dublin is: an unnecessary needle hundred feet planted in the road, sinks microscopic you can not wash your hands without wetting the ground, the skull of Jonathan Swift, bacon and butter everywhere and in great abundance, the Irish breakfast, which is enough for lunch and that's great for dinner, completely messed up traffic lights but with the appropriate accessories, the countdown, dancing merrily in the streets to the sound of the flute while people look at us a bit 'evil, night walks along the Liffey, pubs and colorful gates, the stern gaze of Molly Malone and the despair of the statues of famine, Shane MacGowan of the disks that are not even here, people we had all quietly undressed and very cold, the singer who sings whiskey in the pub in the jar, covered with the small coffee shop in every inch of posters and advertisements of any kind, the cold wind of Howth, seals that greet the little green island inhabited only by seagulls, the odd Polish-type met on the boat, tons of scarves worn that always seems to be near the harbor, kiss my girl by the wall gas work, write to the lighthouse at sunset, immmensi spaces of Trinity College, the harp of King Brian Boru, a library straight out of a movie, thousands of red brick, the concert of slf failure for ten days, green trash to no end, the poitin Featured, Irish stew that is pure harmony, the faces in the mirror, look left when it would be better to look right, barley, hops and yeast in a dark and charming combination, the sun and the clouds playing tag in the sky, never tiring.
Belgium is, the ducks that walk at night in the quiet square in Bruges, the streets seem deserted as a ghost town, the Westmalle triple the Bellevue Kriek Trappe and even the stew cooked in beer, work in progress everywhere, trecentosessantaepassa steps to get on belfort, swans sunning themselves before plunging into the channels, hundreds of bicycles parked in every possible place in front of the station in Ghent, the steeples of cathedrals in three rows that rise into the sky, the many French fries eat sitting on the statue in the square, waving flags with the lions on the castle, find the least flashy of a city simply by taking the tram or bus, the German type hostel there because he is the last option when you have finished the rest of Europe, hundreds of stores with hundreds of chocolates, the fun maps made by locals, the thirty-five km bike up to Ostend, the immense beaches of the Sea north inhabited only by seagulls, the immense effort to pedal against the wind, the glitter of diamonds in the windows of Antwerp, the Flemish bread with olives, the paintings of Rubens and the clash of the bootleg, the sugar that coats the squares of the waffle, the sudden rush down the train, with comic murals on the streets of Brussels and the child's tribal mask pissing, black and white photos of past lives and unknown and postcards of the past in the flea market, the structure impressive Atomium and the Heysel small after all, the restaurant is always full and the flight from pizza hut, the ruins of buildings destroyed and deserted downtown, the unexpected appearance a bit 'sgarruppato the capital of Europe, see the whole city from the roof of a deserted parking lot, his face raised to y after landing.
travel is: all this and much more: one of the nicest things you can do. f
csxqp: The Pogues - "Dirty Old Town"
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