Every summer, Pasquale sees me. He has, ever since I was a kid. But I doubt he still recognizes me as that little boy with the high-pitched voice, racing around on his bike. Time has blurred that image, but not him. To me, Pasquale has always been the same: an old man sitting in the shade of a eucalyptus tree, reading his Bible. The wind moves the leaves above him—strong today, who knows about tomorrow? He never seemed young, and he never really grew older. Like the small roadside shrine just outside the camping grounds, he exists in a space that is neither here nor there, a quiet stop between everything and nothing.

A figure sits alone in a white folding chair on a grassy yard beside a white building in black and white photography.
A small white roadside shrine surrounded by hedges and utility poles along an empty street in black and white.

That altar is on the way to the sea. I’ve taken that path in so many ways—carried in my father’s arms, running alone, falling, walking late at night, rushing in broad daylight. It always led to the same place: a tiny beach with clay, rocks, and inflatable boats resting on the shore. A small strip of sand I’ve always called a beach, even though every year, there’s less and less of it.

People walking along a coastal path towards parked boats in a black and white seaside landscape.

I don’t remember the last time I said, “See you at the ping-pong table.” It used to be somewhere else, a gathering spot, the meeting point every night. That’s where we’d decide what to do, where to go. There was an old freezer—the kind that bars use for ice cream. We’d sit on it, watching others play with battered paddles, some missing their handles. Then, we'd head into town, which looks different now, but feels the same. The square with Uccialì’s statue hasn’t changed. The newsstand that sells bait hasn’t moved an inch, still stocking the same silly postcards I used to laugh at but never dared to buy.

Vintage black and white photo showing people playing ping pong outdoors at a recreational gathering.
Black and white vintage photo showing a street scene with shops and a decorative public fountain in front of a white building.
A black and white street photograph shows a person sitting on a stool in front of closed businesses and storefronts.
Black and white vintage photo showing empty patio chairs at a covered outdoor dining area with arched architectural details.

Not far from there, the Aragonese castle stands, its tiny beach battered by the wind. I’ve never swum there. That’s not my sea. My place is down that dirt road, by that shrinking strip of sand. It’s the only sea I trust, gentle and blue, cradled in a small bay. It begins where my memories begin, fixed in time like Pasquale, the altar, the ping-pong table, the town, and the figure of my mother, slowly wading into the water until she becomes nothing more than a distant speck on the horizon.

A black and white coastal landscape shows waves crashing against rocky shores near a medieval fortress wall.
A lone figure stands in ocean waters against a monochromatic horizon in black and white photography.
Black and white portrait of a person wearing a casual jacket and white t-shirt with arms crossed and visible tattoos.

 

Luigi Reccia

 

Luigi Reccia is a destination wedding photographer with a passion for storytelling through timeless and evocative imagery. His work captures the essence of emotions, places, and people, offering a personal and artistic perspective on every journey.

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