Italy, April 23. Handwritten: uncertain, unkempt, with a simple pencil. I try, without success, to find a moment of respite—to gather my scattered thoughts.
I had the opportunity to spend my Easter holidays with the curly-haired boy in a small, quiet, almost forgotten town on the outskirts of Milan. With his innate Italian flair and having grown up here, he introduced me to his high school friends—a gathering of nations you rarely encounter: South Americans, Indians, Romanians, and Italians. They are united only by memories, video games, and a shared thirst for fun during an impromptu game of UNO. After all, what more do you need to consider yourselves brothers?
We were invited for a weekend in an almost abandoned house, cut off from civilization, in the Lago di Garda resort. The lake, nestled between the mountains, is surrounded by villas and holiday homes belonging to those who know what luxury truly means. The Mediterranean-style architecture, with its warm colors, flowered balconies, and wooden shutters, blends perfectly with historic Renaissance castles, tennis courts, and Baroque swimming pools. It smelled, if you will, of old money: freshly cut grass with a hint of Chanel No. 5. Well… not for us.
We, on the other hand, stayed in a house equipped with solar panels—but no hot water or radiators. We kept warm, like all young souls, with the view, a few good jokes, and plenty of shots of alcohol. Easter brought us together, as holidays are meant to, uniting good people even if we don’t all share the same religous faiths.
Towards morning, after only two hours of sleep in the car, we somehow managed—much to everyone’s surprise—to reach the nearby waterfall, just a 20-minute walk away. Cold, crystal-clear water, through which all the multicolored pebbles were visible, flowed into a small oasis. On the bank, we sat—young, restless, and hungover—next to us, two elderly couples, decked out head to toe in climbing gear, clearly in love. I watched them like a dream I had yet to live. I told the curly-haired boy that I would come to the waterfall every morning, sit on one of the stones, and write. He glanced at me furtively, made a joke about my knees being sensitive to the weather, and smiled. I smiled back.
Afterwards, we drove a few kilometers uphill to a panoramic terrace. I can guarantee you—the view is simply extraordinary.
Reflecting on our little escapade after two days, I realize that, despite the humble conditions we stayed in, I fell in love with that little corner—and especially with how it made me feel. I would go back in a heartbeat, maybe even learn to play tennis with all the aristocrats of our day. In the end, what truly mattered was the experience and the company you shared it with.
Next time you have no phone signal and find yourself complaining about the hard mattress, remember—as I will—that all you really need is a game of cards and someone to play it with.
-AE
