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The north of Italy is the lapel of the Italian “boots”, the country of the Alps, a paradise for skiers and the most international region of the country, bordering Slovenia, Austria, Switzerland and France. Here you can successfully combine skiing in the world famous Val d’Aosta or Dolomiti di Brenta with shopping in Milan, the canonical fun of San Remo and the melancholy charm of Venice.
If the basis of South Italian cuisine is pasta and olive oil, then the north is corn, rice and butter.
Italians themselves divide the north of the country into two large regions – the Northwest (provinces of Piedmont, Liguria, Lombardy and Val d’Aosta) and the Northeast (Emilia-Romagna, Friuli-Venezia Giulia, Trentino-Alto Adige and Veneto) . Continue reading
Anyone who looks at a geographical map that depicts the Apennine Peninsula, which is incomparable in contour and protrudes into the Mediterranean Sea, can easily find Italy by recognizing it by the clear outline of the “boot” profile.
The Russian tour operator, who must indicate to the potential client where the rest or travel destination in Italy, which he intends to visit, will not experience any difficulties: the boundaries of the contact of Italy with the sea are so obvious that they are easily perceived and remembered. And the client, who first gets acquainted with the catalog of a tour operator or an illustrated tourist prospectus, easily recognizes the geographical position of any Italian city or village by their architectural style and natural landscape. Italy, Continue reading
It is impossible to change fate. But there is a place on Earth where once a year you can CHANGE a lot – face, clothes, habits, desires, gender, age. From a slave to turn into an EMPEROR, from Cinderella to a PRINCESS, from a housewife tortured by children and cares into a seductive COLOMBINA, from a prudent businessman to a carefree HARLEQUIN.
In order to survive all these wonderful TRANSFORMATIONS, you just need to be in VENICE in February. Imagine: you wander along a dark and tangled Venetian street along the coast of a narrow canal. Winter. Night. Fog. It smells like oranges. And, like oranges, the dull and yellow Venetian lanterns glow in the fog. You are far from the center, and the noise of the festive crowd does not reach you.
And suddenly a strange shadow appears on the barely lit surface of the canal, and the whisper of the waves driven by the oar of the gondola breaks the silence. You rush to the nearest bridge – from there it is more convenient to monitor how the ghost gradually takes shape. First, a cloak and a cocked hat loom. Then, gradually, a white mask appears from the darkness, covering his eyes and nose. Below – a piece of black silk, in the folds of which hide his mouth and Continue reading