One of those summer nights that seem never to come to an end.

When you stay out late,

your hair still wet,

chasing every bit of light,

while the sky and the sea turn every shade of blue.


before the storm



A summer afternoon in Fregene

before the storm.

The empy beach,

sand swirling around,

seagulls playing up above.

Our picnic plans messed out

but what we found was just as good


of light and water


Guardando indietro a questa strana estate della memoria

riscopro con una punta di sorpresa

un’intera collezione d’istantanee di luce e acqua,

albe e tramonti, in riva al mare.

Ed è così allora che me la voglio ricordare.


Dolce sera, cari amici



Looking back upon this odd summer of mine

with a pinch of surprise I have found

a whole set of snapshots of light and water,

dawns and sunsets, by the sea.

I’ll remember it like that then.

time stands still




As things change so fast and inevitably, it would be nice, to have a special place where all the memories and flavors and smells of our life which are beginning to fade away would be safely stored. On hand, for whenever we feel the need.

The emotions raging when we were teens wanting to change the world, with headphones hanging from our neck, hours spent on our secret diary or chatting on the phone as if our lives depended on it. Or, further back, the laughters of the afternoon parties to which our mama took us, the special taste of the confectionary sugar we would steal from a cake with a finger, and the magic of the summer days where our games continued uninterrupted. Then, farther still, our baby cries, the smell of the body lotion after the afternoon bath or the plastic spoon that fed us with our first vegetables. Right until the blurred image of our parents as we met their eyes for the first time.

I’m lucky to have at least one such special place still in my life. A house with white walls near the sea I go and visit at least twice a year, almost like on a pilgrimage. It has hosted not only 3 generations of children and the birth of a few family members. Time has taken its toll on it too, of course. But, if i choose the right drawers and cupboards, time stands still. The tiny delights above belong to my grand-grand-mother whom I never met.



Simplement parfait – Just Perfect

 Les vacances sont finies, je sais. Il serait temps de parler de rentrée d’école, travail, routine. Mais permettez-moi de prolonger encore un peu la douceur des derniers jours d’été avec ces souvenirs de cieux bleus d’Italie et de mer cristalline. De bonne cuisine et enfants qui n’ont pas arrêté de s’entraider et s’amuser ensemble. De nos jeux dans le sable, plongeons, explorations sous-marines à trois et drôles de photos sous-marines. Ah ces vacances de dernière minute. Un moment hors du temps, simplement parfait.

Que votre rentrée soit douce, chers amis.












Holidays are over, I know. One should talk about first days at school, work, routine. But let me indulge just a wee bit more in the sweetness of the last days of summer with these memories of  Italian blue skies and crystaline waters. Of exquisite dishes and lovely kids that have never been so close and joyful. Of our games in the sand, diving competitions, underwater explorations together and funny selfies. Oh these last-minute holidays. What a timeless moment. Simply perfect.

I wish you all a sweet beginning of September, friends.


Parfois c’est plus dur – Sometimes it’s harder

J’ai appris depuis des années à rester sur mes gardes quand je rentre en Italie: un peu de bonheur c’est bien, mais trop vous fera regretter de devoir repartir. Alors: prudence avec le bonheur.

D’habitude, ça marche.

Cette fois, j’ai dû rater quelques étapes, parce que ma première semaine de vacances a été très bien, trop bien justement, : du soleil mais pas trop de chaleur, des enfants charmants, des amis différents à retrouver tous les jours, des belles sorties au lac, en forêt, à la mer, de bons petits plats italiens comme on aime. Du coup, la deuxième semaine a été  un peu gâchée par l’idée que j’allais devoir repartir, sans compter que maintenant que je suis revenue à Paris c’est dur, très dur même.

D’abord de quitter à nouveau Rome, ma ville, dont la lumière et la beauté sont simplement renversantes en cette saison. C’est là que j’ai dû baisser la garde en premier lieu parce que à chaque coin de rue je me revoyais enfant ou ado, ma baladant avec des copines ou main dans la main avec un amoureux ou faisant des projets pour mon avenir. Surtout le soir. Dans ces soirées romaines chaudes et douces où tout le monde, touristes et romains, dîne dehors sur les places, dans les ruelles, chacun vacant à ses occupations, avec la sensation que la soirée ne va jamais finir et que tout est possible sous ce ciel-là, jusqu’au bout de la nuit.

Puis, c’est dur de quitter certains endroits qui me sont chers ou que j’ai retrouvés, intactes, avec une nature toujours luxuriante et des gens chaleureux et simples, avec qui on est bien avec si peu, loin de la frénésie d’une métropole (je ne sais pas quand, d’ailleurs, mais il est certain qu’un jour je quitterai la ville, et sans regrets). Et, bien sûr, aussi ma famille et mes amis, ceux qui m’ont vue grandir, qui me connaissent tellement bien que sans parler déjà on se comprend.

Trop de jours, trop de bonheur, trop de retrouvailles heureuses. Non pas que je sois mal ici à Paris. Mais, c’est différent. Très différent. Je suis seule avec ma vie, mes problèmes et mes joies, sans le soutien et la présence, parfois encombrante certes, de l’affection à l’italienne. Ce fut un choix, que je ne regrette pas. Juste, quelques fois c’est plus dur que d’autres…

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I’ve learned some years ago to be careful when I go back to Italy. To give in to a little bit of happiness but not too much, in order not to regret having to go back. I take it easy and normally it works out fine.

But this time I must have skipped something because the first week of holidays was good. I mean, really good: sunny but not too hot, lovely kids, different friends to meet up every day, cool outings to the lake, the woods, the sea, scrumpious Italian food. That was way too much,  meaning that the second week was slightly spoiled by the idea of having to go back and now that I’m back, it’s tough. I mean, really tough.

It’s hard to leave Rome again. My hometown. Whose light and beauty in this season are just stunning. That’s where I must have misdone something in the first place because at every corner I saw myself as a kid or a teen, strolling with friends, hand in hand with a boyfriend or making plans for my future. Mostly at night. On those Roman hot and sweet nights where everybody eats outside, Romans and tourists, each busy with his life but all feeling like the night will never end. 

Then it’s hard to leave some places I cherish or have just found back where nature is still flourishing and the people are just so simple and welcoming you feel right at home. Far from the hectic city life. Then to leave my family and long-time friends. Those who know me better, who saw me growing and understand me without me speaking. Those with whom we laugh at the same jokes, with just a glance, because we know.

Too many days, too many delights, too many happy welcome-backs. Not that I’m unhappy in Paris. But it’s different. So different. I’m alone with my life, with its problems and joys. Far from the the (sometimes-too-present) Italian kind of love. It was my choice and I don’t regret it. Simply some times it’s harder than others..