A Love Story on the Lake Como

That afternoon, when Lorenzo called me, will remain etched in my memory forever.

He was cheerful and communicative as usual. Our language ranged from English to the Neapolitan dialect with Ischian roots. Lorenzo, of Ischian origins but raised in the United States, had never learned Italian; not even his parents knew it, but he did speak the dialect. He had even practiced it when he visited his grandparents on Ischia in the summer.

At a certain point, his tone became serious. "I'd like to propose a story on Lake Como to National Geographic, but only if you agree to be the photographer" - he said.

"I'm flattered by the request, Lorenzo, but you know they decide which photographer to assign the story to" - I replied. "I know, but I'll make it a mandatory condition; only you have the right sensitivity" - he insisted.

Then his tone became even more subdued, almost a whisper, and Lorenzo told me what it was about. With my mouth clenched, I listened intently to this final "honeymoon" between Lorenzo and his wife, who was terminally ill with cancer. She wanted to take one last trip with him. The oncologist, reluctantly, gave permission only if they went to a place where a well-organized hospital could stem a potential crisis. So they chose Lake Como, Italy.

From that final trip of love and farewell, this article was born. Usually, the photographer and the journalist are independent. Just as the interpretation of the story must be independent. In this case, I waited for the final version of the manuscript. I read it in one sitting and spoke with Lorenzo several times before leaving for Lake Como. In our conversations, I learned everything that had fascinated them, especially through his wife's eyes. It was her last trip, and it was for her that I had to interpret it.