Is there anything more beautiful than a bunch of grapes?
If you look carefully, watching the grains of golden-yellow flesh and blue violet, lighter or darker, large or small, round, or even long, dull, or more often clear, as the eggs of a snake, who had the Bacchanalia lucky enough to see, like me, can not help but have it return in mind. But where
Bacchanalia, a city shaped like a bunch of grapes?
However, she was in the Cilento, all towns in the chimeras.
Bacchanalia was, in fact, in the coastal area between Agropoli Castellabate proprio vicino al mare, verso il Tresino.
Appena si arrivava, subito l’odore d’uva raggiungeva il viandante, che si trovava a percorrere un’unica via tortuosa e cedevole come una serie di ponti sollevati dal terreno.
Viadotti incredibili, assurdi cavalcavia, passerelle insensate, sconclusionate intelaiature d’acrobata si susseguivano formando un’unica strada contorta e avviticchiata, che s’immetteva in tante altre altrettanto strambe.
A destra e a manca, sopra e sotto i passaggi, c’era un carosello di sfere: le case, le chiese, le scuole o i negozi, le bettole degli artigiani e poi, numerose, le taverne erano in un rincorrersi di globi e di bocce.
Osterie, trattorie, inns, wineries and bottiglierie were everywhere and the noise of clinking glasses, flasks, bottles and BOTTLE, carboys and bottles of uncorked reached just once in deafening tones. Among the Cincin Plok
and the explosion of bottles fetched, the happy days spent at Bacchanalia.
Many items that were there, you could get cheap purchase stock in a good mood.
pitchers, flasks, mugs, jugs, pots, cups and pints and jars and jars of all shapes and materials and colors were on display along with berries, grapes and wine.
There was no person who went to Bacchanalia without buying at least a grain or a grain or any small cup that somehow it would lay in her mind the sweet memories.
the main road away from the bazaars, streets could go smaller, narrow, narrow, branching two or three that were also raised from the ground and carried straight straight at the doors and gates, and then there were green squares and soft, velvety, broad and had the shape of palms. There used to get children to play with balls similar to ball, but more transparent and small, sometimes wrapped in thin shells exploded, and soon, all the children ran to lick and suck the sweet juice that flowed. There was also a
Another good fun to Bacchanalia: it was the slide!
Just outside of town, the slide was a tangle of curls as curls of hair fall out, soft, elastic and swaying to the point that even a slight breeze was enough to make him move.
Thus, the older kids would gather there and did real racing in a vacuum, those most daring threw themselves against the waves of the stormy sea or the wind in winter and stayed for hours to hang in the air and go up and down, attached to the slide. Those diving into the void
knew of flight.
The finest hour was at Bacchanalia, however, that the sunset on all sides, the sun shone down l’insieme di sfere.
La luce entrava e faceva sfavillare le case rotonde fatte di lucida polpa e di zuccherati sughi: tutto diventava trasparente come una lampadina accesa ed ogni cosa dentro era visibile fuori, proprio come succede ai sogni prima del risveglio, poi, a mano a mano, la luce del sole si spegneva a mare e come piccole lucine di un presepe, Baccanalia si accendeva; e gli occhi di chi l’osservava si perdevano in un susseguirsi di mille globi luminosi sorretti da ponti incredibili tra cielo e mare.
In quei globi c’era la vita.
Per tutti quelli che sono stati almeno una volta a Baccanalia, ciò che resta nell’animo del suo ricordo è il leggero senso di stordimento e di felicità malinconica, that only he knew that place lost in the Cilento donate.
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