Mantova

And when I was about to start writing the greatest post of my entire existence, I stumbled.

Yes, I was about to tell briefly about the past grandeur of Mantua, the city born on a swampland, raised by fame and Family Gonzaga to a pearl for arts and architecture…

Then yeah I was about to progress in the post with the visit of the main buildings-museums, totes superb..

I was certainly all-in to talk about the immense work in progress around the castle and palace, the cranes, the sadness to hear it’s still because of the earthquake’s damages in 2012..

Yes, I was also adding the general mood of the city centre, the porches, the stones, the vivid colours on the walls. Not by any chance I would have missed to mention the human-sized streets, so personal and full of personality…

I was for sure bragging about the serene ownership of the streets by old men with a lovely accent. Or about delicious food…

I think at the end I would have been also able to put a chapter about locals claiming to win a prize for most humid city – by the way the crown for funniest sentence goes to ” There is too much humidity here ( x Ntimes). And we have lots of porks around here” I found it a sublime supplement-.

But I saw the pictures and they are awful to explain, to accomplish my urge to show off Mantova. Damn. I tagged only one image as ‘enough good’ and here there is:

porches

What now? In an escalation of feelings, swinging from demolished pride to childish sadness I am going to show you the personal disaster, a.k.a. the class “How not to take a picture 1.0”. Enjoy the circus:

view

The Blurry One

piazza

The Sloping One

The Sad One

The Sad One

The Dammit Stay Still Not Happening One

The Dammit Stay Still Not Happening One

The Underexposing One

The Underexposing One

I’d love to blame something else, but the reason is simple: for the first time after a year travelling solo I had someone along. Shame I totally neglected the quality of the images, I was seriously on a mission to fill the gap created by 3 hideous years without unexplainably seeing the person next to me. Let’s call it a draw, shall we?

I moved around the town and I saw its shape and colours, but I don’t think I completely understood it. I wasn’t struck by lightning,  mostly the opposite, I found it familiar. I must admit I have something I might call thirst of romance with new cities, where my biggest natural dream is to madly fall in love with the surroundings, find spots and take striking pictures and develops new brilliant thoughts but I was so distracted by just walking and generally being happy with the Mister. Maybe it was the weather, more certain an excuse to go back another time.

This guy often ends with a  “Who knows?…”. I do, I do.

P.S. I don’t really understand why the “Anarchical Cycling” hates me, but I guess they are right.

Anarchical Cycling

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