Which Restrauant Cuts Your Tie

The idea was to continue for the legendary Route 66, then to San Francisco via Los Angeles have come to Flagstaff.Il trip was by bus and even with the Greyhould thousand people had warned me that they were poorly placed to the buses, I never would have thought they were worse than Bolivians. Not one but two incidents of minor, but two accidents in three hours! No more Greyhould, they did not even projected a movie! So I arrived in the town saw me arrive five hours late to meet me at the bus station, Matt, a boy couchsurfer country-style, in fact, a professional musician. Flagstaff is really beautiful here do not lock their houses. They are all friendly and everyone seems to be musicians. City dry and windy same fire, the pair of Cs that was to house the next day due to evacuate due to fire in the garden, never mind that I stopped by Matt gave a party and I attended my first jam session, ie the succession of musicians who improvise freely and all good, but just singing, but it was nice in the background there was the smoke of the fire, spectacular!
I managed to contact two Australian girls too, passing through the city and together we rented a car, automatic transmission is exceptional, how many things can be done more easily with one hand free! Maybe it was not made for that but that's cool!
And, yes, the Grand Canyon is immense, breathtaking, spectacular, more so on and so forth ù! Amazing, huge, F. me side way, OMFG! There you feel really small, and because I did not pay the secondary entrance hall, which is not bad. The next day, but always with the Corolla without super speed, I went to Sedona, but there open-mouthed in front of mountains shaped by the wind and weather. My last couchsurfer was Daniel, boy (here the air is good) with a fantastic home and an adorable dog do not bark and is already a plus, the last days in this town I spent cycling around and taking pictures of fires through several BBQ!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uAsV5-Hv-7U&a=sD09v9uSrwg&playnext_from=ML

Nadine Jansen - Crash

the streets of San Francisco

When I met travelers who had visited many places, the question was often asked myself what was the city where he would stop ati to live, and the most frequent response was San Francisco.
And if it were not for the wind and the roads up and down I could probably say the same, beautiful and clean city with friendly people, not bad I must say, despite being a big city, no one has the impression of traffic and smog. Cara, the dollar rising saddens me, a bus ride costs $ 2, I make clear that km, in order to save 200 pennies. My first couchsurfer were a couple of very friendly Indian who lived in the center, so I could visit the city on foot, walking along the ocean: China Town, Little Italy, as usual full of restaurants and cafes, I must say very nice, but quite expensive. San Francisco, and perhaps throughout California, has the distinction of being healthy and loving everything that is
Fitness then go-ahead run and all organic shops, even with stroller in hand! I also ended up in a cafe very popular with the Beat generation in the 70's, Vesuvius, which has a horrible coffee barista and obnoxious, but has seen regular customers such as Jack Kerouac, which is no small thing. In Little Italy I found this quote: If you are as proud of Where You'll always know from where are you going and take pride in all you do.

I first got in some Farmer's Market, where the farmers sell their products and I could do a taste, taking into account that used to stand about twenty, you could easily make a meal, all very healthy, peaches , cherries, blended with carrots, broccoli, honey and chocolate dessert with madorle ... I did not know that they also almonds, walnuts of California.Sono I had been very healthy, but do not give up the brand, then go ahead to coffee chains and fast food (which they call restaurants, a stab in the heart) every third street is a Starbucks, a chain of coffee substitute and derivatives, which owes its thanks to the tactics of voter anteater, use massive amounts of corn sugar, called Corn that all the sugar syrup as addictive, and the ant is unconsciously recall withdrawal, the ant is a bit American 'cicada, do not want to walk more than three blocks, wifi and want to leave a tip ... but I also had a discussion about the tips, have compared the use and custom of tipping in the States to enter a mosque with suitable clothing, my futile attempt to differentiate between money habits cultural. the fast food chains are varied and for each race and taste, but not devoid of fat and effect anteater, a sandwich I digest the Mc Donald after two days, we see that they developed a particular enzyme. My second couchsurfer was a boy of Chinese descent and I have to say that his roommates were more sympathetic to him, lived in the area of \u200b\u200bthe city where the majority were Chinese, and I do not know why but to me the Chinese I do not like, so I moved house and I ended up with a pair of vegetarian very carini.La Cs is very large community in SF, I've been to some meetings in the city and went to visit a national park, the Red Wood, where I thought it was the largest tree in the world, but I was wrong park, and come over to visit the tallest tree in the world, being high among tall trees, I did not understand what it was, however, it was a nice trip I went by car with three other couchsurfer, an Englishman Bob, Dina who was driving, and Ara, a boy Austr lish on the road for 25 months, a very great guy FreeHugs! By chance I ended up even at a festival y quite famous for Haight Ash-bury area, very popular in the hippie 70's, music stores and second hand clothes, the festival was spread along the main street with two antlers at the beginning and the end where you could listen to New Orleans Jazz and between the two extremes were performing street musicians, very good, the stalls with different foods, mostly grilled or as they are called here, BBQ, for a change to another acronym, stands around here! LOL!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SB2tYYYlwMc

Very Mild Chicken Pox Images

Droppie (VII parte)

"That," said his grandmother had always been a pejorative tone in the name of the servant. "That" had stolen the silver spoon of sugar. "That" had chipped the porcelain bowl. "That" always arrived later with the expenses because he did flirt with the butcher. When, exasperated by how rude Donna Caterina, "that" threatened to leave, my grandmother was closed in the room sobbing: "The loss, the loss." And to learn to behave in a more charitable the next, though of humble birth, he reread the life and works of St. Catherine. But then "that" would not go away ever, and everything began again as before. The truth was that those two women they loved and could not be one without the other. "That" was the only one which allowed the grandmother to comb his hair down to the ground and of dressing in her elegant Cignoni, assuring them with twenty-five "pettiness" of bone. Only allowed to assist her in the kitchen to the creation of his secret recipes. It made her a gift to Christmas because she said: "The real rulers are seen by how it treats the servants." The annual buying train tickets to go the country, which invariably "that" came back with a suitcase full of goodies for everyone. That the boy had never seen Donna Caterina accept one, though. Was thanked and shook his head. Only muscat grapes of his homeland could not resist and plaintively asked to serve as appropriate: "Damm 'n'acino grape" or "Give me' 'nu drop of' poison '.

She was grateful to the teachings of Monsignor Della Casa and was always saying that real ladies do not eat and drink, but they eat like birds and you should always lift table with a little of appetite. He always wore black and had gnarled hands and long fingers with a piece of string tied around the ring not to be slipping away the faith of her husband. The boy remembered to have noticed it once while she was peeling peas or beans for the next day with the maid. He remembered his hands freezing cold that night when his grandmother rubbed her feet in front of the tv, cold or wet that morning in which he taught himself to tie the knot. Not to mention the time he got up at night to fetch a glass of water, he saw the flickering light of a candle grandmother sitting at a table together with other women her age with the palms resting on the round table three feet of the room, fingers spread and thumbs and little fingers that touched not to interrupt the chain. Suddenly the tripod had a start and then slowly lifted from the ground. His grandmother shook her head back and his voice no longer spoke the name of the deceased husband of one of the women and began to answer her questions, speaking in first person as if he were. The boy went back in the room immediately and did not tell anyone what he had seen and heard, but was so impressed by the thing that asked not to be present in the house when his grandmother was dead.

The answer came one day late winter. The boy had gone to Rome with his brother for being a bit 'with her grandmother taking advantage of the Easter holiday. Donna Caterina was not at all well. The maid was tired, old and sick and had fallen to the country for Christmas, never to return.

Although she would never even admitted to herself after the death of the servant Donna Caterina had fallen into a deep depression and almost did not eat any more. Not even a "grape". Needless to say, were all very worried about her, including her grandson that he was very fond. On the way home for lunch, hoping that the grandmother ate at least one of those maritozzi with the cream she liked time, an old woman appeared from nowhere at the corner of the lane of Bologna balancing on shaky legs with shopping bags. As if he could read the thoughts of the boy smiled with his toothless mouth and said: "He passed the winter 'a little old, eh? "and disappeared without a trace. So, suddenly, as she had come.

The boy went home very shaken and told Peter that naturally do not believe a single word of what the brother was a veritable oracle of death, and even not so cryptic. Donna Caterina went to sleep in mid-April. The same month her husband's death, the marriage of his daughter and the birthday boy.

Wot Is A Brazilian In Woman

Droppie (VI parte)

The boy took off his jacket and went and opened the windows of the room, carefully avoiding looking in mirror at the entrance. There was still smells of smoke from the night before with Silvia and wanted to get some 'air and light. Too late. The tulips had tender, sprinkle with orange petals on the table and the carpet in front of the couch. He took them and threw them into the bucket of wet under the kitchen sink. Silvia was broken. The mark of lipstick on a cigarette butt into the ashtray he recalled it to him along with his last words.

"The beds are made for two." Or for one, said the boy mentally smiling to himself, happy to be back home and sleep again in his bed in a square and a half. He was a great empire walnut bed, a legacy of her maternal grandmother. He certainly rejuvenate the whole context: replaced the damask on the walls with a wallpaper striped multicolor by Paul Smith, by the heavy velvet curtains, via photographs of dead children and grandchildren in bands or missing in war-the first and secondary. Had revived the old parquet French under the dusty dark blue carpet that the grandmother had glued on in the name of modernity. But the bed was the same. Had they left her with all the rest of the furniture in his modest home on the first floor of 14 Vicolo del Bologna in the heart of Trastevere, where he lived long before the neighborhood became famous and falling into the hands of American English intellectuals and rich people. It was a house full of charm and overflowing with ornaments. Old photos faded by time, antique furniture gnawed by termites and large mirror blackened stains of lead that stood at the console, in the beautiful wooden frame with golden "crown SOVR 'lu coat of arms "as my grandmother used to say when he wanted to claim his noble birth. The house was cozy and the guy there was really good.

entered the studio and glanced over the iBook dusty desk. He had decided to finish the damn argument, but still did not want to face the ghost of Peter, Nicola and all the rest. He turned on the stereo, but turned it off immediately. For how long classical music would have remembered those two?

A dusting the computer but he did it to him and saw that there was passed the old torn t-shirt that he used to dust also on the images that smiled at him from above the desk. The father with his pipe in his mouth on the balcony of the hotel in Graz, the degree of his brother and the black and white portrait of his grandmother. Donna Caterina with the capital campaign was a noblewoman, famous among the stone houses with terracotta tiles on his village in the mountains of Basilicata for his young and wealthy heiress of quirks before, for his troubled marriage d ' love then, and finally to his mysterious psychic abilities. She hated the loneliness of the great metropolis, and had chosen this quarter from the narrow streets and blackened chimneys on the low roofs of the houses because they remind her of her country.

Among the inventions twentieth-century she was born in 1899 - loved and hated the TV dishwasher. She was a woman of strength and pride had given up everything. When she decided to marry the grandfather of Protestant-Catholic despite the veto of his father and uncle, Monsignor was disinherited and lost everything, including the diamond ring that the brothers took off from the finger out of the house before. He soon lost the comfort of her husband. Cecco grandfather had come to build bridges to Africa and returned in a closed chest, died of malaria. But he never lost the pride of his noble origins and way of life to which she was accustomed and to which he would never give up in resignation. Since the boy he could remember, my grandmother always had her maid staff. He had brought from the country. The boy remembered it well: natural fiber and thin hair, blacks and eyes still fixed on the ground, kind and extremely quiet. The names were not his forte, but as he tried to remember it was almost certain that he had never heard her speak in that house.