If I could change one thing about my hometown it would be the road that divided it in two. I grew up in a small village on the northwestern Mediterranean coast. It was one of those holiday spots full of people in summer and empty for the rest of the year. The village was right on the shore, but the national road crossed it and left the inner part of it isolated from the sea... and my home was on the wrong side.
I remember how I felt when I was a child and my father or one of my elder siblings took my hand and guided me across that infamous border. Cars and trucks drove on that road at extremely high speeds, leaving my curly hair even messier than it was. My head moved left to right the whole time, trying to guess the right moment to sprint, with my little heart beating as fast as those vehicles. Then my arm was pulled strongly, and at the voice "c’mon, now, run!" I closed my eyes and let them lead me.
After that brief terrifying moment, there was the sea. That huge mass of blue freedom and wind; the roundness of the globe; my father's finger pointing towards the lighthouse and his voice… his voice telling me tales of how he and I were sailors on a tiny boat, and threatened by a giant fish.
Nowadays that road is not in use anymore, so I do not have to change it. Urban democracy has finally reached that small village, and reaching the shore is a peaceful two-minute walk from home. Anyhow, I do not know why, I kind of miss that thrilling adventure and the deserved prize of the sea.
