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Few lines about street photography,

filled with stories, tips and bullshit.

Ponza is understimated

Ponza, for the uninitiated, is a small island located 21 miles south of Cape Circeo in the Tyrrhenian Sea, approximately 5.5 miles long by 1.5 miles at its widest. It's quite famous, like Capri or Elba.

When you see it from the boat it's simply touristically orgasmic. The landscape pulls you in another dimension, sometimes you feel you're in a perfume advertising. The sea around is dotted with small islands and It has everything to satisfy the needs of an upper middle class average tourist, which could be quite annoying for me.

There is a port with several largedocks that can accommodate large ships full of fish and tourists, everything is created to work from May to October. Check it out on internet, I haven't got photos of it.

Bars, restaurants, hotels, shops, everything is connected with tourism, is hard to find something authentic, to cut the surface of the professional seller\costumer unwritten agreement that dominates every places created around the tourism.

The relationship between the local and the tourist, sometimes, could be annoying. I'm not saying that people are not polite, I say that they're actually working with you, they are processing you, offering services and products. They are obliged to be polite.

I've been there just a couple of days so take what I'm saying with a grain of salt, but I have the impression that if local know that you're not a tourist and you're actually working there too, you're actually sharing something and they are more interested in open up.

She's Clara, I wrote about her and about I've met her on this Instagram post.

Alfredo is a sailor, more than 30 years on oil tankers and cargo ships. "During the gulf war a tank shelled us, the ship went down, it's a miracle I'm alive. Then Hong kong, the Arctic Ocean, Rio De Janeiro, and so...". Why are you here? I asked. "Because after all these years traveling I realized that Ponza, my island, is the best island on this planet"

In the middle of the conversation Jack arrived swimming, his face carved from the sun and the wind. Blue eyes, like the sea, like the sky. Dry lips brights like salt. He was thirsty, Alfred took the 3 liters bottle from the refrigerator. White wine for the sailor.

People are just like the landscape. Without the tourists they are raw and authentic, dramatically and amazingly spontaneous. Gente di mare, strong and tender, sincerely mendacious. Like the sea, like the palms, like the sky.


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