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...the land where the colours of the sky and sea are the same that accompained Orazio and Goethe on their travels. Terracina, a land of myths: here you enter into the mysterious world of the Etruscans, into the noble and warlike spirit of the Volsci, into the Eldorado of Italy, A land beyond time, a gigantic monolith dominated by the Temple of Jupiter, immersed in the trasparent and pastel coloured sea of Ulysses, where the rays of the Sun fall and break into thousands of magical sparks, that not even the night can extinguish for their sweetness. Terracina, an ancient drape lain near the sea; the most Mediterranean of vines grow in its folds and give birth to the famous Moscato wine, the nectar of the Gods. " The sky, the Mountains and the great Pontine Horizon induced a contemplative calm: everything invited you to take delight in it rather than be tired by it, and there was something quite sensual even in the star-filled nights, in the effects of the Moon on the Rocks and on the Sea". De La Blanchère was fond of saying. But every hedonistic spirit knows that each contemplation is a source of joy. If I were a dreamer I would wander enraptured amongst the ruins of the Temple of Jupiter, the ancient Acropolis dating back to the I century B.C., I would imagine the anciest priests of Anxur, devoted to cults that have been forgotten for ever, I would stroll along the immense stone pavings of the Republican Forum, in the presence of the ancient medieval towers, amongst noble men clad in white togas. I would sit in the shadows of the Cathedral with its nave and two side aisles, built in the XIII century on the site of an ancient pagan temple, and admire the white-haired figure of Pope Gregory XVI, loved even by the dolphins. If I were a dreamer I wouldn't be able to resist the alien call from Campo Soriano, the only place in Italy where nature has created extraordinary structures from the rock, sculptured by water. I would remain for hours enchanted in front of Pisco Montano, an enourmous calcareous dolmen as high as the sky, cut by the Romans so that Old appian way could kiss the sea. I would rest, fascinated, on the ruins of the quay of Trajan's Port, one of the most important ports in the Mediterranean at that time. If I were a dreamer I would be Terracina, fire on the Riviera of Ulysse, amongst the myths of the Island of Circe, the small pitturesque streets of Sperlonga ad the wild Pontine Island, drops of rock floating in the Tirrenian Sea. If I were a seagull I would make my nest here, I would fly along the golden beaches, urged on by the joyeous shouts of the children playing and foreigners from every land intoxicated by the sun. I would glive between the wooden and stone kiosks, enchanted by light-hearted eyes and happy smiles, and I would sing a hymn to the summer while I waited fot nightfall, my accomplice, with its horders of new friends and loves. I would slide through the sweet notes of the guitars and the bonfires on the beaches, surrending myself to the rhythmic beats of the discoteques; everyone feeling almos as though they don't want to invade the nobility of this land. I would smell the air from place to place; I'd have a pizza in the presence of Jupiter, sip a beer near the walls that watched Rome rise, and eat a plate of fresh fish in the salty sea breeze. The will all become tales and adventures to tell in far away lands. Stories, only stories of a long and marvellous summer....
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YoU ArE ViSiToR NuMbEr SiNcE JuNe 14, 1997.
