## Bari Yesterday my friend from Foggia asked me: "Do you think Foggia is beautiful?" It could be. Lots of history, old buildings, charming squares and old underground barns. But it's a mess. She had studied in Bari and thus wants to bring me there and while Bari is both a beautiful medieval town and a Paris-inspired large university city, it has the same problem. On one square you have a group of laureates with the *alloro* weaved into their hair and pictures of them drunk or studying desperately compiled by their friends and colleagues, on the other side people shouting with themselves and dealing drugs. Large groups of these, maybe they are also celebrating graduation? They must have friends at the police because the policemen are the ones making the *cartelloni* foto collages. R is happy: "This was my faculty and here I ate foccaccia after class - oh and the shop is still there!" But a guard keeps up from entering where she remembered "Qui non si entra piu al segretariato?" "No, signora!", it's over there now. Change. There are not many people, the space is empty but she showed me the classroom which step by step had transformed the young girl listening to the *Beatles* with her dad to the woman falling in love with *Les Fleurs du Mal* and never looked back after this. Teaching is her passion, even so much so that her free thinking, world curious soul never ever thought twice about leaving Puglia to explore people and cultures that fascinate her so much! Instead she brought the world in via friends and romance. I realize at the medieval castle that even German emperors had wanted to live here, so there must be something to it. Meandering between the sea of water and one of little alleyways we reach San Nikola, a high rising, luminous church with an impressive wooden ceiling and transverse arches which give the feeling of a truly ancient place of worship. The sea makes my friend glide over the remnants of the city walls like a riding on subaquatic waves. When I ask her to take a selfie of us because her arm is longer than mine, her phone almost falls out of her hand but by some miracle she touches the shutter button and we're immortalized in the most spontaneous moment of shared happiness. In the church she looks at the ceiling in rapture with a facial expression like Bernini's Santa Teresa. That's my friend: Direct and honest, connected to the world as it is. Although when I show her the picture she's startled and buries her head in her scarf. "goffa" she says, "vera" I reply. People eat *orecchie con la cima di rapa* here, who knows what that is, it looks like broccoli it tastes like broccoli and because no inner child likes broccoli I'm not swooned by this famous local dish. They say you eat well in Puglia but I just don't seem to get it right. I'm like the people who complain about bad food in Paris. I guess you have to give it more time and research but I concentrate on learning as much as possible about R who is so surprisingly different than how she appeared while chatting for 2 years. In Writing, sympathies and overlap of the general topics of interest became apparent quickly but finer details were lost. I have to remember that, because as an introvert, I'd always preferred impersonal communication, not knowing what I was missing. Everything happens as it should at the exact time it is supposed to, as R would say, so I plan to make the best out of my new self. One thing I had managed to gather early on was her love for books. I brought three: "1er rencontre. 2 chiacchiere. 3 livres" which she immediately started to read and share with her class at school and of course, a present always gets reciprocated, so R brings me to Feltrinelli, the same where she had passed her student years and introduces me to her favorite people, dead or alive but dead mostly by suicide, "like all great people!". I think she showed me every book in the store, first name, whom the author's cousin married and their dogs favorite toy. In a lifetime I couldn't read them all. On the train back we write each other a phrase to commemorate this trip on our respective train tickets. A trip to the past to build the future of a friendship. Once again I'm the one learning, learning how to be a good friend for good people. From dozens of friends she has one who is happy for her when she's happy. Imagine a friend who doesn't share your sorrows. Imagine one who cannot share your joy. Despite being a highly irregular figure, I take seriously what I do. When I was learning from books I wanted to know that I precisely understood what I had read. I wouldn't fuss about it, for a while it just happened then I disappointed myself by not doing anything when it became necessary. Now being offered time by friends for going down a chunk of life together, I want to be reliably good and honest, a joy and an advantage in return. It mostly just happens, but sometimes I have to put in some effort.