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Rating: [There are some evenings when you have high expectations, and often it happens that in the end, you feel a bit disappointed because reality does not live up to what you anticipated and hoped for. And then there are evenings, much rarer, when reality exceeds expectation and the happiest dream. There are evenings that seem to be inside a dream, a story, a fairy tale where many things happen and there are twists, all in the right place and at the right time. There are evenings when you have proof that spells exist, and this time you are inside them, you are almost the protagonist.]
The concert in Ferrara starts at 9:10 pm. The square is full of people. It's hard to describe a Sigur Ros concert, because there are so many different things inside, there's Iceland and chills and ice, there's a voice that sounds like a cold wind and the strings.
There's tulle covering the stage, shadows projected behind them playing, and then white birds flying and then turning into drops of rain and shining dew. There's the story of a boy who wakes up one morning and no longer finds the sun, so he sets off to find it, there's a song called Hoppipolla, pronounced hoppipocla, which in Icelandic means "jumping into puddles after it has stopped raining." There's the sunrise, the band, a volcano erupting, a music box. There's the fact that tonight my vacation begins. There's the fact that we are under the walls of the Este castle, the air is clear, the sky is blue, and then next to the walls, it becomes almost white. There's a gentle fresh breeze that, magically, seems to blow at the right moments of the songs, as if it were programmed. There's the shadow of girls playing the strings on the walls of the castle and on the buildings around. There's a lot of people listening enchanted, in the most total silence.
You look around and see wide eyes and smiles of wonder, amazement, and serenity. Smiles and emotion because the impact of Sigur Ros live leaves you speechless. Long, very long applause, they return to the stage twice to thank. They thank us for coming despite the match, they tell us it's still zero-zero and that extra time is starting. Off we run to the giant screen in Piazza Duomo. It's crowded, and we're almost at the back. I'm without glasses and sometimes lose sight of the ball, pretending nothing is wrong since everything is perfectly clear anyway, people applauding, sighing with relief, shouting and waving flags. Italy scores. Italy scores again. The square explodes, and I find myself hugged by people I've never seen before. "We Are the Champions" starts, and we all sing it, then "chi non salta un tedesco è" and everyone jumps and sings.
[These were my expectations: a beautiful concert, a match that goes into extra time and everyone watching it together at the giant screen. Italy winning, of course, and then the celebration, around Ferrara. But already winning at the last minute of the second extra time was beyond the dream. Winning a World Cup semifinal gives a certain satisfaction. Winning a World Cup semifinal like that, against Germany, gives a hundred times more satisfaction.]
We return under the castle walls, the street in ten minutes is full of people, flags, cars, and honking. We get wet with sparkling wine, water, and beer. Everyone is singing and jumping, someone is singing the anthem, someone is also singing "tedesco mangia la pizza" or "solo la birra" (the second version of the chant is "solo i crauti"), you only have beer." Half an hour passes, and then suddenly I find myself next to, in the midst of the celebrations, the amina and with them the full Sigur Ros, who are dancing, jumping, singing, and drinking with us. They are in the midst of thousands of people and only four of us recognize them, we hug and sing with them "chi non salta un tedesco è" and the White Stripes. I take some photos, we give them the Italian flag. An Icelandic flag also appears, and we, the four who noticed them, start singing Iceland-Iceland, and they reply Italy-Italy. After an hour, they say they are going back to the hotel, and we head to the station. But it's still early, we have to wait until two in Ferrara. We see a small group waiting for Sigur Ros to come out from behind the stage, about ten kids, they missed the party in the square. More autographs, handshakes, greetings. Then we head to the station.
[Here, I guess the spell ends, it's a bit like midnight for Cinderella.]
The train to Bologna is late and full of people. We land in Bologna, and theoretically, we should wait two hours. In reality, we discover that 1-the train we should take requires a reservation, 2-there are no more available seats and 3-it's fifty minutes late. We spend from two thirty to five twenty at Bologna station, between a bench on platform six and the waiting room. Exhausted, energy drained. I eat a Kinder Pingui and the vending machine even cheats me out of seventy cents. I read some xl, and I sleep a bit. Finally, at five thirty the train arrives, and by the way, we are without a ticket. We arrive in Florence at half-past six, there's already light, the sky is a very light blue with some pink streaks and the fresh air. I open the door to my house, and my mom is already awake, I first say good morning, then good night.
[I wake up at half past twelve. When I was little and had a wonderful dream, in the morning I would get up and look around and next to the bed to see if anything from that dream was left. As soon as I woke up this morning, I checked if the photos were still there, and the autographs on the album cover, and the concert ticket in my backpack pocket. Then I turned on the TV, and watched the match summary twice in a row. There was an interview with Klinsmann, very sad, he said: that's make football so fascinating. Exactly.]
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