How it all began – My precious (2)

This semester is kinda me doing all the stuff that previously i had either no time or no courage or no partner for. And i can truly say that  outdoor experiences are amazing, but sharing them makes them extraordinary.

It took me a while to get to learning how to ride a bicycle –  about 26 years –  but i did it. But it was not easy. It started with sitting on the sidewalk whining that “riding that thing is not for me”, but ended with “Weheeeeeeeeeeee  ” down a hill in Durlesti – near Chisinau, Moldova.

I had no idea what i was missing out on. Aside from the actual ride, it is all about where a bicycle can get you :  and in my case, the destination was out and away.

I can truly say that i have seen more of Milan in 3 months than in 4 years. And all due to a red shiny bicycle. Well, it not so shiny anymore, as it has seen more than one muddy park, but underneath it all, it is still red.

I vouched to keep it safe –  and thus it sleeps in my room, as the thought of leaving it outside for ambiguous emigrants to steal is too unsettling. It takes a bit of effort to take it upstairs and back –  but having it there reminds me that there are so many places that i have seen and yet so many places left to see. The Map of Milan is no longer the same to me – it used to be just streets and green patches every here and there. Now it has become memories.

I used to take it out more often, but now i just dream of the warm , sunny autumn days when leaves, cold or rain were not an issue. Not all is lost though, as now i  too understand why they say that he who knows how to ride a bicycle never forgets it.

How it all began – My precious

It is never too late to learn, and it is never too late to buy your first bicycle.

We first went out to seek the market for used bicycles on a sunny September Wednesday. I knew i only had one semester left in Milan, but i had already decided that it did not matter –  i would invest in a bicycle and would enjoy those last months in the city. And enjoy them I did.

The first attempt to buy me a bike was not fruitful in the direct sense –  after wondering around the area for a couple of hours, we decided to ask a bored policeman about the market and found out that it was only held on Saturday. Oh well, no harm done –  it was a really beautiful  morning and we had enjoyed it by having Kinder Surprise in a parking lot near Esselunga where we were suspected of planning a grand theft ( we were kinda pointing at the bicycles and discussing a particular pink one), by discovering 2 parks, by discussing existential issues at length and by planning extensively all the wonderful things i would do once i had IT. Once i had the BICYCLE. 

Officially, the used Market of Sinigalia is for people to sell their own belongings, but that is the official version. In reality,  more than half of the stuff there is stolen. Especially the bicycles. That is why there is police patrolling the perimeter in order to oversee the sale/purchase of items –  an activity through which they to diminish the cases of theft around the city. But more about how WE got to sit into a police car for about 30 min in another post.

So there we were, at the gates of the market. Full of ambiguous characters, the area reeked of illegality –  but we knew what we came for. i knew that my future baby was someone else’s baby once – but i was gonna take good care of it, and, most importantly, i was gonna keep it away from ending up at that market again.

We first tried the bicycle that some Romanians were selling –  but firstly, it was suspiciously cheap and secondly, i NEVER EVER do business with my own kind because i know what people are capable of. So, we moved on.

Ever since we entered , there was one gal that kept winking at us with its big wheels. it was shiny red, pretty clean, smooth and restless to be taken out for a spin. It was the prettiest one there –  reaching out for me, with the sporty handles and the comfy basket, the cool seat and the pro gears…  I had to make it mine. My precious. 

(To be continued)

Un nou inceput

Am decis pina la urma sa incep un alt blog.

Wake up and Smell the Coffee nu ma mai atrage, iar deschizindu-l, sunt tentata sa citesc ce am scris cindva, sa imi amintesc cum am fost, ce emotii aveam, ce ginduri, ce idei, ce lucruri ma motivau, ce anume cautam … Acel blog il las acolo, la o adresa noua, undeva in amintire.

Si, mergem mai departe. Aici incep din nou sa scriu.

M-a motivat puternic o promisiune pe care am facut-o unui prieten, si anume sa scriu un articol despre un pod. Chiar am inceput de mai multe ori sa il scriu. Am vreo 3-4 ciorne. Vreau insa ca acest post sa fie anume despre ce as vrea eu sa fie, insa, ori din cauza lipsei de practica, ori din alte motive, asa si nu ajung sa imi pot exprima gindurile asa cum as vrea eu. Stiu ca multi bloggeri zic ca nu scriu pentru cititori, ci o fac pentru ei inshishi. Desigur ca este o minciuna – orice persoana, dupa ce a creat ceva, ar vrea sa primeasca macar un pic de feedback, macar un pic de apreciere, macar citeva scrisori de la fani. Deci am si eu nevoie de cititori, insa simt ca va dura nitel pina cind voi simti ca scrisul meu merita vazut.

Aceasta vara a fost fenomenala. Cred ca as putea incepe cu asta :) Si asa, incet incet, ajung si la acel pod.