There are many things in life that are extraordinary.
Some are simple.
Others, even more complex.
The one thing that cannot be explained is the beauty of a country.
So, for that, I would like to share with you a story.
I was born in Tuscany, in the north of Italy, on August 14, 1965.
I was the youngest of four children.
My mother was the only one who was able to take me to school.
We had no electricity, so we were forced to sit in the dark.
I remember being at the end of my second day and being hungry and cold.
I cried for hours, but I never gave up.
Later, when I was eleven years old, my father and I went to see a movie.
My parents were always busy.
They would go on long walks in the park or to their home in the mountains, and we would stay in their house for a few days.
Then, I remember sitting on the bed, crying.
When I was twelve, I had a dream.
It was like something out of a movie: I woke up in my father’s bedroom, and I was there in his living room.
My father had a huge collection of vintage cars.
I would never drive one, so I had to borrow one from him.
He was so proud of it that he would even show it to me when he visited me for the first time.
This was in 1976, when my mother died.
The dream happened to be about a car.
It had been left at home, untouched.
As a child, I thought it was my mother’s old car, and it was a beautiful car.
At the age of fifteen, I began working at a car dealership.
I learned that it was possible to buy a vintage car, but it had to be returned after six months.
So, I went there and bought it.
In 1985, I decided to become a mechanic.
One day, I was working in the garage of a local company, and there was a man sitting there, with a big bag of old cars.
Suddenly, he grabbed me and threw me against the wall.
“Get out!” he shouted.
With his hands on my shoulders, I tried to get up.
But he grabbed my hair and dragged me against a wall.
I fell down.
What I remember the most was him saying: “Don’t look at me, it’s the only time I ever did anything to you.”
It was the first thing I had ever seen him do.
I did not understand what he meant, but my father told me that he was sorry.
After the incident, I started to feel ashamed of what had happened.
It took me a long time to get over that.
But I never lost hope.
Eventually, I got a job as a mechanic, and then as a salesperson.
I worked on cars, in cars, on old cars, and so on.
However, at that time, I also learned a little about what a country is like.
Some years later, I worked as a car dealer.
I also had to deal with some strange things: I had never met an Italian, and some of my customers were from different countries.
All this made me feel ashamed, because I felt that the Italian people were more beautiful than my customers.
During that time in my life, I met a lot of strange people.
One of them, who I will call Mr. S, was from another country.
He was a very handsome young man with an impressive face.
His father was also a mechanic and a car salesman.
He would come to my office in the morning and tell me stories about his old cars and tell them stories.
They always said things that I didnot understand, like that they had never been to the mountains.
On one occasion, Mr.
S had an old Porsche that he bought from the local dealership.
It did not belong to him.
He had sold it to someone else and it had disappeared.
S said that he did not want to sell it because he wanted to take care of the car.
I said: “What do you mean?”
He said: “I just want to take the car to a museum.
There, I can take it out and show it.”
My heart was beating so fast that I said I would go and see the car and take it to the museum.
Now, Mr S was in his late thirties.
He did not have a very good driving record.
He suffered from diabetes, which caused him to lose weight.
He went to a doctor for tests, but he did nothing.
The tests did not find anything wrong.
Finally, a few years ago, I told Mr., “I want to go to Italy.”
“What will you do?”