Out in the desert, dune driving

During my stay in Abu Dhabi I spent a day out in the desert. Needless to say, I loved it so much that I didn't want to leave, I would have gladly spent the night in a tent.

I'm not exactly a "risk-lover", though, so when I was told that we were about to go dune driving in a four-wheel-drive, I artlessly went: "I can't take photos if I'm in the car!"

"Nice try," must have thought our driver, but politely replied: "Don't worry, we will stop and you'll be able to photograph the cars behind us."

So, after having skillfully bypassed any London or Dublin car hire for four years in order to spare myself from driving on the wrong side traffic, now I was about to let a stranger bring me up and down huge sandy dunes.

"You know, cars can get stuck in the sand, drivers must be *really* good. You know, cars can somersault in dunes' peaks, drivers must be *really* good!" Those were just some of the warnings that went past my mind when our driver started up. Of course I was hoping he was *really* good. And he was, indeed.

Fifteen 4x4 Land Cruisers darting up and down the dunes were spectacular, and minute after minute the light in the desert seemed to change while we approached the sunset time, and every photo seems taken in different deserts.

This yellowish empty landscape has always fascinated me and I'm realising many people are attracted by such boundless view, but not as many can explain why. Maybe it's the very fact of being somewhere limitless, maybe it's due to the mysterious history that lies behind those territories, or maybe it's the charm of the "Arabian nights" that still lives in our secret thoughts.


Abu Dhabi desert has lived up to my expectations, and now I'm following Islam's greatest traveller, Ibn Battutah, in his adventures through the tales of Tim Mackintosh-Smith, and I feel proud everytime I read about a place I have visited too, and dream of spots I still have to discover.

Istanbul, my first shipwreck

Travelling is all about experience, that's why when I'm on the road I try my best to look like a local, adopt locals' manners and customs that are different from what I'm used to and try to think and behave like a local.

Lucky me, I'm helped in my efforts by the fact that everywhere I go, I'm mistaken for a local: I go to Brasil, locals think I'm Brasilian, I go to Istanbul, locals think I'm my friends' local guide, in London Arabs talk to me in Arabic, Iranians in Farsi and so and so forth.

I love it.

So, when I was in Istanbul I was determined to live up to my principles and I tried to emulate locals wherever I was: I smoked nargileh, played a table game because I saw everybody was playing it (although I couldn't manage to understand my teacher's explanations in Turkish, and I lost) and I kept wearing the veil even outside the mosques (this is just because I'm convinced that it suits me, but I took it off when I realised I was the only one wearing it).

Despite my vocation though, the best experience came about by some quirk of fate when I was behaving like the perfect tourist. My friends and I booked a cruise along the Bosphorus to relax and enjoy Istanbul's most momentous highlight, and ended up shipwrecking.

The beginning was not too bad, ship-wise. Actually it was great, a lovely sunny day, our guides, Alparslan and Vittorio, were showing us the wonders on both sides of this stretch of water that divides the European from the Asian continent, explaining the differences between the two parts of Istanbul and granting us with some tips about where to go to eat, club and shop.

After passing underneath the huge bridge that connects the two Continents, we stopped for a coffee on the Asian side. A great espresso taken sitting outside a lovely bar perched on the very edge. Yes, sometimes happiness can be that simple.

We hopped on our boat, started up the engine and stared at the coloured flowers while we moved away toward our coast. Almost immediately after departure, we perceived some concern within the crew members, even if we didn't understand Turkish. It didn't take long that the engine stopped working.

At first, we thought we were about to stare at something really worth a stop, but in less than no time we understood we were in trouble. The boat started sinking and allowing too much water in. We were surrounded by other boats so we weren't that scared. At the beginning laughter and jokes came out spontaneously and we even suggested our guides to consider staging a shipwreck during their tours.

The engine didn't seem quite keen on working, so our captain called his brother to tow us to the port. He arrived, picked us up and our engine started working, so he left us alone. Only ten seconds later, our engine broke down again.

Among our travel companions there was a Spanish couple: the lady wore the orange rescue jacket to amuse everyone and she actually managed to, but at the end, more than an hour later, they both felt seasick. I thought I could swim, as I'm a good swimmer and it was a warm day, but when I looked at the water and saw it was full of jellyfish, I hoped someone would come to rescue us as soon as possible.

At the end, we went for a drink with our guides and today, thinking about the adventure makes me smile and realise how much I miss Istanbul. The crew members were great, never stopped laughing and joking, as well as our guides.

Although unplanned, shipwrecking made the cruise all together more interesting and worth remembering, and by all means, it was an experience. The conclusion was as unpredictable as the beginning. Only when the danger was averted, I called my parents to tell them about my latest adventure, doing my best not to make them worry:

"Today, while we were cruising along the Bosphorus, we shipwrecked, but don't worry, we were rescued and I'm completely fine!"

"You shipwrecked?? Lucky you! We're so jealous!"

"But, mom..."

Migrations and life journeys

I've always tried to dig deep into my family's history and I've always been fascinated by my grandmother's tales on the journey that was going to represent the beginning of their new life in another country.

Reading a warmhearting article in World Hum, I spotted many common features with my family's past and although I know that was the destiny of a large part of the Italian population, it's always revealing how many families have shared struggles and emotions throughout history.

In the late 1950s my mother was seven and was only the secondborn of six children. My grandfather had already settled in France, started working as a miner and prepared everything for the arrival of his family.

My grandmother was 26, had already a consistent brood and made her way alone with her children and her brother-in-law to Northern France. She is from a tiny village in Sardinia and could hardly speak Italian, let alone French.

Desperation, the aftermath of Second World War and poverty were the essential ingredients for her courage that led her to embark on a journey studded with old coaches, crumbling trains and slow ships, through the Mediterranean Sea, Central and Northern Italy first and most France afterwards, to reach what her husband had reckoned was their best bet.

Today most of my uncles still live in France, where the family has considerably increased and boasts now children and babies of all ages. Every time I go to see them, not very often actually, there is at least a new born. If I wait a couple of years, the new born can be three or four, even.

Travelling and living abroad are always enriching experiences, and I'm sure this part of my family's past is the main reason why I can't stay too long in the same place, but I bet my grandparents, back in the 1950s, only wanted to live a quiet life in their tiny village.