Surreale Circus Maximus desert, only a shuttle in the organization I am with some elegant foreigners (a couple of North African and a German, I believe) through the sunny racecourse built by the Romans. Photos, information, welcome kit, the recording is made. The shuttle takes us, cross the old field of competition and are there: in front of the building fascist. Through the entrance after a new baggage check, we are catapulted into the press room. Fervent work Sherma, photocopiers, cameras and keyboards, jackets, ties, heels and makeup. Seeking a location, some colleagues, I stop. Search the Internet the program of events. I take things, I get up. Wonder where it takes place, they tell me is portechiuse. Torno alla postazione. Mi rialzo, chiedo le cuffie per vedere l'incontro sul megaschermo davanti a me. La bella dirigente del Pam, vari presidenti africani, la capo del governo del Bangladesh in abiti tradizionali... Ma non distinguo gran che tra i concetti ascoltati milioni di volte. Solo il capo di un governo africano mi colpisce. Orgoglio del suo paese e richiesta di conoscenze, non soldi.
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