SANTA SEVERA - PYRGI
A great sandcastle glows in the ailing sun. Where once Etruscans may have wondered what the future held, a group of Somalis spread their printed cloths and characteristic trinkets. The castle rises imposingly above the sea, with a skein of plaited hair blowing in the breeze from a window high above the rocky beach.
We wander hungrily along the main street, away from the sea, remembering a distant time when we met the President, Scalfaro, with his daughter, on a winter Sunday pre-prandial stroll, bodyguards as tall as giant sequoias at all compass points, their long blue coats flapping to reveal ordnance to make a polar bear melt, the bleak white beach ours to share…..
We are favoured, and the best restaurant has the best table for us. It doesn’t matter what it is called, nor whether we dreamt it, but we asked for a table; the man said, only inside; we hesitated; he said this one; we sat outside; the sea scrawled against the sand; a table full of children dined with delightful dignity under the filling moon.