Tunia or the smoke that thunders 
How many times have I thought of Dr. Livingstone, and that face must have been when, after traveling hundreds of miles in a bush-hued burnt by the sun and the silence broken by the cries of animals in the savannah, 
she suddenly finds herself surrounded by the bright green of tropical forest and a noise that covers every item that is human or bestial. 
And how many times I have imagined her "emotional understatement by British doc when, sweating like a goat, with a mouth like sandpaper to the impalpable dust which penetrates everywhere, he finds himself soaking wet under a shower with fresh and micronized before him mountains of water which seem to fall into the bowels of the earth, creating clouds of steam going to obscure the sun.
Well none of this has happened. Find out today (Wikipedia are great!) That the good David came to the falls there, as the first European and we have him this, alas, in November. Precisely in 1855. I've seen Victoria Falls last November: great, nothing to say but anything to do with the same in this time of year when, after the rainy season, the Zambezi has a maximum capacity of water. 
Perhaps for this reason, our Dr. Livingstone has renamed the Victoria Falls, in honor of his patron and promoter Regina (with whom he also had some rust), replacing the name that the locals had always given to the monster water: Mosi Tunia or "the smoke that thunders." I am convinced that if he came here a few months ago he would have disposed of the understatement, given to a few local tree the name of Victoria (so she was happy) and left the name given by those who wanted more. 
Also because a front of a mile and a half to an average height of 130 meters, with a flow rate of water about 9000 cubic meters / sec. Of course you do that makes a nice smoke. Other than Queen Victoria!
Every morning on my way to work, Joseph and I walk along the Main Road in the direction of the falls, which are about 9 km. by Livingstone, and every morning in front of him the spectacle of a giant cloud of steam, we speak of a column of water vapor with a height of 1500 meters, rising white and opalescent sky blue 
. On Tuesday, camera and camcorder duly wrapped in plastic bags stuffed in the backpack of Shoprite in turn wrapped in my poncho staff from the equatorial jungle (or high water in Venice is more or less the same stuff when you consider moisture content), 
I went sightseeing at the falls. What can I say? I let the pictures speak. 
When I get more good also try to post the video so you hear the noise. The feeling of "mist" that is deposited on the skin, you can try putting your face over a pan of boiling water, as do the fumigations and then fast, put my face in the freezer. Let me know how it goes.
Tunia or the smoke that thunders How many times have I thought of Dr. Livingstone, and that face must have been when, after traveling hundreds of miles in a bush-hued burnt by the sun and the silence broken by the cries of animals in the savannah, she suddenly finds herself surrounded by the bright green of tropical forest and a noise that covers every item that is human or bestial. And how many times I have imagined her "emotional understatement by British doc when, sweating like a goat, with a mouth like sandpaper to the impalpable dust which penetrates everywhere, he finds himself soaking wet under a shower with fresh and micronized before him mountains of water which seem to fall into the bowels of the earth, creating clouds of steam going to obscure the sun.
Well none of this has happened. Find out today (Wikipedia are great!) That the good David came to the falls there, as the first European and we have him this, alas, in November. Precisely in 1855. I've seen Victoria Falls last November: great, nothing to say but anything to do with the same in this time of year when, after the rainy season, the Zambezi has a maximum capacity of water. Perhaps for this reason, our Dr. Livingstone has renamed the Victoria Falls, in honor of his patron and promoter Regina (with whom he also had some rust), replacing the name that the locals had always given to the monster water: Mosi Tunia or "the smoke that thunders." I am convinced that if he came here a few months ago he would have disposed of the understatement, given to a few local tree the name of Victoria (so she was happy) and left the name given by those who wanted more. Also because a front of a mile and a half to an average height of 130 meters, with a flow rate of water about 9000 cubic meters / sec. Of course you do that makes a nice smoke. Other than Queen Victoria!
Every morning on my way to work, Joseph and I walk along the Main Road in the direction of the falls, which are about 9 km. by Livingstone, and every morning in front of him the spectacle of a giant cloud of steam, we speak of a column of water vapor with a height of 1500 meters, rising white and opalescent sky blue . On Tuesday, camera and camcorder duly wrapped in plastic bags stuffed in the backpack of Shoprite in turn wrapped in my poncho staff from the equatorial jungle (or high water in Venice is more or less the same stuff when you consider moisture content), I went sightseeing at the falls. What can I say? I let the pictures speak. When I get more good also try to post the video so you hear the noise. The feeling of "mist" that is deposited on the skin, you can try putting your face over a pan of boiling water, as do the fumigations and then fast, put my face in the freezer. Let me know how it goes.
why do not you believe that .. .. I am here to make flannel or combing the dolls or remove stains the leopards which is already more on the subject. No, because the descriptions of games on my breakfast with the Indians (a About! Somebody up there and was very attentive to your prayers: we have gone avocado milkshake, bananas with kiwi and mint leaves, a slippery even more digestible porridge) may induce thoughts like, is there on vacation . Actually I'm working hard on two projects: the first, as many of you know, is the realization of Graziella's garden. The second is a work with the staff of Olga's face organizational identification and allocation of responsibilities. 
This obviously would have the desired ,
that one goes to the office (my desk in the photo) in the morning, opens his laptop, listen to the little music to Windows and start up Internet Spippola looking for flooring for the garden, picnic tables, outdoor lighting, swings, sandbox and all that comes to mind about how to create an outdoor space. Or, still sitting at the computer, you squeeze your brain to make memories resurface of a job, the organization of the psychologist, who had been buried by tons of muffins with carrots and tomatoes stewed in a certain branch of the socket of Venice. Well, it is not, or rather, not exactly. Not only because of technical problems: it interrupts the supply of light or the Zamnet (the local telecom) greets and thanks and you're there like a cuckoo clock waiting for you reconnect. It also happens that Brandina arrives announcing the senior cook, with the placidity of the Zambians that there are more chickens and a table has ordered four portions. Then close all go to Shoprite in front to take the chickens. Or get Sister Frances, a nun who speaks Irish narrow, fast e. .. abundant that as soon as you know I'm a psychologist ensnare me: is pursuing a project of the Japanese cooperation to build a kindergarten in the compound poorest Livingstone and a psychologist would be useful to give a hand to teachers. What are you doing? You say no? Not me.
Saturday evening, around 7.30 Joseph and I were working in the office when 18 people arrived at the restaurant that was really enough pudsy. I see that Joseph, like an eel closes everything, takes off his shirt, puts on the black T-shirt with the logo of Olga's and jumps to make pizzas. I followed suit and attack in the kitchen with fresh salads and an endless mountain of dishes to wash and dry. 
Other than ER! Of course, I also concede recreational breaks like this morning with Mishongo (you can learn at home version of the picture) to the Maramba market a market that most African so you die. One Musungu (pale) followed the swaying belly of the stalls in the crevices, inside the various shops with the tin roof, listening without understanding a damn The talk in "Bemba" in "Tonga", in "losi", in "nianja. Are presented to all those who Mishongo know (but I would say that virtually all) as "law", that is a relative experience, aunie of Joseph (you know that he is spinning on a chicken BBQ at home). 
It 'a show to attend the ceremonial meeting: one by the hand holding the left hand at the elbow, the handshake is complicated, three-step and I always mistake the succession, if a person is older and you are a woman there bows. As you can imagine I do not ever bow in return I have throngs of women who bow: it will be an advantage? At the end of the day I bought:
three Pescioni fresh directly from the Zambezi (the next episode will tell you what they know), 6 bowls of tin with enamelled floral motifs (typical African it is since I was in Madagascar that I wanted) 8 chitenge (which we are called pareos, here are the traditional clothes of women) that when I need to cover sofas and chairs in my house (too much indian! I'm in Africa) and that you will end up on my return as gifts : great for tablecloths, 18 lollipop (lollipop) for boys in the kitchen and love it. I spent a total of € 15. Contento Michele Uras?
the Maramba market I could not photograph anything because they do not like. And I understand them: how many times I damn the Japanese photograph me while I pulled up the Venetian bridges my overflowing shopping carts! The goal can be troublesome ethologist curious. 
We do however know a bit 'of Livingstone: The Dylan's Supermarket, where you can not find the oregano to flavor the tomato sauce and some shops in the Main Road. 
Fish and peace.
why do not you believe that .. .. I am here to make flannel or combing the dolls or remove stains the leopards which is already more on the subject. No, because the descriptions of games on my breakfast with the Indians (a About! Somebody up there and was very attentive to your prayers: we have gone avocado milkshake, bananas with kiwi and mint leaves, a slippery even more digestible porridge) may induce thoughts like, is there on vacation . Actually I'm working hard on two projects: the first, as many of you know, is the realization of Graziella's garden. The second is a work with the staff of Olga's face organizational identification and allocation of responsibilities. This obviously would have the desired ,
that one goes to the office (my desk in the photo) in the morning, opens his laptop, listen to the little music to Windows and start up Internet Spippola looking for flooring for the garden, picnic tables, outdoor lighting, swings, sandbox and all that comes to mind about how to create an outdoor space. Or, still sitting at the computer, you squeeze your brain to make memories resurface of a job, the organization of the psychologist, who had been buried by tons of muffins with carrots and tomatoes stewed in a certain branch of the socket of Venice. Well, it is not, or rather, not exactly. Not only because of technical problems: it interrupts the supply of light or the Zamnet (the local telecom) greets and thanks and you're there like a cuckoo clock waiting for you reconnect. It also happens that Brandina arrives announcing the senior cook, with the placidity of the Zambians that there are more chickens and a table has ordered four portions. Then close all go to Shoprite in front to take the chickens. Or get Sister Frances, a nun who speaks Irish narrow, fast e. .. abundant that as soon as you know I'm a psychologist ensnare me: is pursuing a project of the Japanese cooperation to build a kindergarten in the compound poorest Livingstone and a psychologist would be useful to give a hand to teachers. What are you doing? You say no? Not me.
Saturday evening, around 7.30 Joseph and I were working in the office when 18 people arrived at the restaurant that was really enough pudsy. I see that Joseph, like an eel closes everything, takes off his shirt, puts on the black T-shirt with the logo of Olga's and jumps to make pizzas. I followed suit and attack in the kitchen with fresh salads and an endless mountain of dishes to wash and dry. Other than ER! Of course, I also concede recreational breaks like this morning with Mishongo (you can learn at home version of the picture) to the Maramba market a market that most African so you die. One Musungu (pale) followed the swaying belly of the stalls in the crevices, inside the various shops with the tin roof, listening without understanding a damn The talk in "Bemba" in "Tonga", in "losi", in "nianja. Are presented to all those who Mishongo know (but I would say that virtually all) as "law", that is a relative experience, aunie of Joseph (you know that he is spinning on a chicken BBQ at home). It 'a show to attend the ceremonial meeting: one by the hand holding the left hand at the elbow, the handshake is complicated, three-step and I always mistake the succession, if a person is older and you are a woman there bows. As you can imagine I do not ever bow in return I have throngs of women who bow: it will be an advantage? At the end of the day I bought:
three Pescioni fresh directly from the Zambezi (the next episode will tell you what they know), 6 bowls of tin with enamelled floral motifs (typical African it is since I was in Madagascar that I wanted) 8 chitenge (which we are called pareos, here are the traditional clothes of women) that when I need to cover sofas and chairs in my house (too much indian! I'm in Africa) and that you will end up on my return as gifts : great for tablecloths, 18 lollipop (lollipop) for boys in the kitchen and love it. I spent a total of € 15. Contento Michele Uras?
the Maramba market I could not photograph anything because they do not like. And I understand them: how many times I damn the Japanese photograph me while I pulled up the Venetian bridges my overflowing shopping carts! The goal can be troublesome ethologist curious. We do however know a bit 'of Livingstone: The Dylan's Supermarket, where you can not find the oregano to flavor the tomato sauce and some shops in the Main Road. Fish and peace.
Breakfast nightmare You know Sylvester the cat when walking on tiptoe, hugging the walls to avoid Tweety? At seven-thirty in the morning I'm the same. It all started when the first day that Joseph has always been called "the grandmother cultivating the spices, "with the kindness that only the Indians know how to get me" calls for a coffee. "What to do? You are a guest there, is really ugly decline. So I enter the maze, I met the grandfather, with a skullcap wool on the head, hands clasped in token of respect for me, kidnap me and bring me in front of Shiva all'altarino that have placed in the pantry (I think that others are not particularly religious). 
Opens portfolio they leave card of Shiva, Ganesh, but also of Sai Baba and others who do not know, just like us (or at least those of us who believe in it) carry in their wallet St. Dominic Savio with Lily and Don Sturzo. Among the cartons of flour corn, cans of beans of all kinds, jerry cans of mixed seed oil, jars containing all kinds of spices, light incense, say a short prayer in INDHI me and says "Now it's time for breakfast," she makes her way to the dining room After taking me on a visit in the lounge. This dominate divanoni velvet cream, elephant tusks that looked like that of the grandfather Piero baby tooth of the same, inlaid tables, heavy curtains, carpets and rugs on a multitude of junk then, artificial flowers, figurines, lace on potrone , crochet doilies .. "come on, come on" until I see the last jewel of the family: an ultra-thin LCD panel at 54 inches. The little man with a remote control Spippola that seems to Sky and shows me how fast he can see ten channels in all languages \u200b\u200bin India that transmit those terrible films in Bollywood he goes crazy. We sit at the table, comes the "granny spice" followed by the Zambian servitude. put on the table with bowls and trays: omelettes, pancakes, something resembling our piada, beans sailing in a red broth, green rondelline dipped in a sauce of yogurt, cooked tomatoes and of course a line of beverage and a can of tea . I'm confused! The grandfather who has the face of Gandhi but the quenching of a SS tells me "You must eat!" and I fill the pot with a bit 'of everything. I face with courage the omelette curry, I burned mouth with the pancake red chili, baked beans on the spillway of Chillies. The "granny spice" that from now on I will call the general's "ask me" Do you like it? " but it is not a question, is a statement which clearly say "Delicious" with the precise feeling I plotted my future destiny.
fact, every morning there is the general's or the Mahatma who wander in front of my house, "Did you sleep well? As in for a coffee" and on with curry! Yesterday I did
Sylvester the cat and I sfangata. This morning he sent the general's Frances, the Zambian home, asking if I was okay. Tomorrow morning pensatemi everyone at seven and a half (there is no difference time zone so you can maximize a previous real-time) will be there to argue with the corn fritters with cardamom and garlic. In a stench that none can take off my shower, I embrace you all, not forgetting to give you my address space: the photos show the main entrance of the house overlooking the tropical garden and Moses Road. You have seen well, the tree on the side of the gate is a "poinsettia" in African version. On the road there is a taxi instead of Mr.Sakala is coming to get me. 
Breakfast nightmare You know Sylvester the cat when walking on tiptoe, hugging the walls to avoid Tweety? At seven-thirty in the morning I'm the same. It all started when the first day that Joseph has always been called "the grandmother cultivating the spices, "with the kindness that only the Indians know how to get me" calls for a coffee. "What to do? You are a guest there, is really ugly decline. So I enter the maze, I met the grandfather, with a skullcap wool on the head, hands clasped in token of respect for me, kidnap me and bring me in front of Shiva all'altarino that have placed in the pantry (I think that others are not particularly religious). Opens portfolio they leave card of Shiva, Ganesh, but also of Sai Baba and others who do not know, just like us (or at least those of us who believe in it) carry in their wallet St. Dominic Savio with Lily and Don Sturzo. Among the cartons of flour corn, cans of beans of all kinds, jerry cans of mixed seed oil, jars containing all kinds of spices, light incense, say a short prayer in INDHI me and says "Now it's time for breakfast," she makes her way to the dining room After taking me on a visit in the lounge. This dominate divanoni velvet cream, elephant tusks that looked like that of the grandfather Piero baby tooth of the same, inlaid tables, heavy curtains, carpets and rugs on a multitude of junk then, artificial flowers, figurines, lace on potrone , crochet doilies .. "come on, come on" until I see the last jewel of the family: an ultra-thin LCD panel at 54 inches. The little man with a remote control Spippola that seems to Sky and shows me how fast he can see ten channels in all languages \u200b\u200bin India that transmit those terrible films in Bollywood he goes crazy. We sit at the table, comes the "granny spice" followed by the Zambian servitude. put on the table with bowls and trays: omelettes, pancakes, something resembling our piada, beans sailing in a red broth, green rondelline dipped in a sauce of yogurt, cooked tomatoes and of course a line of beverage and a can of tea . I'm confused! The grandfather who has the face of Gandhi but the quenching of a SS tells me "You must eat!" and I fill the pot with a bit 'of everything. I face with courage the omelette curry, I burned mouth with the pancake red chili, baked beans on the spillway of Chillies. The "granny spice" that from now on I will call the general's "ask me" Do you like it? " but it is not a question, is a statement which clearly say "Delicious" with the precise feeling I plotted my future destiny.
fact, every morning there is the general's or the Mahatma who wander in front of my house, "Did you sleep well? As in for a coffee" and on with curry! Yesterday I did
Sylvester the cat and I sfangata. This morning he sent the general's Frances, the Zambian home, asking if I was okay. Tomorrow morning pensatemi everyone at seven and a half (there is no difference time zone so you can maximize a previous real-time) will be there to argue with the corn fritters with cardamom and garlic. In a stench that none can take off my shower, I embrace you all, not forgetting to give you my address space: the photos show the main entrance of the house overlooking the tropical garden and Moses Road. You have seen well, the tree on the side of the gate is a "poinsettia" in African version. On the road there is a taxi instead of Mr.Sakala is coming to get me.
Here it comes again Hello to all my readers old and new. Back in Africa, in Zambia again, back to Livingston. And yet again the feeling of coming home when the plane landing on the runway with windsock and a few other equipment, but many many frangipani and bougainvillea, with their colors ranging from pink to orange to red to purple. Landing in Livingston plane makes a complete revolution in the Victoria Falls which are now at their most spectacular and deserve the name of Mosi Oa Tunia "thunder who smokes." Giuseppe At the airport with his wife Mishongo that, with a belly twins for eight months was quite difficult to embrace: There was everything!
This time I have a house in a curious property of a family of Indians in Mumbai (the grandparents), but the Zambian children. They are in the "good" of Livingston in the hills, where in the garden which is a tropical garden, there are the tropical house and mine.
Besides the vegetable of course, where his grandmother grows chilly, tourmeric, and what she calls "indian vegetables" but that seem to know of cucumber green chilies. 
news for all of my Alocasia farmers: the grandmother grows a plant Alocasia quite similar to ours but with dark red stem. This quality is eaten boiled and used to roll the rice speziato.NON mangiatevi your Alocasia velenose.Il garden that also has a sixty mango trees, a dozen lemons, the fruit of which seem more of the cedars, and then papaya, passion fruit, bananas ... a beauty. 
If the garden is exactly as one would expect to see a tropical garden, the houses, that is my master, I am absolutely bizzarre.Nella my bedroom cottage has a window that overlooks the kitchen, bathroom entry in the shower and go out in the sink and toilet. All on different levels, with steps of different heights and at night, go to the bathroom becomes a problem ... not to mention the electrical system: it took me an hour to figure out where he lit the kitchen (as in electric throughout Africa). 
One says, there are knobs! Of course there are, but are locked ON so you have to turn on and off by a master switch. Where is it? There are 4 at home and not come out just the right one, until I discovered that behind the altar of Ganesh, the son of Shiva to protect the home. 
This morning I photographed the tropical garden including two parrots (Natalia are the same as yours, just a little 'bigger) that are quite disturbing as they chat all the time.
at night are completely silent as they are admitted into two gabion turquoise as the owls are particularly voracious here ..
Here it comes again Hello to all my readers old and new. Back in Africa, in Zambia again, back to Livingston. And yet again the feeling of coming home when the plane landing on the runway with windsock and a few other equipment, but many many frangipani and bougainvillea, with their colors ranging from pink to orange to red to purple. Landing in Livingston plane makes a complete revolution in the Victoria Falls which are now at their most spectacular and deserve the name of Mosi Oa Tunia "thunder who smokes." Giuseppe At the airport with his wife Mishongo that, with a belly twins for eight months was quite difficult to embrace: There was everything!
This time I have a house in a curious property of a family of Indians in Mumbai (the grandparents), but the Zambian children. They are in the "good" of Livingston in the hills, where in the garden which is a tropical garden, there are the tropical house and mine.
Besides the vegetable of course, where his grandmother grows chilly, tourmeric, and what she calls "indian vegetables" but that seem to know of cucumber green chilies. news for all of my Alocasia farmers: the grandmother grows a plant Alocasia quite similar to ours but with dark red stem. This quality is eaten boiled and used to roll the rice speziato.NON mangiatevi your Alocasia velenose.Il garden that also has a sixty mango trees, a dozen lemons, the fruit of which seem more of the cedars, and then papaya, passion fruit, bananas ... a beauty.
If the garden is exactly as one would expect to see a tropical garden, the houses, that is my master, I am absolutely bizzarre.Nella my bedroom cottage has a window that overlooks the kitchen, bathroom entry in the shower and go out in the sink and toilet. All on different levels, with steps of different heights and at night, go to the bathroom becomes a problem ... not to mention the electrical system: it took me an hour to figure out where he lit the kitchen (as in electric throughout Africa). One says, there are knobs! Of course there are, but are locked ON so you have to turn on and off by a master switch. Where is it? There are 4 at home and not come out just the right one, until I discovered that behind the altar of Ganesh, the son of Shiva to protect the home.
This morning I photographed the tropical garden including two parrots (Natalia are the same as yours, just a little 'bigger) that are quite disturbing as they chat all the time.
at night are completely silent as they are admitted into two gabion turquoise as the owls are particularly voracious here ..
she suddenly finds herself surrounded by the bright green of tropical forest and a noise that covers every item that is human or bestial. 
And how many times I have imagined her "emotional understatement by British doc when, sweating like a goat, with a mouth like sandpaper to the impalpable dust which penetrates everywhere, he finds himself soaking wet under a shower with fresh and micronized before him mountains of water which seem to fall into the bowels of the earth, creating clouds of steam going to obscure the sun. 
Perhaps for this reason, our Dr. Livingstone has renamed the Victoria Falls, in honor of his patron and promoter Regina (with whom he also had some rust), replacing the name that the locals had always given to the monster water: Mosi Tunia or "the smoke that thunders." I am convinced that if he came here a few months ago he would have disposed of the understatement, given to a few local tree the name of Victoria (so she was happy) and left the name given by those who wanted more. 
Also because a front of a mile and a half to an average height of 130 meters, with a flow rate of water about 9000 cubic meters / sec. Of course you do that makes a nice smoke. Other than Queen Victoria! 
. On Tuesday, camera and camcorder duly wrapped in plastic bags stuffed in the backpack of Shoprite in turn wrapped in my poncho staff from the equatorial jungle (or high water in Venice is more or less the same stuff when you consider moisture content), 
I went sightseeing at the falls. What can I say? I let the pictures speak. 
When I get more good also try to post the video so you hear the noise. The feeling of "mist" that is deposited on the skin, you can try putting your face over a pan of boiling water, as do the fumigations and then fast, put my face in the freezer. Let me know how it goes. 
