It was in July that I saw my friend Dom, who returned here in September between one thing and another we have never succeeded in pecking, also because I live across town. At present, Thanksgiving Day, or the day of the turkey. A fortnight in an authentic American restaurant (?!), I have given, perhaps a po'stanco chew food than usual since I was here, a menu of the day the turkey with wine, and potatoes.

After we make sure there was any American in the group, not to validate the gossips that was just a pretext for a good dinner, we waited half an hour in bailame our good people. Located lucky, the bottle in my area being fought mostly by myself given the wine lovers do not sit with me. Among the interesting things came out tonight the story of the Pilgrim Fathers (and the new interpretation: "it is strange, as if to celebrate the day in which we have begun, in harmony, to remove his land"). The Mexican thanksgiving, celebrating the same day, the same turkey, but with a completely different story, narrating such a "Colonel" (forgive the memory, it is wrong for sure) that sought the seven cities of gold, taking with him a lot of people, venture beyond the Rio Grande in the wilderness seems to have suffered a great famine with the group. At the end you end up always there, thanks for the food.

Unltima highlight of the Australian night: you have your thanksgiving? No, we are prisoners in place of the pilgrims landed ... and they had the turkey. A myth.

Sgammati in my part means "discovered", "found in the bag with your hands." Remember the post " Random "where disturbed by the constant noise of workers eleven floors below me pointed out that the manhole covers but not only it seems a bit 'by chance? Here, at last a little satisfaction, a providential retribution: it's now chief of the ants. I heard screaming from up here, and after half an hour seemed drawn the chalk line you see in the picture: the limit of the road they built a meter wide, we have passed over the gravel to level it and now it is apparently a big problem.

Here we say that already tonight, about two o'clock, my satisfaction heralded its arrival, a desolate man dug a hole in the middle of the "square". Crazy? Hyperactive? The have said that if he did not know what to do was dig a hole and cover it? No, I have forgotten a pit under the gravel and the man was saved. As I mentioned, an interesting aspect of building practices in China (at least in front of my house) is the total independence of the subsoil (pipes, manholes, connections) from what is above (roads, gardens ..). The approach produces interesting tricks like the one pictured above where the drain falls right on the border between street and garden.

Two months after returning to China, here is the ninth Travel Diary: "Let's call it routine".

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