Two Cities, One Pasolini
Zurich was full of surprises. We’d just watched Accatone, too.
Read the fine print. Anti-fascist flyer, Bologna, one week later.
Who Stole The Soul?
It looks like a promo pic from classic hip-hop record. The kind the publicist used to slide in the sleeve of a 12″. These Haredim look so positively lost in their own thoughts, they might as well be stoned.
What these poor guys were doing sporting their Sunday best (not quite, but you get the idea) on a May day in which temperatures reached well past 100 fahrenheit in Zurich is beyond me.
Old Europe
The last time I moved out of London, I landed in Milano. That was nearly 30 years ago, and I had just completed sixth grade. In ten days I leave London, headed for Milano again.
My memory of our departure from the UK has always been different. But, after receiving a phone call from my father two nights ago, I’ve started to recollect the summer of ‘79 in sharper detail.
“I’m in Zurich, and you’re in Milano,” was the first thing my father said as I answered my mobile. “Abba,” I replied, giggling. “Shall I grab a cab and come and meet you for dinner?”
En route to the US from Israel, my parents had stopped in Switzerland for the night. Here in Italy, to rent an apartment, I’d just arrived at my hotel when my parents dialled in.
