From the village in come the cries of children, the beat of the blacksmith, the breath of a village dominated by the Neemrana Fort, a hotel and citadel in which we occupy a tower that has as terrace a small temple and its colonnade. Nice, but it has been hard to get there because of a hitch in highway caused by the Indian way to overcome traffic. If the southbound carriageway to three lanes is blocked because a tractor-trailer was overturned, truckers do not like to endure the tail and they begin to move - against the traffic - in the lanes of the northbound carriageway until they stop altogether at the first point where there are men at work. We lost half an hour only because we had started early; the others, had a terrible delay. We disposed of irritation falling asleep in the sun and then going to see a huge pit with steps, nine floors down low, more than 70 meters in progressive steps towards a tank abandoned. Now it became the timeshare of parrots, squirrels and sparrows restless "until the death of the day." Getting lost in the narrow streets of the country we tried to find, with the eyes of Leopardi, somewhere in a local Silvia "laughing eyes and fugitives". But towards evening there was only a donkey breeder who after loading with stones the buckets of donkeys, he threatened to beat them. And they, "prudent and fugitives", begin to trott at a good pace. Bad news for tomorrow. The petrol has increased by three cents, there is the threat of a general strike. And we are almost in the reserve.
