Around the world in a lot of days!
Travelling back through history
So I...
…in the cold and dark
…Why suffer?
Letters from... around the world
It’s not a trip but a need!
The day Vitus Bering beat John Wayne
The hunt
The ecstasy of a consumer and the Eskimo Syndrome
The suitcase
Tell me, what time does the sun set?
8 x 5
Why the sponsor?

Tell me, what time does the sun set?

There are many ways to organize a holiday and many ways to ruin one!
If you want to go to New York with your children and have asked for that hotel with a view of Central Park, no one can guarantee that your room will not be “sold” if your plane happens to be late. You’ll spend an evening arguing pointlessly, getting a very polite but equally unconvincing “We are so sorry”… and a couple of rooms with a view of the back alley.
No one will guarantee that the boat you hired to go fishing at the Cape Verde Islands will be there waiting for you, even though you feel you’re on top of the world with your Internet reservation, which you have printed out and are waving threateningly in front of some weary listener.
The same holds true when, in the Virgin Islands, a family from Detroit with four children (aged 2 to 10) taking turns with bouts of dysentery happens to be lodging next to the romantic little bungalow you chose from the pictures the persuasive travel agent showed you.
Stepping outside the familiar walls of home always represents an unknown and must be faced as such, knowing that the world is full of deserts with polystyrene sand and coin-operated camels, mock shamans and fake Berber dances.
I must confess that I am a pedantic, one obsessed with “tell me, what time does the sun set?”, but the top executives from the travel department of a “well-known credit card company” have learned to put up with me and, from Baja California to India, New Zealand and Laos, they have always kept my dream from becoming a nightmare. I know that when I go somewhere, I am not a fleeting apparition that the greedy local hotelier will never see again. And that is why I always ostentatiously display the bag tag, which not only gives me a sense of security but also tends to inspire dread.
As I said, I plan my trip down to the last detail and then I bring everything to the travel office of a “well-known credit card company”. When I see the sheets vanish magically into the fax machine, I know they have set something into motion that, from Cape Horn to the Kamchatka Peninsula, will give me answers. Even if everything is not really all that simple (because my trips are never simple), until the day I leave I will constantly be informed by the voice of the physically unknown woman who talks to me, becoming a fundamental part of my day. Along the way, we forge a strange bond, a sort of complicity that solves the unsolvable, booking passage on an icebreaker instead of a whaleboat. The impossible is never actually impossible: at most, it becomes improbable. Thus, my journey also becomes the journey of that voice, in which I perceive that there is a world on which “the sun never sets”.
There are many ways to travel and each person has the one he or she thinks is perfect. Consequently, I have no advice to give, except to avoid being a number, a face among many, a relationship that ends when, before you depart, you go to the bank to wire money to someone who will soon forget you… and move on.