Multiplying Ratio: Part 6. The white roads of Oliena, Sardinia : ITALY

ventoenuvole : europe : italy : sardinia : oliena, siniscola, supramonte, barbagia
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Multiplying Ratio: Part 6. The white roads of Oliena, Sardinia

Oliena, Siniscola, Supramonte, Barbagia

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Multiplying Ratio: Part 6. The white roads of Oliena, Sardinia

Località: Oliena, Siniscola, Supramonte, Barbagia
Regione: Sardinia
Stato: ITALY (IT)
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The seventh day
These dirt roads in the morning, take a particular color, seem made to be crossed without having to lead to a precise destination, but only accompany the traveler on his way.
Arriving at the marina, I began to enjoy the atmosphere that accompanies each marine resort, which has nothing to do with the "sea".
Even with a feeling of shame I tasted the act of bathing.
That dolphin brought to coast by speedboat, he did not reckon with Elijah bastard who wore holidaymakers to discover the thrill of sailing. On returning from their great enterprise of small vessels, may describe having seen them up close a big fish, but they have not had time to distinguish itself by being able to specify the species.
I had the time to caress her lovely smiling face again.
I resumed my journey, I found myself in an ancient village, (Siniscola) in that place lived a life that follows the originality 'of the topos. An old woman laughed my interest in her youth now lost, it was nice in front of my desire to photograph.
Everything around me was surrounded by walls that mark the attention to the place, a big bow with a proper gate allowed the stranger not to enter freely, and the natives not to leave without any feeling. Almost as if it were to be accountable to other authorities 'own freedom'.
From there exited no longer 'returned.
Sometimes the close itself for fear of not being violated in his domus, corresponds to equally do not want to leave nothing to it. Where you can not 'go it can not match the exit.
By now I could see the mountains of Supramonte long for, their charm and grandeur, were supreme. It was not my first encounter with the mountain, my legs were already 'tasted the effort to reach it. But these were details, were the memories of the song.
The first real failure to cycling, it happens right in the side of a dining venue that allowed me to finally enjoy those tastes that Sardinian cuisine, even the white wine drunk my memory of a world now remote. With some stone guest exchanged a few words about memories. They spoke of kidnapping, as if it was for them a duty, under 'the fact that we were now on the edge of Barbagia.
I listened to their legends kidnapped in the same way as their protagonists.

 

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