Intensive planning. Endless phone calls. Detailed checklists. Messages after messages. Rehearsals for skits, choreography, songs. Joy at full volume. Countdown. And then, finally, the day arrives. The moment we've all been waiting for: the start of Campo! We organize everything down to the smallest detail, but I think we do it only to discover, once it all begins, that most of what we'd planned won't unfold quite the way we imagined. Arriving at the venue is the most electrifying moment. Many of us have spent Campo at the same place for years now, but I believe we all feel the same rush as we turn onto the road that takes us there.
When we arrive, the rooms fill with kisses and hugs—as if we haven't seen each other for an eternity. We recognize each other, introduce ourselves again, greet one another as though this were a brand new moment, a fresh start—just like every year. In my community, the roles always fall the same way: some are busy unloading suitcases from cars, others empty the van full of food and fill the kitchen with good things to eat, others manage check-in (they're usually the best huggers and can't seem to stop), the younger members move through the building finishing up room assignments, someone immediately starts washing rooms and bathrooms, and then there's always someone who asks, within a minute, when we're going to the pool.
We're just like a family here. Really and truly.
We spend wonderful days, structured around moments we all share. The day starts with a rich breakfast, then we pray together, we put on skits, we sing, we dance, we go to the pool, we eat, we nap, we dance again, we sing again, we eat again, we're together, we embrace, we talk and talk and talk. Described like this, it doesn't sound like there's anything special about these days at all.
And yet something magical happens
And yet something magical happensOn the last day of Campo, we sit in a circle and tell each other everything beautiful we've lived through. That's when the magic reveals itself. During those days, we don't notice the beauty we're living in, but by the end, we can't bear the thought that it's over. We tell each other how good it was, how beautiful it was, how much fun we had, how moved we were, how much we loved one another. Some of us can't hold back tears.
But what is this magic, really? What moves us? What makes us so happy? Being together.
Waking up in the morning and finding each other. Going to bed and feeling close. Eating always shoulder to shoulder. Praying with our hands joined. This is the magic.
Throughout the year we see each other once a month, we talk almost every day, but we don't have the chance to look into each other's eyes daily. During Campo we feel free to do it. Families relax. Friends have fun. The young people live out a dream. It's all so perfectly balanced. Every moment is a chance to remember how beautiful it is to have found one another, to understand the worth of our friendship, to realize we couldn't live without it. Campo is pure life, beauty, joy, sharing, love.
Since I was small, I've shared a room with my sisters, and then Angela, Patrizia, and Lina. Angela is a girl my own age—24—and I think one of the most playful and lively girls I know. In the evening, when we get back to the room, her request never changes: we have to push the beds together and sleep wrapped in each other's arms. A moment before we fall asleep, while we're embracing and she's still not tired of joking around and being a pest, everything becomes clear: Campo is magic. All the things we can't live in our everyday lives, all the hugs we can't give to the people we love, all the moments we can't share with those beside us, all the looks we can't spare for what matters most—we manage to do all of it in those days.
And so we close our eyes and fall asleep. Tomorrow we'll wake up in each other's arms.
by Francesca Giannulo, 2022