Step 3: realising as you mature as a person that Snape was actually a terrible person after all and was an abusive bully who didn’t grow out of this stage even into his late 30s and an obsessive person who thought he was entitled to Lily just because she showed him friendship and no matter how many bias memories of his you are shown, you will never see him in any different way
unfortunately some people are still stuck in stage 2
Step 4: Realizing Dumbledore was manipulative and abusive as well and not the infallible person everyone believed him to be.
Step 5: Discovering that the only person as golden as their reputation portrayed and knew what the fuck was going on was Minerva McGonagall and she was amazing.
I don't think it would be true in our case. It would be An awesome gang of underestimated bookworms. Our force would be our vast culture due to extended reading in many fields, each of us being slightly more advanced in this or this topic.
The power of Literature, Bitches.
Je ne pense pas que ca serait vrai pour nous. Je nous imagine bien monter un gang de rats de bibliotheques. Avec notre culture generale plus etendue que la moyenne grace a nos lecture nous aurions un avantage naturel sur nos enemis. Bon, ok, on commencerait pas etre gravement sous estimes, mais ce serait une occasion de promouvoir le savoir.
The power of Literature, Bitches. (non, Je ne traduirai pas cette phrase, c'est ridicule)
So I am thinking about the next tatoo I am going to get. I have a 2 years break between tattoos rule, but I really wanted to mark my adventure in China and keep it on my skin so I think I am going to bend the rule and get a tattoo sooner than expected.
This time it is probably going to be a drawing with a couple or more of Chinese characters. I am thinking of a Chrysanthemum (symbol of prosperity and endurance) getting out of a book (because books) And a sentence reading 别灰心 (don't give up). I see it the size of my palm, on my back, on the right ribs, where my bra passes. I still need to find someone to draw the design.
Finding the tattooer And the salon won't be such a problem. We have friends who got tattooed here, they'll be able to recommend me something.
I am so excited!
Je suis donc en train de songer a me refaire tatouer. J'ai une regle selon laquelle Je veux attendre 2 ans entre chaque tatouage, mais Dans la mesure ou Je vais quitter la Chine plus tot qu'initialement prevu, je pense ignorer cette regle (de toute facon je fais ce que Je veux) et marquer mon sejour en Chine par un nouveau tatouage.
Cette fois ce sera un dessin, avec quelques characters Chinois. Je pense a une chrysantheme (symbole de prosperite et se resistence) qui sortirait d'un livre (parce que ca parait evident qu'il faut un libre) et une phrase: "别灰心" (n'abandone pas).
J'imagine ca de la taille de ma paume, sur les cotes Dans le dos a droite, la ou passe mon soutient-gorge. Mais il faut encore que Je trouve quelqu'un pour le dessiner.
Trouver le tatoueur et le salon ne devrait pas etre un probleme. Nous avons des amis qui se sont faits tatoues ici et ils pourront me conseiller quelqu'un.
OH GOD NO BUT THAT WOULD BE PERFECT. how did the jedi not think of that?
what is anakin’s biggest weakness? attachments.
you know who needs lots of attachment? babies. small children.
anakin should not have been made to study murder: he should have been put in charge of Small Things. He would have bonded with all of them instantly, and it would have given his life Meaning and Purpose.
He’d bond with the kids, but he’d be able to move on because they are Bigger now and they have to go to the Big Kid Class but he still sees them around all the time, and it finally teaches him how to let go of his attachments??? He’d find a kid that he’s particularly fond of and go to Obi-Wan and say “I have found your newest padawan.”
this could have fixed so. many. things. ;_____;
Heh, and Anakin would keep picking Obi-Wan’s padawans for him, and it would be annoying but damn if he wasn’t right every single time.
BUT CAN YOU JUST IMAGINE HOW ANNOYED PALPATINE WOULD BE his life would be never-ending string of trying to get a hold of Anakin (I mean, would Anakin give him a time of day if he can spend it with small kids who absolutely adore him instead?)
he keeps comming over the years, but it’s always like
BEEP
“Anakin, my boy, we haven’t seen each other in a while—“
“I’m sorry, Chancellor, now’s not the best time. I’m tutoring a class.”
BEEP
“My dear boy, I wonder if we could meet for a chat—“
“Well, it can’t be this week, we’re going to Ilum, but maybe later…”
BEEP
“Anakin, I’d like to—“
“I’m terribly sorry, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan Kenobi answers. The apologetic tone might be just a tad exaggerated. “Anakin is on a trip with younglings, he must’ve left his comlink behind accidentally.”
BEEP
“You’ve reached Anakin Skywalker’s private comlink. Leave the message after the tone.”
BEEP
“It’s such a shame that Council doesn’t consider sending you on this campaign, considering the lightsaber skills you demonstrated when I was last visiting the Temple, Anakin.”
“Thank you, Chancellor, but this is precisely why I need to stay behind. In fact just the last week, the Masters decided I should take over some advanced lightsaber classes, considering senior Padawans accompanying their Masters on the frontlines need the training. I might take the Bear Clan along, make it a learning opportunity for the young ones—“
Palpatine closes his eyes slowly. He knows this from experience; Anakin won’t let himself be budged from the topic of little monsters for at least another half an hour.
BEEP
“Ah, Chancellor Palpatine. Anakin left his comlink behind again, he’s in class—“
BEEP
“Anakin, I hoped you—“
“Oh! Chancellor,” the voice on the other end is distinctly female, and Palpatine recognizes it after a second. Kenobi’s second Padawan. He barely restrains the urge to gnash his teeth. “Um, Skyg—I mean, Master Skywalker can’t pick up now. I can tell him you called? It’s just that he was helping me with forms, and he forgot his comlink, and he’s probably already in crèche…”
BEEP
Then there’s that one time when an actual youngling picks up the call. The less said about his reaction to that incident, the better.
BEEP
“—fortunately, they were all right in the end. But in my opinion, this should never happened in the first place, Chancellor.”
Palpatine snaps awake. Was that… was that anger? Finally, the hours of listening to worthless drivel about Jedi younglings paid off.
“My boy, I absolutely agree,” he begins slyly, but before he can continue, Anakin steamrolls on.
“I think Jedi Order is too deeply entwined in the conflict! I honestly don’t think even senior Padawans should be anywhere near battles, not to mention in command of GAR, but now even younglings are acceptable targets for Separatists and pirates! Master Yoda and I were talking about this lately, and—“
Palpatine swallows a scream of rage with some difficulty.
BEEP
“Forgot his comlink again, Master Skywalker has. With younglings, he is.”
Slaughtering younglings moved to the top on the list of things Darth Sidious will do after taking over galaxy some time ago.
That is what the Council would have done if they were smart. Seriously. Here’s Yoda saying Anakin should not be taught because he senses too much fear in him, and it’s fear for the people he cares about, something everyone present realizes fully because when it comes to his own safety, Anakin couldn’t be more reckless.
Then Qui Gon announces he’s training him anyway, someone points out he might fulfill the prophecy and bring balance to the Force, and nobody, NOBODY, thinks that MAYBE giving him a job that’s more about caring than killing might be an idea. Nope. Okay, we’re training him, let’s foster the loose canon aspect of his personalities, make him a war general and keep pushing him into vicious battles to the death. Sounds perfect for his mental health.
The Jedi Council were a bunch of idiots with their head so far up their own asses even a lightsaber shoved up there to the hilt would not provide them enough light to see further than their own noses.
I think I got lost somewhere in this metaphor. You get the point.
After ten years, Palpatine loses his patience and decides to change his plans. Fuck it, Skywalker has kids now–two adorable little moppets who can be captured, broken, and twisted into twin powerhouses of the Dark Side. Torture one while the other watches, convince them Daddy doesn’t love them, easy-peasy.
Unfortunately, he fails to reckon with the fact that not only is he going up against Anakin Fucking Skywalker, but that Anakin Fucking Skywalker is the surrogate father/big brother/best friend/cool teacher of ninety percent of the current Padawans and young Knights in the Order. And while the Council might make decisions and talk about the Will of the Force and stuff, those Padawans and Knights only care about the fact that the man who scared away the monsters under the bed–made it feel less lonely and frightening to be away from home when they were small–is now hurting and scared for his own children.
Just like Palpatine always wanted, Anakin ends up leading an army. An army of young Jedi who smash the ever-loving shit out of everything “Darth Sidious” can throw at them, rescue the terrified Skywalker twins, and drag the Chancellor hisownself before the Senate with conclusive proof that he’s an evil Dark-Side-wielding bastard who kidnaps adorable kids.
Attachments FTW.
God, YES
Luke and Leia would have grown up with 500 brothers and sisters of assorted species. Whenever you see Anakin there are 10 kids with him, occasionally actively hanging off of his arms or riding on his shoulders. (Anakin looks downright gleeful about this). Padme thinks it’s the most adorable thing ever.
20 years later by the time “A New Hope” would have begun, Anakin is 45. Padme is the new Chancellor. Luke and Leia are finishing their own Jedi training. 90% of the current young Jedi order calls Anakin ‘Dad’. He has amassed the galaxy’s largest collection of refrigerator art. After that incident with Chancellor Palpatine 15 years back, Yoda was forced to admit to Qui Gon’s very smug force-ghost that he was right. Everything is right with the galaxy.
La version française est disponible après Mc Gonagall.
The monster and I are currently writing a book. Nothing really surprising about it, since we both have quite a passion for writing. We even have an awesome illustrator to work with us. The whole project is to be honest, incredibly thrilling. The thing is, We write in English. It did not even occur to us we could write in French, We sort of naturally started to speak in English so when we started writing, it was obvious that we should keep it the same way. But our illustrator is not as fluent as we are in the Shakespeare's language. She offered to read more in English in order to improve, so she could read our texts, which is incredibly kind of her. In return, I offered to translate the whole thing.
Some time later, when I was complaining to my dear twin that no one was reading whatever it is that I post here, he pointed out at the fact that it's all written in English and that most of our common friends are not exactly fond of the language.
So here I am, translating my own work.
I had not realised how much the way I use languages have changed over the years.
I started blogging something for like ten years ago. And writing for probably longer. I can't really put a date when I went from drawing to actually writing. I always had quite a vivid imagination. I remember writing short stories when I was in high school, maybe even earlier. but then my memory is tricky and those years are sort of always surrounded by fog. But I used to write exclusively in French. For both blogging or writing something something more complex. I used to be uneasy at the idea to write in English. It felt like pretending. Pretending that I was fluent enough to write in a foreign language, it sounded petty, for a French to write in English. But then I started to write in English, the same way I stopped putting subtitles on the movies I watched, I stopped buying translations of book originally written in English. I just did. One day I realised that it felt more natural. Some people got lost on my blog from foreign countries so I just switched to English. But I kept on writing my stories in French. I don't really know why. probably because I never deemed myself as good enough to write such a complex thing in English. But then the Monster offered to write and the rest of my works followed.
But now, I realise that I have to go back to French, as I translate my own works, both the stories I wrote alone, and also the one we are working on together, since I promised a French version to Lady Patience. And now to my articles too. I can't exactly complains no one reads what I write if I don't make it easier. And it is a very weird feeling. I am rediscovering my own mother tong. I realise that languages are mixed in my head, and despite writing in one language, I could at the same time dictate it in the other. Mainly, I don't have to think about how to say things any more. I just know what comes next. It feels that the story itself is not in a definite language anymore, but rather that I have kept the picture of it and see it through a filter, either French or English.
For the Story The monster and I are working on, it is even weirder. I know the story by heart. Even the part I didn't write. I haven't read it often, yet I could probably recite it from memory to the word. And the words flow in French as if I just doing exactly that: reciting it from memory. The fact that the language is not the same doesn't matter. There is just the story, the events, the tones and atmosphere, the rhythm of the text and the images it conjures in the head of anyone who reads it.
I am now teaching French now (and English, but that's not the point). I had been using it on a daily basis for my job, but for anything that was even remotely personal, everything was in English. And now I rediscover the pleasure of writing in French. The difference in rhythm and structures, the way sounds work is different and I had missed it in some way.
It is boring and painful to have to translate every article because it feels like saying twice the same thing (which is exactly the case) but it is a great exercise and make me realize how unsteady my writing can be and how much room there is for improvement.
And now, Translation time!
The Monster et moi (desolée, je ne peux juste pas traduire les surnoms, ça me fil toujours un ulcère: C'est comme la traduction de noms propres dans les romans, c'est criminel.) sommes actuellement en train d'écrire un bouquin. Jusque la, rien de surprenant dans la mesure où nous avons tous les deux une certaine passion pour l'écriture. Nous avons même une extraordinaire illustratrice pour bosser avec nous. Le projet tout entier est assez excitant (cet euphémisme!).
Le detail intéressant est que nous écrivons en anglais. Il ne nous est même pas venu à l'idée d'écrire en français. Nous avons comme qui dirait naturellement commence par se parler en anglais, alors quand nous nous sommes mis à écrire, il était evident que ce serait également en anglais. Le hic, c'est que notre illustratrice n'est pas aussi à l'aise que nous dans la langue de Shakespeare. Elle a proposé de lire plus souvent en anglais pour améliorer son niveau et je lui ai de mon cote propose de travailler sur une traduction de nos textes.
Peu après, alors que je me plaignais à mon infortuné jumeau que personne ne lit jamais que je poste ici, il m'a fait remarquer que tout est écrit en anglais et que la plupart de nos amis communs est un peu faché contre la langue de la perfide Albion.
Me voila donc à traduire mon propre travail.
Je n'avais jusque là pas réalisé à quel point mon rapport aux langues a changé à travers les années.
J'ai commence à blogger il y a à peu près 10 ans. Et à écrire, peut être un peu plus, Je ne peux pas vraiment donner de date sur quand est ce que je suis passée du dessin à l'écriture. J'ai toujours eu une imagination extrêmement fertile. Je me souviens avoir noircit des cahiers entiers avec mes nouvelles quand j'étais au lycée, et peut être même avant, mais ma mémoire de ces années là est un peu floue.
Mais j'avais pour habitude de n'écrire qu'en français. Que ce soit pour blogger ou pour écrire des choses plus complexes. J'étais mal à l'aise à l'idée d'écrire en Anglais. Comme si je jouais la comédie, prétendant être assez douée dans une langue étrangère. Cela me semblait prétentieux. Une française qui écrit en anglais? Pour quoi faire?
Mais plus tard, je me suis mise à écrire en anglais, de la même façon que j'ai arrêté de mettre des sous-titres quand je regardais des films, ou que j'ai arrêté d'acheter des traductions pour des romans initialement écrits en anglais. Juste comme ça. Sans m'en rendre compte. Puis un jour j'ai realisé que cela me semblait plus naturel. Des gens s'étaient égarés et retrouvés sur mon blog, alors je me suis mise à écrire en anglais.
Mais j'ai continue à écrire mes histoires en français, je ne sais pas vraiment pourquoi. Peut être parce que je ne m'étais jamais considérée comme assez bonne pour écrire quelque chose de complex en anglais. Puis the Monster m'a proposé d'écrire et le reste a suivit.
Mais maintenant je m'aperçois que je dois revenir au français, pour traduire tout ce que j'écris, à la fois les histoires que j'ai écris seule et celle que nous écrivons à deux, dans la mesure où j'en ai promis une copie dans la langue de Moliere à Dame Patience. Et maintenant, c'est au tour de mes articles. Je ne peux pas vraiment me plaindre que personne ne les lisent si je ne fais rien pour en rendre la lecture plus facile.
C'est une sensation vraiment étrange. Je redécouvre ma langue maternelle. Je me rends compte que les langues sont mélangées dans ma tête et bien que j'écrive dans une langue, je pourrais le même texte dans l'autre langue en même temps. En fait, je me rends compte que je ne pense plus en terme de langue mais en terme d'histoire. Je sais ce que je veux dire, peu importe la langue dans laquelle cela doit être écrit. J'ai garde l'idée générale et l'observe via un filtre, anglais ou français, quand je me mets à écrire.
Pour notre projet commun avec the Monster, c'est encore plus étrange: Je connais le texte par cœur, même les parties que je n'ai pas écrit. Je ne l'ai pas lu souvent et pourtant je crois que je pourrai le reciter de tête, au mot près. Et les mots semblent couler de source, naturellement; sans que j'ai besoin de réfléchir à comment "traduire". Le fait de passer d'une langue à l'autre est complètement invisible ou presque. Il n'y a que l'histoire qui compte, les événements, le ton, l'atmosphère, le rythme et les images que tout cela conjure dans l'imagination de quiconque le lit.
J'enseigne à présent le français (et l'anglais, mais là n'est pas le sujet). Je l'ai utilisé au quotidien dans mon travail, mais ces dernières années tout ce qui était un tant soit peu personnel était en anglais. Et maintenant je redécouvre le plaisir d'écrire en français. Les differences de rythme, de structure, la façon dont les sons s'agencent et forment un tout agréable. Cela m'avait manqué je crois.
J'aime écrire en anglais pour le côté propre, net et précis. Je me suis habituée à pouvoir recourir aux verbes à particules, à une profusions d'adverbes faciles et très imagés. Il y a un cote pratique à écrire en anglais. Les formules sont plus simples, plus percutantes:
Puis je reviens au français. A ses fioritures qui finalement habillent le texte. Ma professeur d'écriture d'invention à la fac m'appelait Docteur S. Roman fleuve à cause de ça. Mon obsession pour la description, les phrases à rallonges et finalement ce style très imagé, qui entraîne le lecteur dans le récit et l'immerge dans cet univers étrange qui est dans ma tête:
Traduire exactement chacun de mes article est pénible et ennuyant, car j'ai l'impression de répéter deux fois la même chose (ce qui est exactement le cas, en fait.) Mais c'est un excellent exercice et cela me permet d'appréhender les différences de style et perfectionner mes textes. C'est un bon moyen de me rappeler que mon anglais, s'il est bon, n'est pas parfait et que j'ai encore de la marge pour développer un vrai style. Je travaille aussi mes compétences en traduction et surtout, j'écris. Ce qui est finalement le plus important, non?
[note poste correction: J'écris avec un clavier qwerty, et sans déconner, je viens de passer 10 minutes à rajouter tous les accents et autres symboles cabalistiques du français. Sans rire, ça m'avait pas manqué!]
I visited Korea last week, and here are a couple of things I thought I should share: - Since the country was under Chinese occupation for two hundred years, Is the country similar to China? To be honest, it's the first thing that stroke me when I arrived: Korea is very different from China. First of all, it is incredibly quiet compared to where I live. People speak quietly, unless they are laughing or arguing. Rares are the shops who hire someone to shout in the street. Cars honking are rare. There is a feeling that attracting too much attraction is inappropriate. They have a very different relation with sounds and noises. The subway is full of sounds, the alert for the coming train, the different messages to ask the passengers to be careful, but at the same time, everyone is quiet. China is not like that. China is loud. People shout at each other from opposite sides of the street, having a conversation, or someone standing at their window shouting at someone in the street. People carry their radio with them on speaker, Salespeople shout in the street to attract the attention of the passers by, Drivers honks for every possible reasons. Here noise is part of life. But not in Korea. - The relation with personal space: In Korea, my companion complain quite a lot about people bumping into her and never apologising. It seems that the Koreans have a different relationship to the crowd and how the handle their personal space. People are not exactly touchy-feely. but They don't mind bumping a stranger in the street. It's being part of society. They don't expect anyone to apologise for it. no matter if it was intentional or not. - Some messy weird facts: The don't use the same chopsticks Chinese or Japanese use. Theirs are thin and flat and in metal. It's weird to get used to them. The Subway in Seoul (and in other big cities) is to be used as a shelter in case of emergency, and it has been fully equipped to face a terrorist attack: gaz masks are available, as well as flash lights and fire extinguishers. There are videos on loop on how to react in case of fire, accident or terrorist attack on ever platform, which is a bit disturbing, but understandable when you know that Seoul is not even 50km away from the north Korean border.
J'étais en Corée la semaine dernière et voila deux ou trois trucs qu'il fallait que je partage:
- Dans la mesure ou le pays a été occupé par la Chine pendant près de deux siècles, est ce que la Corée ressemble a la Chine? Pour être honnête, c'est une des premières choses qui m'a frappé quand je suis arrivée: la Corée est très différente de la Chine.
Premièrement, c'est calme, comparé à la ou j'habite. Les gens parlent doucement sauf s'ils rient ou se disputent. Rares sont les magasins qui embauchent un vendeur pour crier dehors pour attirer les passants. Les klaxons sont encore plus rares. Nul ne veut attirer l'attention, comme si c'était inapproprié. Le métro est plein de bruits, les sonneries de depart et d'arrivée des trains, les messages de sécurité aux voyageurs, mais en même temps, tous ces bruits ont un but et entre dans une ensemble qui n'est pas envahissant,et tout le monde est discret. C'est different en Chine. La Chine est bruyante. Les gens crient d'un cote à l'autre de la rue, ou d'un étage a l'autre pour discuter, les gens transportent leurs radio avec eux, mettant leurs musique sur haut parleurs, Des crieurs interpellent les gens dans la rue pour le compte de telle ou telle boutique, les automobilistes klaxonnent a tout bout de champs. Ici le bruit fait parti de la vie. Mais pas en Corée.
- Il y a aussi une grande difference dans la façon dont les coréens perçoivent leur espace personnel. Ma compagne de voyage s'est beaucoup plainte de se faire bousculer et que personne ne s'excuse. Il faut dire que si les Coréens ne sont en general pas touchy-feely avec leur entourage, il en va différemment des inconnus. Rentrer dans quelqu'un ou le bousculer fait partie de la vie en société et personne ne s'attend a recevoir d'excuses, que cela ait été intentionnel ou non.
- Quelques faits étranges: Ils n'utilisent pas les mêmes baguettes que les chinois et les japonnais pour manger: les baguettes Coréennes sont fines, plates et métalliques, ce qui est un peu complique au début.
Le metro de Seoul (et des autres grandes villes) est prévu pour être utilisé comme abris en cas d'urgence et est parfaitement équipé pour faire face a un accident ou a une attaque terroriste. Il y a des masques a gaz dans chaque couloir, des lampes torches et des extincteurs. Des videos passent en boucle sur chaque quai pour explique comment réagir en cas d'urgence, ce qui est assez perturbant, mais assez comprehensible quand on sait que Seoul est a moins de 50km de la frontière nord Coréenne.
I need someone to hold me tight,
to lull my sobbs with words and small gestures,
to let my tears run dry,
when I ache
when I shake
when the whole world inside me crumbles to dust,
when I feel I am drowning
when everything becomes dark And cold.
Helplessness is clawing its way out. Or is it its way in?
Flesh is lead And bones iron barres.
The coldness crept And stole whole the warmth in the world.
I feel I might shatter if I move,
Breathing is painful.
I am still alive.
I need someone to hold me tight.
I am in a train in Korean, going from Seoul to Daegu. We
didn’t take the high speed train, so it’s a 4 hours trip.
I love train. Especially when I sit next to the window. I read, I write, I
sleep, or I just watch the landscape evolve. Here in Korea, looking at the
countryside, discovering what Korea looks like outside Seoul is a great
experience.
It’s the Cherry blossom season which means than every now and then there is a
gorgeous tree, or an entire alley, covered with small pale pink flower. It’s
really beautiful.
It is quite obvious that the country has been ravaged by the war. None of the villages
or small towns I have seen have more than fifty years. There are some older
buildings but they are very rare.
There are many industrial complexes, but smaller than the huge ones I was used
to in France and Europe. Most of all, I have seen an agricultural country. A
very different one that what there is in France: No great fields that go as far
as one can see. Here, it’s mostly composed by small fields that follow the
details of the landscape. Fields that have the shape of the small valley
between two hills or fields on terrace on the sides of those. Lots of orchards
too.
I like this place. I really don’t regret coming here.
Je suis dans un
train en Corée qui va de Seoul a Daegu. Nous n’avons pas pris le train a grande
vitesse, du coup c’est un trajet de 4 heures. C’est pas plus mal.
J’aime bien voyager en train. Particulièrement si j’ai un siege cote fenêtre.
Je lis, j’écris, je dors ou je regarde simplement le paysage évoluer de l’autre
cote de la vitre. Ici en Corée, pouvoir traverser le pays en train est une
super experience : voir comment la titanesque ville de Séoul évolue doucement
vers la campagne.
C’est la saison des cerisiers en fleur, ce qui signifie qu’a intervalle
irréguliers mais plutôt rapprocher, je vois un arbre ou une allée entière
d’arbres couverts de petites fleurs rose pale. C’est vraiment joli.
Il est assez evident que le pays a été ravage par la guerre. Aucun des villages
que nous traversons n’a l’air d’avoir plus de cinquante ans. Il y a bien un
temple ou un bâtiment un peu plus anciens, mais ils sont rares.
Il y a des pas mal de complexes industriels, mais ils ont plus petits que ceux
auxquels je suis habituée en France ou en Europe.
Mais surtout, il y a beaucoup de champs. Pas d’immenses étendues a perte de
vue, mais de plus petites surfaces qui s’adaptent au details du paysages :
un petit champs coince entre deux collines ou des cultures en terraces sur les
flancs des dites collines. Beaucoup de vergers également.
J’aime vraiment cet endroit. Je ne regrette pas d’être venue.
