As a pre-teen, like many Italians, I went through a kind of secular rite of passage: a summer holiday in Romagna.
I left with my best friend and that small group of friends you only ever have at twelve—like in Stand by Me. And yes, that’s exactly the vibe I remember: somewhere between adventure and the quiet end of innocence. No dead bodies, thankfully (although one of us did end up in the hospital with a cracked skull—but that’s another story).
What really stayed with me, though, was Romagna’s hospitality.
Growing up in Rome—where the default emotional setting is permanent irritation—that kind of warmth felt almost like a statistical anomaly.
One afternoon in Cattolica, we were walking back to the hotel under a torrential downpour. The bus driver made a small detour just to drop us right in front of the entrance. Then he handed us an umbrella.
In Rome, that would be science fiction. In Paris—where I later spent ten years—the highest form of hospitality sometimes feels like simply not being treated badly.
Every time I go back to Romagna, that memory comes flooding back. Because beyond complex distribution systems, fierce competition, and chaotic pricing (I often joke that I can do marketing anywhere—except China and Romagna), in the end, it all comes down to that.
That extra gesture.
That willingness to serve.
Because “if you don’t serve others, you’re of no use at all.”
Maybe that’s why Romagna still has an edge.
And maybe that’s why a part of me never really left.
Still there, with those friends you only have at twelve.
Under the rain.
Sheltered by a gifted umbrella.
There’s a lesson in this for all of us, I think.
See you next week,
Simone
SIMONE PUORTO
