Triora Piazza Beato Tommaso Reggio, 28 October 2008, at 3:00 pm
After a hearty lunch at the Golden Dove-based herbal Ligurian rabbit dell'omnipresente flat rate gave the brothers Padovan the early afternoon had to be terminated because the relief operations to the tank before opening the castrum of the square. So after lunch I found myself wandering around the country to kill time and to pull the tanker rendezvous with the oldest and perhaps the most interesting. I hoped that at least in that the dead were waiting for us. In my ignorance I feared that having a tank, I'd seen it all, but I promised myself that I would not have pulled back from exploration. Because of my mental and physical wanderings returned after a short in the ancient village into via San Bernardino and going to the fountain Sottana, hence always in the shadow of centuries-old houses taken away Sambughea whose name was derived precisely from plants grown on elder housing destroyed at the time of plague. I walked to the old times covered with moldy, covered passages of the beam which were blackened by the torches that once were lit to illuminate the streets. I found myself shortly after being Camurati I knew that during the plague houses in this street had been plagued with literally walled in to prevent the spread of infection. Then I went off to Tamagni and finally arrived in the square where a few small tourist Tommaso Reggio Triora showed that continued to attract someone with a time of wolves. Mindful of my previous investigations began to sentirmici home, a bit 'as its few inhabitants and dour, suspicious of everything that came from outside. I sat under the arches of the square on an old stone seat held by ancient capitals probably belonged to some old church. The church of Santa Maria Assunta with its neoclassical façade looking towards the gray sky made me feel small. I looked at the bell tower silhouetted against the endless sky. I decided to walk around the church in which I had entered only once and which has a fine memory. At the time of my investigation of the petrification of Triora, being demented during the celebration of Strigora, the church was the only place around the country that was saved by the hordes of imbecilloidi occultists and the like who were besieging the town for the show. I remembered Don "The Winds of War", the burly priest who was then showed off his skills to good boxer in the public square. I crossed the threshold of the house of the Lord for comfort. The smell of incense made me strangely good mood. This put me on the specter of failure to be a priest. The church with its baroque interior sported a highly questionable, but in the midst of this gilded stucco perfect for redundancy la reggia di un re, compariva qualche bella e importante tela. In fondo ero pur sempre un mercante d’arte con velleità da investigatore privato. Accesi un cero ricordandomi dei miei cari che non c’erano più. Poi naturalmente l’occhio da specialista si posò sulla bella tavola di Taddeo di Bartolo, un bellissimo quadro fondo oro di uno dei maestri toscani del Trecento, firmato e datato 1397. Il quadro raffigurava il battesimo del Cristo. Avendone diversi in collezione non potei fare a meno di apprezzarlo e di sospirare di fronte al fatto che non avrei mai potuto acquistarlo. -Amen, non tutto si può avere nella vita- pensai facendomene una ragione.
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