterday and today I was in the mission of Oxhùc, where among other things I had to arrange with some friends the important trip to Tuxtla Gutierrez for the meeting with the representative of the Government of Chiapas. The weather was not great, we were the boundary between the cool and cold, with the phenomena of sudden rain, drizzle and showers.
Oxchùc is an urban area in a couple of hours Pocolùm, conquered by the English in 1528 and major player in the indigenous uprising of 1712. It is located on the only road communication for Guatemala, two thousand meters above sea level, its population is ethnic Mayan language Tzeltal.
Yesterday morning I was invited to the house of the master Juan, a prominent figure in the pueblo, to breakfast with zucchini and another unidentified tuber, served boiled, not at all pleasing to my palate, and for that time of morning, more suitable for a cappuccino and a croissant, for their special flavor. Juan, speak Tzeltal, Tzotzil and English, has 58 years, but, oddly, shows much less hair, blacks separately. Yet it is a life that did not spare himself, undergoing physical commitments very stressful. In his long career as a teacher, has taught Cancùc for eight years, returning home only on weekends and on foot along mountain trails hard for eight hours before arriving at their destination exhausted. He also taught in the thick and inhospitable Lacandon jungle for several more years, returning to Oxchùc only once a month, walking through the mountains and plains that separated him from home and family, for endless twenty-two hours. Finally, more recently held its lessons by Agua Azul, a place of spectacular waterfalls, which can be reached by car in about three hours of grueling ups and downs and curves with asphalt. To get to school every day that he traveled on horseback journey in five hours, five hours in the sun, because it cut for rough paths of the wooded mountains of Los Altos and went along vertiginous cliffs.
The same morning I met Pedro, a craftsman, very lively and very resourceful. It has the same age as the master and is the son of Juan Alonso, a character that has made the history of Oxchùc communities such as Long alcalde (mayor) of the pueblo and its history as the first teacher.
I met Pedro as a collaborator of the first floor of Father Fernando, pastor of Church of St. Thomas where I was staying. Many years ago he emigrated to the United States illegally and stayed there for 12 years, becoming a family there and generating four children. A Oxchùc is a carpenter, but in Arizona, where he began his adventure immigrant with no fixed abode, did everything to survive. When he had another job, went hunting for snakes, he says. Around the city where he lived, that the background was the desert, there really was a lot of vipers. In the summer, around 10 in the morning when the sun was well up in the sky, he was near a water hole waiting for the insidious snakes arrived. The watched from afar, well hidden, was a hunting take time and patience, and he was of course, but most of the large empty stomach had given him the right to hold office and the position is achieved. Crept silently around the sand and the hot stones which anticipated the desert one, two, sometimes three snakes in the same morning and Pedro went to the water with reckless skill catches, and then handed them to a laboratory chemist who knew and receive four U.S. dollars for each venom. Sometimes the restaurants in town that sold them to him to pay $ 2 each.
Another incredible work he had done was to catch rats, big rats. It was a difficult job, often had to attend environments smelly and unhealthy. Sometimes I had to descend into the sewers, because there it was really big. Even those are sold to scientific laboratories of the city that used them to do the experiments. There were those who ate them, but he says, were disgusted.
He met an American woman, married her and she had four children. He led a normal life with her and lived with dignity of his work by a cabinetmaker. Until now an American citizen in 1990 was called the Army of the UP to go to fight the Gulf War. She had no familiarity with violence, he felt against his nature, and then that was not his war, and to think of it, even the SU was not his land. So he deserted the call to arms and fled, returning to Chiapas in Oxchùc, his country, where he married and had seven children. The surprising
indigenous claims to ensure maintenance of the children he left in Arizona, with whom he keeps in regular phone contact. I longed to see them, trusts, but can not return in the U.S. because it would stop him as a deserter and would take him to jail for the rest of his life.
Among the stories he told me there is also that of his long friendship with an Italian girl, a singer. She came many years ago in Chiapas to tourism, along with a friend. They had rented a jeep and S. Cristobal de las Casas wanted to reach Cancun, the famous coastline of the Maya, an international tourist destination to eight hundred miles away. Just outside the city of St. Cristobal, asked the indigenous local information about the road to Cancun, but due to a misunderstanding assonance between the names, they will forward to Cancùc, a pueblo in less than two hours from the city, not far from Oxchùc. So the two girls get involved in a journey that would lead to a point on rough terrain such as to cause the rupture of the oil sump of the SUV. Lost all the grease, burned the engine and the car stopped in the evening on a dirt road in the mountains, to halfway between Oxchùc and Cancùc. Unfortunately, the only people who went there were from India, only the Mayan language, and the girls, besides Italian, could speak only English, which soon became aware of being cut off from the civilized world and surrounded by people "primitive "that did not know neither the language nor the intent.
With the thickening of the shadows of the night, two young, frightened, closed a key inside the car and soon were surrounded by a crowd of natives who, while not knowing how to help them, lived the foreign presence as a rare event not to be missed and, despite the darkness, stopped curious about to the vehicle staging, in the eyes of the unfortunate, unintended as it is disturbing form of siege.
The news of the girls stranded on the road to Cancùc quickly spread through the area and Pedro was soon identified as the best person to intervene, because it was known as a man of the world beyond anything he could speak good English, for which he was invited in the middle of the night to reach the scene. His arrival was greeted by the girls with emotion at the edge of hysteria, with tears and uncontrollable laughter. The man then took her home and provided as quickly as possible to repair the car. Thus, in the eyes of the girls, Pedro became their savior and began a relationship and friendship, which took first in the long term consistency in the home who spent the same Pedro, then one of them in particular, a singer in his career, the friendship remained alive through letters and other materials that you continued to send the unforgettable "savior" for years, without, however, he will understand the language and answer. Among the things the girl had sent him there were audio cassettes with recorded his songs in Italian and its concerts, which still retains Pedro.
Even Alonso, the old father of Pedro, had 11 children but only one marriage. Now many of them are scattered throughout Mexico and is also someone who emigrated abroad. He was for many years president of the municipality (mayor) of Oxchùc, but the profession that gave him a living has been that of the teacher. He had studied up to sixth in the primary, learning to read, write well and a little more, and then, with tackle cultural experience, great for those times in his environment, he began to teach in his pueblo.
Costumbre belongs to Alonso, the religious sect that mixes elements of Christian religiosity with remnants of the cult of the Sun Maya inherited from their ancestors. The day I met him and I spoke to were in the church of St. Thomas, while a group of persons of his religion, men, women and children, prayed and danced a few steps from the altar to the hard sound of the instruments Maya. On the ground you could see a lot of empty bottles of coca cola on the benches and there were more or less stretched, many Borrachos, posh men drunk, the alcoholic beverage of this land "drive away evil spirits." Alonso, seeing attracted by the unedifying scene not far from us, told me that he drank when he was young posh during religious rites, but now Costumbre, of which he is an influential member, allows the use of the drink only on special holidays of the year. View from the scene in the church, therefore, I infer that the group that was celebrating yesterday was part of a ritual deviant minority, or suspecting that the ban only the use of alcohol is considered a measure of the facade in accordance to the "moral of the new times."

(delegation to Tuxtla Gutierrez)

V This morning, the day fixed for the appointment with the Secretary of the Governor of Chiapas, along the road to Tuxtla, I was wondering once again: "It will be the last trip? How close is the happy ending of the adventure? ".
I told myself that the answer, with a little 'luck, could have been come along today, I did not have to do is wait another few hours and maybe I could. In this story so many incredible things have happened already, so anything can happen.
Over the past ten years, my personal experience and seemed to cross the road noise with the so-called supernatural, but I must say that this is what seemed to others more than me, because I believe God's action always at work, without the "mood swings" that we ascribe to him, and I think we are all still "buried" in a less crowded atmosphere divine as "Junction" from morning to evening. Seven years ago, two events synchronous, full of coincidences, yes, have revolutionized the environment and the livelihood of 90 indigenous communities of Chiapas, and in some ways even mine. And since then many things have happened is unbelievable.
Who would have believed, in fact, that in 2003, the year when I do my first trip to Chiapas, the indigenous communities themselves that I had met and attended for two months would have "seen" Lady and the request received by you to build a church in exactly the same place, coincidentally, a missionary in Mexico and an unknown Italian, the undersigned, apply for and obtain a piece of land to build a small hospital? Instead, it is exactly what happened, and the church wanted by the natives and the hospital wanted to have arisen from the Italian side by side, as a single project, where the needs of the body and the spirit of the poor Mayan communities of the mountains, one day soon, they would find a possible answer.
Who would have thought then that one day, 12 December 2009, the wife of the state governor, Juan Sabines Guerrero, SOS would be interested in the Chiapas project, aimed at the construction of the hospital funded by the Italians? Instead it happened, as if by accident.
To get to that place almost lost among the mountains, the first lady and his staff had traveled the only paved road the territory of Los Altos and was found in the yard of Pocolùm before a crowd of some twelve thousand natives who flocked there from various parts of Chiapas and the rest of Mexico, to attend an extraordinary event, which in those countries can occur only once every fifty years: the consecration of a shrine. The Sanctuary was built by the Indians of the mountainous triangle-Tenejapa Cancùc Oxchùc-up "request" of the Virgin of Guadalupe and she called. Twenty yards from the church, the coarse of our small hospital had also attracted the attention of the lady of the governor, which collected the necessary information, he promised to do something to help complete it. Now I'm here to give a push in some way on that promise.
After nearly two hours' drive from the mountains of Los Altos we arrived in the plain of Tuxtla Gutiérrez, falling over one thousand and five hundred meters lower. There has been a wave of heat invested twenty degrees higher than the departure from St Cristobal and for me, not accustomed to such temperature changes, began a kind of ordeal, an experience that really did not expect. Just half an hour after arriving in town, I began to feel strange and loud noises intestine, while my head was wrapped in a cloak of numbness irresistible, even though we were in the early hours of the morning. And so begins a hellish brew of my whole person that I would leave for the rest of most of the day.
The group of people who were with me looked like a different planet, I felt far away, muffled, talking, laughing, he was hungry, thirsty ... I had just had a terrible sleep, I could not keep my eyes open at ten o'clock in the morning , mental activity was almost zero. Then, at a certain moment, the strong and continuous noise intestine, which seemed to boil like a pot on the stove, I have somehow woke up and post a specific question urgent: where could I find a bathroom?
was a tragedy: I'd like to meet with the representative government in those conditions? What happened to me was likely to frustrate the most important goal of my trip to Chiapas. Luckily, I had not worn the jacket and pants I had brought from Italy for the special occasion, because I would soon dissolved into a puddle of sweat and me, dressed in hand, it would have remained nothing more to repatriate . Except for a bottle, perhaps, with my poor remains liquefied.
The meeting we had planned at the Department of Archaeology with some government officials, around 0:30, was a foretaste of the disaster that was waiting by the Governor. The manager of the Department and I talked, the more that listen, I struggled to keep my eyes open and not lying down on the couch, where I was. The effort was tremendous but it was not enough to prevent me from time to time to close her eyes under the puzzled look of my key stakeholders. Not to mention the low stimulus check and I had to continue waiting with anxiety the end of the meeting.
The grip of malaise, fortunately, has eased about six o'clock in the afternoon when the heat is just dampened. Later, when it's time for a crucial meeting, my condition had improved considerably, I was awake, I realized what was happening to me, I felt reborn.
The Secretary of the Governor, a young and exquisite, welcomed us authorities as important, with kindness, respect and a un'affabilità really unexpected. With him, we referred to the visit of Mrs. Pocolùm to the Governor and the promise we had made, so we submitted a formal request for intervention by the Government for a contribution to the completion of the hospital so far funded by the Italians. The young officer told us, in short, that the Governor had already been sensitized on the subject by his wife and that, in his opinion, would undoubtedly have been willing to intervene on behalf of Pocolùm work, which he considered of importance vital for the indigenous and worthy of state intervention. To me, then thanked me repeatedly for your attention to the indigenous cause and the great generosity of the Italians, who asked me to bring, on behalf of his and the Governor, the greeting, the friendly and lively sense of gratitude gratitude of their people as we had done up to that time and for what hopefully would continue to do for the needy communities of Chiapas.


VI Throughout the journey, at my jokes about the conditions and irreversible "end" of his very old investigating magistrate, Father Martin was sganasciato laughing, as always. That car, in fact, in addition to age and also very spartan: cramped interior, no padding, seems to be missing completely shock, my bones I know something, and the muffler is broken after just three days after the last welding, so that the deafening roar from the mountains with his dying lion, as I call it, though clearly the passage of the Father announces well in advance to the lonely inhabitants of Cerros.
But it is a passage, its that brings joy. At each meeting on the street, with men, or older children, with friends or strangers, he smiles and kicks to warmly greet and meet all the gestures and smiles in return. This man, at last, is a missionary in the holiness there can be no doubt. No ambiguity, total and unconditional dedication to his ministry, to serve the poor without any concession to the rituals and reminders from the mundane to the enticements of power and its pleasures, whose subtle charm, as you know, sometimes does not spare even the priests , of any latitude and any condition.
has less than forty years, was in the Amazon for many years, isolated from the world and in a natural environment very hostile, and now says that in Chiapas is the life of the Pasha, in spite of the hardships to which its existence is still a missionary submit it. Invited me to come to Italy, to know, among other things, the places where his beloved put his faith first and deepest roots (Rome, Assisi, etc..) responds graciously thanking and explaining that prefers to remain in place, working with his indigenous brothers. His girlfriend, when he communicated the decision to become a priest, said that he loved her but that her love could not stay within the confines of a choice because it had double the space of a dimension as large as the love of God " .
recently suffered an attack by a native with a machete that was saved in front of his menacing gip along a mountain path. Father Martin was very scared, of course, but has sought dialogue with the assailant and said that he had nothing to give, was a missionary, lived with what they offered the indigenous brothers and at that particular moment was completely broke. To which the unfortunate occasional robber apologized to him much but he has also been criticized for not telling him immediately that he was a priest, because, he said, so they would at least spared the ugly emotions of both the left improvised.
When we arrived at the community Matzàm was early morning, after almost an hour and a half disastrous path littered with holes like craters, steep climbs and descents to be addressed to a crawl and cling firmly to the handles of the car ' car.
We stayed two days in that community and I had my bag sleeping, towel, water bottle and everything else to address the needs of the stay and some of his discomfort. Upon arrival, Father Martin motioned me to follow him in an environment filled with smoke and lit only by light passing through the front door. The kitchen was crowded with women shrouded in smoke, busy around a large fire where two boiling pots filled with gigantic pieces of something floating in liquid of a type and color was not possible to distinguish. Under fire, top, hanging a sheet of thick black stripes, about a foot long, lean on numerous wires attached to opposite walls of the room. Although the light was dim and the smoke mingled all, the show was impressive and I immediately pulled out my camera to capture the scene.
Greet women and go outside, I asked the father what happened in that kitchen. He explained that they had killed a big bull and now were cooking for the many defendants refreshment to the party of the community that there would be tomorrow. And that stuff hanging up in the direction of fire? Strips of meat from the animal were killed that were smoked.
We greeted dozens of natives of the place, lots of close hands, smile at everyone and then we were invited to breakfast in the comedor. Once placed around a long table, it took a little realize that the show I witnessed in the kitchen and had captured a few shots in order to better remember, it was more of the recording of a scene of folklore: it was my breakfast and my lunch! The plastic cups that, in fact, I found lined up on the table were filled in a little while with those black stripes that I had just seen hanging in the kitchen, such as breakfast for all to enjoy with your hands. Now I had to honor that table, appealing to my better feelings of friendship for the people, in order to carry out, alas, to the difficult task of gobbling everything with the utmost ease and pleased expression as possible. My biggest surprise, however, of there little, was to learn, at the first bite, I was going to have breakfast with the meat tender and excellent flavor, finally worthy of sincere appreciation. It was a real delicacy, but who would have thought!
the evening, going to sleep, I realized that I had recently deleted from the memory because it could be a hard bed of boards. Luckily, I put the towel in baggage, at the insistence of P. Martin, was quite large and I could fold it several times to make a slight thickness to the bones on which I had to lie down and stand between a swing and another of that long night. When the first light of day finally has arrived, I got up and I put an end to all that sort of "dance of the plank" I started the night before. I came outside of my dorm-claustrophobic cell and waited for the sun rose. While nature is awakened by sending its first references to the new day, I saw him appear behind a turkey away and I recognized: it was the same sun rising over my house in Italy, on the ancient worlds like this and others, in different corners of the earth.


VII This time I get home a little 'disappointed. The secretary of the governor had promised us an answer in terms of days but that is not got nothing. What does it mean? That will not do nothing of what had made us believe? At this point I can think of. But I should not necessarily expect anything from this government, I should consider it a remote possibility, an attempt that was worth doing, I had a duty to do. And yet, at some point, I clearly deluded, I imagined a scenario concluding dream realized. Forcibly in abandoning that scenario, then, I felt like a slap in the face that brought me back to reality suddenly, leaving me for a bit 'dazed and unable to react.
Now it will be hard to resume work, meeting people, schools, organizing events, exhibitions, concerts ... But will be just a little 'harder than the other years. The miracle of generosity, good will, the knowledge that many belong to the same human family will return to do his job. And I and all those who wish, we will give you a hand.

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Farewell to Partisan "Mirka" In Parma, a

Determined, strong and proud of wearing a handkerchief around his neck tricolor explaining to children the values \u200b\u200bof resistance and anti-fascism. Parma mourns partisan "Mirka". Laura Polizzi, 86, died in the night between Friday and Saturday. Women's tough, "Mirka" took center stage during the years of resistance: first in Parma and Reggio Emilia in the mountains where he had fled after a raid Nazi-fascist. In recent years, despite his age and illness, had never ceased to defend those values \u200b\u200bin which he believed and for which he fought. Only town to have received, first in '91 Civic merit and, later, in 2009 the prize Sant'Ilario, the highest recognition of the Parmesan. A life, its wholly spending witness to the values \u200b\u200bof freedom and democracy. "On the evening of 8 September '43 - had explained in one of his last public meetings - went up the monument to Garibaldi, and for the first time I talked to the people of Parma, a fact I will never forget." Since then until today, continued to talk to the city, but now the partisan cries "Mirka". Laura Polizzi had entered very young in the resistance of Parma. Organize in Piacenza and Reggio the underground movement of women. Fought in the Garibaldi Brigade, which was awarded the Gold Star value. For the responsibilities of the command is then given by the Ministry of Defence the degree of honorary captain. He was a member of the honorary chairmanship of the National Association of Italian Partisans. Hello Mirka ...

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newspaper in the evening

Once the left crying poverty: \u0026lt;>, repeating the politicians were "children" of Prodi & c. Today there is a war of that little more than annoy the great army, they should slaughter one another in search of crumbs for a place in the sun. In the era of globalization going on, too. But that's okay ... The plurality can only be good for democracy. The fact is that in the coming months will open a new daily paper of the evening, but it can certainly be called Parmasera, because this name has already been registered by a coop of Piacenza, which publishes weekly informative placemats ( www.parmasera.it ). What will be the alternative name is not known, it is certain that, as reported by some newspapers, editing the new daily will be the company "Winston Ltd.," such as cigarettes (and surely must mean something ...), consisting at the end of 2010. Will be printed in Mantua and Cremona, and shall serve at least six journalists (at the moment about four men and two women). It will not be free as someone wrote, but will be distributed on newsstands in the evening. Colleagues, with the hope that it becomes a beautiful and innovative reality: GREETINGS and "Good night and good luck."

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looking for an agent, even part time, for advertising on "napkins Parmasera. Paid commission. Contact telephone number 328.1726629 - email: redazione@parmasera.it - or leave a message on our facebook page "of Parmasera Placemats." Happy reading and enjoy your meal ...

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year that will change the site

of words they have been spending a lot. The good intentions as well.'s Horoscopes, and there are still those who believe, have been circulated as swollen rivers. Beyond the cliches, the kind of circumstances and intentions to all my readers, I wish just 12 months of calm. We need it, and so, in this hectic life. Basically year that is coming in a year will ... and we hope there is food for those who, in the most remote corners of the world, we threw the cake if he is dreaming.