Turisti Per Sempre

I grew up in Italy, the eldest daughter of two full-time working young outgoing energetic parents. My parents were always very present in my life (sometimes too much). And so were my grandparents. Like many Italian children whose parents were working, I used to be looked after by my grandma and grandpa. In many ways, you could probably say that I had two sets of parents. And yet, I was able to walk to school by myself, to go to the beach with other people, to roam around in freedom until 11pm on hot summer Italian nights, playing in very dark places with my young friends. No phones, no means of being tracked down other than my dad shouting from the window: “Vanessa, time to come home!” when the clock had struck 11pm. I then used to beg for some extra time which was usually granted to me. I was only 10 or maybe younger. It wasn't in a green place. It was in a city (though on the coast), full of houses and apartment blocks and some sporadic poorly kept parks. Bad people used to