Morning Jouney to San Camillo Hospital
The medical examination required us to go to San Camillo Hospital in Forte dei Marmi. We hadn’t intended to go quite so far! We might have had an appointment nearer home but would have had to wait for it much longer. So we decided to set out for Forte dei Marmi in the Versilia just north of Viareggio on the coast of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

We started on a ghastly, rainy morning. It was still dark when we left. We had to cross the Apennines at the pass near Monte Magno, and then the rain really began to come down with an intensity that was quite alarming. Huge lorries coming towards us splashed water over the car so violently that for moments we could hardly see anything at all. We were worried we might miss the appointment, but I phoned the hospital and was reassured that it would not be a problem.
At the hospital, the doctor examined my ear, which had previously suffered from a basal cell carcinoma and had had to be partially removed. Thankfully, he confirmed that everything was fine and that the ghastly carcinoma was not going to return.

Exploring Forte dei Marmi
Instead of driving straight back, we decided to explore Forte dei Marmi, a town famed for being an upper-class and expensive holiday resort. It is often said to be the favourite haunt of Russian oligarchs, though the mayor insists that it is a place of quality open to everyone. Since the war with Ukraine, however, the number of Russian visitors has decreased, and those who remain tend to keep to themselves. More noteworthy patrons of Forte include the Agnelli family the founders of the FIAT car firm who have their villa here.
That said, Forte dei Marmi is undeniably a place for those with a little money. Porsches and Ferraris are common sights.
Walking through the town, we came across a small and very attractive church: the Church of Saints Francis and Maria Assunta. It was begun in the early twentieth century but not completed until about 1948. It contains the tomb of Father Ignazio da Carrara, a Capuchin friar who refused to leave his parish during the war and cared for refugees. Tragically, just one week before the liberation of the area by the Allies, he was brutally shot by an SS soldier. His tomb is placed in the centre of the nave.
The church itself is beautiful, with Romanesque and almost Gothic elements: a clerestory, a triforium, elegant Corinthian-style columns, and fine stained glass. It is what a church should be, before the brutalist constructions of the 1960s and 1970s, which often resemble nuclear power stations more than places of worship.

The Pier and Stormy Seas
We then walked to the pier — the pontile. By then, the rain had stopped. The pier was originally used to load ships with marble blocks from the nearby Apuan Alps but is now used as a pleasant walkway and an embarkation point for holiday coast steamers. Further up the coast at Carrara marble continues to be exported to many parts of the world including the Middle East emirates.
The sea was extremely rough, with high waves, and apart from a couple of people walking dogs, we had the pier entirely to ourselves. It was a wonderful experience: stormy seas, threatening skies, the wind whipping around us. Reaching the end of the pier, I felt that this alone justified the journey to a slightly distant medical appointment

Coffee at Piazza Garibaldi
We headed to Piazza Garibaldi, where we visited Caffè Soldi, perhaps the most fashionable café in Forte dei Marmi. We enjoyed excellent coffee and cakes — a delightful, though slightly pricey, experience by Italian standards.

Il Fortino and the Exhibition of Costantino Paolicchi
From there, we learned about Il Fortino Leopoldo I, the historic fortress that once defended the town and oversaw the marble trade.

Inside was an exhibition by Costantino Paolicchi, titled Antiche solitudini. Percorsi tra memoria e natura (1990–2025). Paolicchi (born Florence, 1948) is an artist deeply rooted in the culture and landscapes of Versilia. He spent many years as a curator and cultural organiser before focusing on his own painting, exploring forests, trees, seascapes, and memories of place. His work is known for its intimate engagement with nature — the textures of bark, moss, and forest were brought to life on the canvas in a way that made them feel almost tangible.

Going up to the first floor, the landscapes shifted from coastlines to mountains and dense forests. I have rarely seen trees painted with such sensitivity and precision. The paint seemed part of the forest itself; the atmosphere, moss, and bark textures were captured perfectly. The exhibition, spanning two floors of the fort, was a privilege to see — absolutely stunning, and a memory I will always treasure.

Costantino Paolicchi’s paintings at Il Fortino, capturing the forests, sea and mountains of Versilia.

in one.of the rooms was the artist’s manifesto:

“The sea has this ability:

I belong to the sea. There’s an ancient bond that comes from a sailor father, and from generations of sailors before him. There’s a love that my mother passed on to me through her genes and that she taught me to cultivate. She couldn’t live without the sea and couldn’t stay away more than a day from her hometown, where she grew up on that long beach around the mid-19th century, when those few marble shippers and shipbuilders took root, building their homes near the fort erected by Peter Leopold to defend the coast.

Forte dei Marmi and the sea were, for me as a boy, the centre of the world, where I discovered the wonders of nature that manifested themselves in every season, on the edge of the waves or in the calm of the calm, in the stands of pines and holm oaks scorched by the salty wind, in the orderly countryside of the small plain.

Already at fourteen, I was earning my living by working on the beach as a lifeguard’s assistant during the summer, and then as a certified lifeguard during high school and college. It was hard work, starting at five in the morning, scooping or “sbaronare” the sand (a “baron” is a simple wooden tool used to smooth it), setting up tents and umbrellas, rigging boats and paddle boards; then I’d wander up and down the scorching sand all day. I was amazed by the sea, which changed colors as the hours passed, from the silent stillness of dawn to the last gleam of the sun setting behind the hills of La Spezia. I listened to its solemn breathing even at night, because I had sharpened my senses to detect changes in the weather. If it blew south-west, I could hear the storm coming from the roar of the surf and the rustling of the trees around my little house on Via dei Mille. Then I had to run to the beach and carry the boats and equipment from the beach resort where I worked, further up the coast, to safety, away from the crashing waves. When the sun rose behind the sharp profiles of the Apuan Alps, where the clouds driven by the southwest wind gathered dark and threatening, the grandiose spectacle of nature rewarded me for my efforts.

The most beautiful and intense moment of the entire day was around eight in the morning, when everything on the beach was finally in order. Then I would stop to observe the sea, its different shades of green and blue, and I would guess the spots where the currents carried seaweed and objects lost or uncivilly thrown from the boats. Dark lines that could be seen even from afar because the sea waters were truly clear then. I watched the passing clouds on the sea horizon, and the stormy skies above the sharp crests of the Apuan Alps. My father, a sailor, had taught me to read the signs in the sky to predict changes in the weather. I especially loved the solemn silence of that hour. Soon the beachgoers would arrive, and the magic of the morning would be shattered.

Today, the silence is everywhere drowned out by the deafening noise of the cities, the loud music from public places, homes, even passing cars. People walk the streets and talk loudly on their cell phones to—to us—unknown interlocutors. Loudspeakers call out to people even on the beaches in summer, motorboats and jet skis roar. “Noise has become obligatory: perhaps it fills the void of those who don’t know what to say, and thus covers the enigmas and sounds of silence.”

Lunch at Baracca
By this stage, we were hungry and chose Baracca, a simple but excellent restaurant near the pier. We ordered baccalà alla livornese (cod in tomato sauce), which had to be reheated to reach the right temperature, but once warm it was superb. We also shared shrimp and I had an extra plate of chips. The restaurant was already filling with local patrons, a good sign of its popularity.
The system is peculiar: you tick off what you want on a menu and take it to the cash desk, pay and then return to your table where you wait for the food. It worked well, and the cod was very good. I’m sure there are more sophisticated eateries in town, but this suited us perfectly.

Journey Home
After lunch, we returned to our car. Parking had been free and straightforward, despite the busy morning. We stopped for coffee at a small café at the top of the Apennine pass, where a young Polish woman served us. We chatted about Poland and agreed it is one of the fastest-developing countries in Europe, thriving without losing its charm.
We returned home via Gombitelli and the Lucese pass, then down towards Diecimo. We had a minor scare when we realised we were low on petrol. Fortunately, we made it. Along the way, we passed the home to the last traditional smithy in the area, run by Mr. Galgani, and then through Piegaio. In Diecimo, we visited a small shop run by a Scottish lady to have our car keys cut.
Finally home, after being up since five o’clock in the morning we made a simple soup of Roman cabbage and pastina and went to bed. Reflecting on the day, I realised that even a hospital appointment in Italy can turn into a rich, memorable adventure — full of rain, storm, art, history, and simple pleasures, all in one of the most dramatic and beautiful corners of the world.