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I’m a story all about the sea

I’m a story all about the sea, fishing boats that sail along the coast as the day breaks, and a shoal of fish in the clear early morning water. I’m a tale that begins on the beach, as the breeze blows away the sultry summer heat and encourages everyone to forget about their worries and unwind.

People sometimes say “it’s nothing but a story”. Try asking all the parents out there what they would do if they didn’t have stories to tell their children over and over again. Nonetheless, I do get a little bored here in Bibione. I come here in a suitcase full of toys, alongside other stories like me. I get opened up and perused, but I spend my time on a bedside table in a room.

In the evenings, the mother picks me up and starts telling me with the lamp on, as the wind blows gently in over the sea. However, the children close their watchful, curious eyes and fall asleep in no time at all. There are no voices asking to hear me again. I end up sitting there closed, with nothing to do.

The children on the other hand have plenty to keep them busy. For instance, they love playing with their buckets and spades on the beach. It’s a wonderful experience for both them and their parents, but there’s a lot more to do here than just that. It is a safe, meticulously run setting where they are free to play and enjoy all of the health benefits of the sun, the breeze and the sea water so that they are in great shape for the cold weather in the months ahead.

There’s so much for children to do in Bibione that I’d never manage to fit it all in my pages. It’d take lots of stories to let you know about it all.

I hear about it in the evenings, when the kids are still bursting with energy and they tell their father what they’ve seen and done before they go to bed. I’m very fond of tales about the natural world and quick bike rides away from the beach, along clearly marked roads through peaceful surroundings.

In my favourite story, there’s a boat, the horizon out in the sea stretches so far that it reaches other lands, a river flows down from the nearby mountains, and all around the lagoon are canals, old straw huts, little fishing villages and a sense of wonder that leaves the children lost for words. Stories are made up of other stories. When they go home after their holiday, the children will pick me up again. After they peacefully fall asleep, maybe I will lie there with a few grains of sand still tucked between my pages.