"Tuscany" a Tuscany Travel Page by Docu2001

I’m drawn to a story I’ve told myself often since the summer of 1981 when I spent a month in a small town on the Ligurian seacoast just south of Viareggio. That summer I consciously selected one moment as the most idyllic image of my life to that point. Many times since that day I have tried to replicate the experience but have never had the same measure of success that I did that day. It was a moment that has remained unique. I was thirty and the world was about to come crashing down on me. The next ten years would be hard with some remarkable opportunities and some disastrous choices. I felt there might come a time when I would need something beautiful to think about, little did I know.

I rented a small apartment from a German artist who worked in a nearby foundry. I had use of a motorino and just enough money for a sandwich and a drink at the beach each day, a fiasco of wine at night to share with friends and something tasty from the nearby rosticiaria for dinner. Each morning after a roll and coffee in the pasticiaria across the street, I packed a small bag and drove the noisy wildly vibrating motorino to the beach club. I had taken a space for the season with friends from town. It was simple; an umbrella, two lounge chairs and a small side table where we often played briscola and scopa and drank beer late into the soft Tuscan dusk.

I usually went to the beach on weekdays, in the early part of the day when the only people there were the women from the beach club, many of whom had visited this beach every summer of their lives. The beach club was in a small town just below a cluster of resorts. The seaside there was intimate, familiar - I always felt at ease.

That morning was particularly stunning. The nearby mountains snuggle very close to the shore so the sea and shoreline and mountains are all of one piece. It was crisp that morning, dry and bright and comfortably breezy … weather that brings the skin to life. The two women in the spot next to me were handsome Italiansdisplaying rich bronze skin cured in the northern Italian sun. The sand had just been raked and lunch was an hour away. The beach was relatively quiet. I sat up to straighten myself in the chair and looked out ahead of me. I closed my eyes and told myself to capture the image before me as completely as I was able; the gray blue sky, the sea , silver-green like olive leaves on a hillside, bodies moving and still, the smells of suntan lotion and sea breeze and the fresh beach towel next to my skin.