My first recollection goes back to when I was about four years old and was already trying to make sense of the letters of the alphabet by putting them together to make words. Doing this I learnt how to read the names of the cities on the faceplate of a radio we had at home, names analogous to stations broadcasting in original language.
This was how, listening to voices coming to me over the air, I started travelling with my imagination.
The desire for adventure arose reading the 'Storia dell'Umanità', published with the encyclopaedia 'Vita Meravigliosa'. The enterprises of the great explorers were described with eloquent illustrations. I can see to this day the Genoese Christopher Columbus with the cross in his hand, falling to his knees on the soil of the continent he had just discovered, or of the Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizarro in his cuirass and multi-coloured plumed helmet with the ruins of Machu Picchu in the background.
And then... the fatal meeting at the cinema with the hero of my fantasies, Peter Pan. How many nights did I fall asleep dreaming of flying over the roofs of London and beyond, seeking the never- never land?
A brief summer affair with an English boy induced me to study his language. We danced for one summer only but I was left with quite a gift: the knowledge that my familiarity with the English language would allow me to communicate with the rest of the world.
Having completed high school in the late 1960s I decided to go to London, at that time the crossroads for people from the five continents, to improve my English. London was a very much alive city with every sort of interest to offer: museums, theatres and cinemas, not to mention the exotic food. It was the 'swinging London' of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the hippies... Mary Quant had just launched the mini-skirt. In this stirring environment I acquired the preparation needed for the adventure I was about to embark upon.
My next step: The United States and New York, another overwhelming experience. This time love was the accomplice and should have decided my future but the nostalgia I felt for Venice was too strong. I returned home with a clear mind. The desire to apprehend would take me far, but however far I chose to go, I would always return to the point of departure.
The film by Pasolini 'Il fiore delle mille e una notte' (released in the English-speaking world as 'Arabian Nights') opened a window for me on the then fairy-tale country, Yemen.    next page >

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