Tagged: Gabriele D'Annunzio
In Pursuit of Happiness The statue of Ennio Flaiano guards the entrance to the oldest part of the city of Pescara where he was born. Poet, author, playwright, collaborator of Federico Fellini, and the first winner of the prestigious Strega literary award, Flaiano was fond of aphorisms. One of his favourites is written on the plinth of the statue: la felicità consiste nel non desiderare che ciò che si possiede. Happiness consists in desiring only what you possess. A wise maxim, you might think, but one which Flaiano himself failed to honour, since he wasted little time in abandoning his native city and all he possessed, and decamping to...
Where to begin, if not at the sea. For what would Pescara be without the sea, without its lungomare and luxurious lidos, its pier and pescatori? What would it be without its marina and mega yachts? A fitting name The city’s name (but for one letter, the same as the verb meaning to fish) evokes the sea. It was around the year 1000 that Aternum, as the Romans called it, became Piscaria, like the river on whose banks it stood. In 1927 the town was joined with Castellammare Adriatico on the river’s northern shore. Efforts to revert to the Roman name were thwarted by Pescara’s most famous son, Gabriele...
We weren’t intending to stop for refreshments but as soon as we arrive in Scanno we spot a tree-shaded terrace and tables spread with pretty cotton cloths. Irresistible. We take our seats. The cake Out comes the waitress to take our order. Seeing me dither, she suggests I try the local speciality, Pan dell’Orso. Bear bread. Given the name, I could be forgiven for expecting something more substantial than the small domed bun which, disappointingly, arrives wrapped in cellophane. The wrapper describes it as a light fluffy cake of almonds and honey covered in the finest chocolate. This is confirmed in a couple of bites. And then it’s gone. Transumanza I...
I read somewhere that a cicada’s mating call can reach more decibels than a passing motorbike. I am reminded of this while stretched out on the sandy floor of the pine forest, gazing up at the lofty, leafy canopy of umbrella pines. The cicadas are in full orchestra mode and the decibels have clearly exceeded a convoy of Harley Davidsons. And yet here’s the weird thing: their whirring is lulling me to sleep. Just after the small promontory at Torre del Cerrano the beach curves gently into a new bay and another kilometre or so of public beach. The sea is the same – endless, azure and flat as...
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error in translation leaving this article non quite correct. Happiness is NOT desiring what you have, is the correct translation.…
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