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Laura Restrepo Ortega

Fine Art & Documentary Photography

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For reasons beyond my control (aka bureaucracy and capitalism), I won’t be able to get my house just yet. In a matter of minutes, my dream was shattered by reality, the bitch, and I was forced, once again, to reassess and readjust. Where would I go next? What would I do now? With COVID restrictions still raging in Asia and my stubborn unwillingness to return to Colombia, I have few options. But I must go on, at least I have options. Just don’t ask me where I’m going next because I don’t know!

A quaint Italian village, Biccari has everything you’d expect: colourful houses with large wooden doors and little balconies, cobble-stone streets and ancient ruins, clothes hanging beneath windows, and cheerful people smiling, ciao! I felt at home hanging out on the piazza with the locals, grateful every time I got a free cappuccino or a cheap beer, hopeful when I thought about the hikes I would take through the forest, the snow that would come in winter, the nonnas gossiping on the streets in summer. I saw my life there and I loved it.

I know, it’s crazy, trust me; I gave up on this endeavour multiple times during the past few months but never stopped moving towards my goal, as if it was pulling me by a magnetic inertia beyond my control, because I couldn’t give up—not without seeing these houses first-hand. So after several days of complete uncertainty in Rome, where I occupied my time with work, friends, food and wine, and of course, sight-seeing, I finally bought a train ticket south to a small town in Puglia.

I’m not one of those people who can just let go of crazy ideas or will myself to wake up from my fantasies just because they seem unfeasible. So, once borders started opening again in the late boreal summer, I flew to Europe, all with the intention of coming to Italy to hopefully find a place to call home.

After a very long quarantine in Colombia, I now find myself in the midst of another journey dictated by yet another crazy idea—probably the craziest one yet; one that I wasn’t sure would even be possible but I knew I had to try: buying a cheap house in Italy.

For years I’ve said that my craziest ideas have been some of my best ideas. They all lead me to discover amazing new places, meet wonderful new people, get to know myself better, and experience things I wouldn’t have otherwise, things that wouldn’t have been possible if I had let my fear, apprehensions, or other people’s opinions sway me from chasing my dreams.

Through the years, the road has taught me to keep going without forgetting, to move on without ever letting go, to be more like the waves.

Few places have captivated me like Ventimiglia, a small town in Italy just an hour by train from Nice, where getting lost in the pink labyrinthine alleyways of the old town is half the fun.

To understand the charm of the Côte d’Azur you need to go no further than Villefranche-sur-Mer. What Mediterranean dreams are made of.

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