But it was amazing, wild and smelled like freedom
When I read this post by Nat Persoglio I was immediately thrown back into my teenage years. It was a punch, because those memories, though vivid, had been hiding back in my mind for a very long time.
I was still in high school and we were three friends always doing things together.
It was the late 90s and things were a lot different. No socials, no digital anything, no money (well, this hasn’t changed that much, actually…).
One of these friends owned a caravan permanently parked in a camping on the northern coast of the Lake of Como. And, in summer, we used to go there to spend a couple of weeks as wild as possible.
“My bag was filled with a notepad of scribblings (I had plans to be a writer), a Sony Walkman with orange spongy headphones, a collection of ink-stained mixtapes filled with the sounds of the era – the guttural cries of Nirvana, the poetic melancholy of The Smiths, the jangling guitars of R.E.M., and the raw energy of Pearl Jam. The grunge and indie scenes had me hooked, a fitting soundtrack to our teenage angst.
Alongside these musical necessities were 20 Camel cigarettes, a Zippo lighter, black eyeliner, and a packet of Polo mints. Being 30 miles from where I lived, I had these essentials by my side at all times.” – Nat Persoglio
Our backpacks were not that big and not that full, even if we had to survive for two weeks doing things all by ourselves.
We brought packs of beer and cigarettes, Marlboro were a must, a lot of music tapes (ah, those magic years in music…we had Guns n’ Roses, Metallica, Stratovarius, Iron Maiden and all those noisy heavy metal bands), a few crockeries for cooking some food, and a bunch of clothes, mainly bathing suits. Oh, yes, and more beer.
One thing was sure, during those holidays: days were short and nights seemed to never end.
The camping was not a huge one, just a few paths stretching from the street to the beach. But it was full of life. There were families and other teenagers, more or less of our age, and we used to move all together when their parents allowed. Since we were the ones with our own place and no adults around, we hosted our friends for dinners and games.
Days (and nights) were a neverending concert of laughs, music and screams.
We were free. And happy. And carefree.
There is a river that flows down the mountains and falls into the lake, a few hundred meters from the camping. Our afternoons (which were basically after breakfast…) were usually spent climbing the riverside as high as possible until the forests blocked our way.
And there were falls.
We used to sit on the edge watching the impetuous water flowing and falling, and admiring older, crazier guys jumping down from the top. I can’t tell how high they were. I would guess 15 to 20 meters.
I loved all of that. It was like we could do whatever we wanted.
And I always considered that place my happy place.
When I grew older and life started to hit harder, I used to go there in my most difficult days. There’s a bench on the street that lays beside the river and looks at the lake. That’s where I used to sit and think.
I remember a New Year’s Eve I was not in the mood to celebrate with people and a party. So I jumped in my car and drove up to that bench. I took my seat there and watched fireworks burning in the black sky, reflecting their colours on the still winter water.
It’s been now a long time since the last visit; I don’t even know, after all these years, if the beach is still there, if that bench was removed to make more room for a car park, if the camping itself still exists.
What I know is that every time I think of that part of my life, I smile.
And I feel free. Again.
This is the complete article written by Nat: I highly recommend you read it.
It’s definitely worth your time.
Take care and talk soon!