My path and Loris’s crossed at a contest for emerging singer-songwriters. We were both among the participants, and from there our friendship and musical collaboration was born. Then, in 2017, Loris, his wife and their two children moved to Silvi Marina, near Pescara, where they started working in some local bathing establishments and restaurants.
During our phone calls, Loris would tell me about their life and the cyclical rhythm of this work, which is marked by seasonality. As a young man, I, too, had worked in the restaurant industry and already knew a little about this world, but I was increasingly intrigued by it. I wanted to see it with my own eyes, to experience it for myself. I wanted to better understand this seemingly precarious and non-linear way of life. To do so, however, I had to be part of them, work with them, and know their toil, vision, and world inside and outside the walls of that factory.
So, in the summer of 2023, I asked Loris if he could hire me as a waiter at the lido where he worked with his daughter Morgana during the most chaotic and crazy summer time: the week of Ferragosto. I worked hard from 12 to 19 August and lived with Loris and his family. I discovered a world of humanity that went far beyond the hours of the shift. After work, we would meet with some employees who were still ‘dirty from the kitchen’ to drink and laugh about what had happened to us during the service. We were all tired but satisfied, sore but happy. Then Loris came up with the ‘unhealthy’ idea of organising a concert on the evening of my last day of work. He called it the ‘Singing Dinner’. Every evening, after a long day of exhausting work, we would rehearse for the concert and then go for a drink.
The band was called “The Camareros” and consisted of Loris, his son Jacopo, myself, Mattia (a barman from another lido) and Giorgio (an old friend of Loris). On the evening of my last day, the concert was a success. People were singing and dancing at the tables, and I realised that all that energy had to be told somehow. All those people, companions of unforgettable moments, lived in a suspended time far removed from ordinary, predetermined life as we can imagine. But that was still not enough for me. I wanted to know more. How did they live the rest of the year? What happened when summer ended, the chairs were piled up in the warehouse, and everything was left hanging in the winter wind?
A slow pace
I returned to Silvi in May 2024. It was the first year that Loris and his family were taking over the restaurant at the lido where I had worked the previous summer. Jacopo was the cook, and Loris divided his time between the kitchen and the lounge. His wife Manuela and daughter Morgana were responsible for the bar and tables. When I arrived, the atmosphere was very relaxed and the pace slow, like waking up after a long sleep.
A few regulars indulged in aperitifs, coffees, and ice cream. The kitchen was tidier than in August when it was dishevelled and constantly in turmoil. After the lunch service, the staff could enjoy a meal together, chat, and sing a few songs on the guitar.
Never stopping
I returned to Silvi a second time in August of the same year. Loris had told me that the busiest week I could document the summer ‘delirium’ would be the week before Ferragosto. That year, in addition to the usual movement of tourists, a wedding was to be celebrated. When I arrived, the beaches were packed with holidaymakers, the sea overflowed with bathers, and the bar and kitchen ran at full capacity. The difference from May could be seen in the pulled faces of the staff.
The factory had been open since 21 March, and they had never stopped since that day. By August, the tiredness was palpable. There was no more time to stop and relax. One would leave the house in the morning, eat on the fly, and only return for a shower and a few hours of sleep.
On the wedding day, a Saturday, they worked from 9 am to 5 am the next day. They did not even return home. They swam in the sea, slept for an hour, then showered at the lido and resumed their Sunday service. According to them, that was the most tiring day. The season was at its pea,k and the pace of the days was unrelenting.
It is a slow time, this, where the country rests and those who experience seasonality can take a break
A suspended time
I returned to Silvi a third time in January 2025. The town was unrecognisable. As soon as I got off the train, I was swept away by the cold wind and a pleasant, intense smell of liquorice. Here is the headquarters of one of the largest factories for the processing and selling of Italian liquorice.
Jacopo was not there at ‘Casa Dalì’, as Loris and his family call their home. He was in Tenerife, where he was working as a cook for another seasonal experience. Morgana, on the other hand, had just returned from Germany, where she had worked for a while, again in catering.
For them, these months are family time, time for rest, and time for passions to be cultivated and to grow. Loris, for example, devotes himself to music after the factory closes, composing new songs and organising concerts in Abruzzo and Piedmont, his home region. It is a slow time when the country rests, and those who live the seasonality of a job can take a break and find their balance in this cyclical nature.
