In 1978, my parents bought a house on the Ferrara coast. I was one year old. I spent every summer there until I was an adult. Sometimes I go back, but not in summer... better out of season.
I have developed a strange attachment to this intermittent place, which now lights up for just a few weeks a year.
When I was little, summers were endless, but not just because I was a child. Tourism, as we know it today, did not yet exist, except for a few lucky people who could afford to travel. For everyone else, there were long stays in inexpensive vacation spots, such as the modest villas scattered throughout the municipality of Comacchio. Around me were other residents of the working-class neighborhoods of the big cities of the north. We were lucky to be able to spend much of the summer season there. This was especially possible for those of us who had a stay-at-home mom. On weekends and in August, the men would also arrive.

That time no longer exists, but its traces remain in an area much larger than the one I frequented as a child.
Tourism today is a much more complex phenomenon, but here in the La Linea area, it is linked to this recent past, which survives in part, but is now largely archaeology.

My exploration of La Linea therefore starts in the south and moves northeast through nine albums into which I have divided the territory.