I don’t think summer ever started with a date on the calendar. For me, it always started with a smell, un profumo inconfondibile: sunscreen, la crema solare.
One second of that unmistakable scent and, without even realizing it, I’m eight years old again. Back in Italy.
There was something about those first sunny weekends that felt almost official. The beach bag would magically reappear, towels would come out of the closet, le ciabattine pronte, and someone would always ask, “Hai preso la crema?”
Now… technically, yes. It was sunscreen. But let’s be honest per un momento. If you grew up in Italy in the ’90s, sunscreen wasn’t exactly about… sunscreen. It was about getting abbronzatissimi!
The darker your tan by the end of August, the bigger the achievement. SPF? Un aspetto secondario. Coming back to school looking like you’d spent three months glued to a rock under the sun? Now, that was un successo!
I don’t even know if it’s still like that today. I hope people wear a little more sunscreen now. But back then? Different story.
And if you grew up in Italy, there’s a good chance you’re smiling right now thinking about Bilboa. Those colorful bottles that smelled like menta, cocco, frutti tropicali… Those commercials were iconic, completamente unrealistic… and yet every single one of us wanted one.
Per me, summer really began when we arrived at my Nonno Rocco’s house just outside Gallipoli, in Puglia. My father’s dad. I never had the chance to meet him because, unfortunately, he passed away before I was born.
He was originally from Puglia, but he moved to Torino together with my Nonna Vilma, who was from Rome. He always wanted to pay homage to his land and, one stone at a time, he built la casa in Puglia with so much hard work and sacrifice. Well… today we simply call it la casa al mare di famiglia.
That’s where so many of my childhood summers still live.
Dopo una mattinata al mare, you’d get home covered in salt, sand absolutely everywhere, the towel hanging over the stone wall to dry. E poi finalmente… la doccia all’aperto!
Honestly? I still think an outdoor shower is one of the greatest inventions of all time. It’s impossible to explain unless you’ve experienced it. You’re technically at home, but somehow it feels wild. Private, yet completely open to the sky. It’s one of those simple things that makes you think, ma non possiamo farlo tutto l’anno? It almost feels a little rebellious!
E poi pranzo. A light lunch, but always filled with cose buone e fresche. Una frisa con il pomodoro. Un po’ di prosciutto e melone. Semplice ma buono. I mean… il pranzetto would deserve a whole article on its own, so we’ll save that for another time!
Then came my favorite part of the day. Le ore calde, the early afternoon hours when Southern Italy simply… stopped.
Le tapparelle were half closed. The windows stayed open. The fan kept turning in the corner. Ecco l’ora del silenzio… the sacred pennichella time. Not because somebody said it was time to rest. Because the heat had already made that decision for everyone.
Poi, verso le tre e mezza, quattro… tutto si risvegliava. Life slowly started again. Magari un piccolo spuntino. A slice of fresh watermelon. The moka went on. Biscottini sulla tavola. Coffee somehow made perfect sense, even when it was 38°C outside!
Looking back now, I think that’s what I miss the most about Italian summers. Not the beach, not the tan, not even la crema solare. I miss how naturally we allowed ourselves to slow down.
As children, we didn’t know words like slow living or mindfulness. We simply called it August.
And maybe that’s why, even today, all it takes is the smell of sunscreen to take me back home.
Ciao,
Laura
