The heat is impossible to bare. The small strip of sand like on any italian beach is full with people. I try to escape into the shallow sea but its blue waters are inaccessible. People play volleyball, lie lazy on floating mattress near the shore or simply stand at hip high in the sea, talking and looking at others.
The sun burns my skin and its reflection on the crystal waters blinds me.
I then close my eyes and remember those endless summer days at the rock, playing volleyball and chasing girls.
Going around my village i see something that hasn’t disappeared from my childhood. A giant ficus in the small patch of land, once filled with grapes now used by olive trees.
My favourite time was the tomato sauce making.
Early start for the men, at 4 am to go and prepare the fire, tools and collect the tomatoes. The ‘women’ would arrive later, clean the recipients, make breakfast for us and start to prepare lunch. My father and uncle were in charge of boiling the tomatoes, being shouted at by my sturdy grandfather who with benevolent look and mighty hands ordered me to collect the water from the pit, turn the handle at the tomato squeezer or fill the cocacola bottle with basil.
The sun always made all this work hard but we kids were allowed to ‘forget’ the job and we enjoyed cruelty towards the bothering flies that filled the small country barn.
At 2p after 10 hour work, the filled bottles where cooking at a low fire in a massive half open barril for at least 24 hours.
The family gathered under the mighty ficus, eating, singing and eventually falling asleep in whatever position one was. I remember my grandfather head tilted backwards, flies circulating around his wine smelling mouth and me enjoying the sleep on a tractor under the ficus.
I am trapped on a small patch of sand between a turquoise, calm transparent water and a million years old sand dunes where, low green spiky plant survive the constant erosion from the scorching sun.
The sun is the king of a blue, blue sky. The ‘big strip’ as local call this beach is the only one which stands on an open bay where the wind raises in the afternoons and there no houses around. It makes this place relaxed and empty and you have time to search your soul.
My lips taste the salty waters while i wish a sweet kiss would clear them.
I really believe that mankind can endure anything it wants to.
The queue at Pisa airport for a two hours delayed Ryanair flight to Brindisi is long.
The queue hasn’t moved for the las 3 hours.
Not everybody will get a window or an aisle seatyet they stand.
Pain is visible but nothing happens.
Older ladies ask their younger partner to hold them, mothers with babies hold them sweetly without blinking. Fat men with an imposing belly restlessly scrutinise the screen at the horizon. Their alerted eyes capture any movement. Young boys and girls with sunglasses and fashionable attire pretend not to be bothered and plays with their mobile or iphones.
The flight is boarding now, but the long queue stays there moving slow.
The happiness in His tired features covered in sweat have reached thousand of fans.
The ‘Cathedral’ has being filled by its believers and a sermon his being told.
The pious attendees have gone early; fanatism makes one forget to eat, sleep, shower.
Like other form of fanatism, this one brings you an indescribable level of joy that cannot be explained unless one has lived it. I am a simple observer in all this, one that struggles to put words to the mesmerized faces that i see.
I am dancing on the notes of ‘spirit in the night’; San Siro is one stop closer to God while ‘the Boss’ on his stiff knees is delivering a speech.
I like the name Wagner somehow. This square in Milan is very small. In the evening it is shadowed by the ‘National theatre .
The many roads that surround this square are very busy but the noise it is absorbed by the sound of a fountain and the charming talking of people that sits on the benches.
I have been at different times of the day; in the morning when is very quiet and it is my favorite time, at midday when it is deserted specially if the sun is hitting straight down, in the evening when is very busy with elderly that take time and talk, laughs or simply rest peacefully.
I am exactly at 7pm today and i am looked at suspiciously. It must be because of my long hair and a backpack which gives way to thoughts as if i am a bum, yet i don’t think i look that scruffy, or do i?
I don’t mind, life is also this.
I wonder about them, their lives and their stories.
A yellow kinko is cruising through the dark streets of my early twenties on a warm spring night. The yellow glow of the street lights and the silence visits places i had almost forgotten after fifteen years of exile.
From Milan to Rho.
Curves, building, bars, traffic lights, prostitues, smell, roads and the solitary vehicles fill my senses as if i am in the future starting from the recent past. My thoughts go back to the different seasons from the hot summer nights to the depressing foggy months to get to those obfuscated nights when my other me brought me back home
What a beautiful ride, twenty minutes of freedom, once again at night!
The ‘Ville en Rose’ is a lovely city on the Garonne. I am sitting at a table of ‘Chez Tonton’. Next to me a couple isn’t shy in practicing a union of fluids which is the result of their new found love.
This exchange can be used for a teaching class on sexual education at school.
The sun is keeping the temperature at around 22C and people are happily walking in summer dresses.
The woman, with a smile full of love and passion is slowly embracing her man, who looks at her with his heart open.