About

I grew up in Neuquén, in Argentine Patagonia, in a neighborhood less than a ten-minute walk from the airport.

When I was around nine, I used to ride my bike with my best friends to a large circular concrete lot close to the runway, surrounded by poplar trees, almost always empty.

Every now and then, we would leave our bikes to the side and stop to watch the planes take off.

None of us had ever been on one.

We watched them grow smaller, leaving a white trail across the sky. There was something both thrilling and dizzying about it, trying to imagine what might be out there. The world seemed immense and, at the same time, strangely within reach. One day, we thought, we would be up there too.

I don’t know if it all started there. But I like to think it did.

Long before I understood what I wanted to do with my life, I was already curious about people, places, and the stories that reveal themselves when you look a little closer.

I studied journalism in La Plata, Buenos Aires, and began working in some of the fields that interested me most: music, culture, languages, and social projects. I joined press teams for festivals, worked as an English-Spanish interpreter within the music industry, and took part in projects connected to sustainability.

Then I started moving.

For years, I traveled across South America, living for stretches of time in different places and slowly getting to know them from within, at the pace that comes with traveling without too much structure. Later, I crossed the Atlantic and began moving through Europe as well.

What I never imagined was that Italy would eventually claim a permanent place in the atlas of my life.

I stayed in Rome, without many certainties, but with plenty of determination.

There, my professional life crossed paths with another passion, one I hadn’t yet fully realized I had: observing people arriving in places they don’t yet know.

I made a major career shift. I started working in tourism, then moved into Food & Beverage —and with it came another way of getting closer to Italy, through its flavors— and eventually into luxury hospitality.

During those years, I spent a great deal of time observing how we travel: what we look for when we arrive in a city, what intimidates us, what stays with us, and all the wonderful —and absurd— things we do while trying to make sense of the unfamiliar.

Meanwhile, I kept writing.

Sometimes about cities. Sometimes about music, art, or people I met along the way. Fiction too, poems, stories born from travel, and pieces that spent years tucked away in different folders.

This website exists, in part, to bring them together.

Today I live in Florence, I’ve started a family, and I’m a mother. I write in the middle of a busy, joyful family life: in the Notes app on my phone, in notebooks, on scraps of paper, on my computer and, very often, only inside my head.

The feeling that the world still holds so many corners to discover —and that I still have so much I want to say and share about it— remains intact.

One of the things I’m most excited to be building is Italy Without Feeling Lost, an editorial project born from years of living and working in Italy. It is meant to help people understand the country without turning travel into an endless list of things they should know, see, or do — leaving a little more room for instinct, curiosity, and the pleasure of discovering something new.

This website brings together what I’ve been creating and experiencing over the years: cities and people, culture, sustainability, movement, contradictions, beauty, true stories, and some that are entirely invented.

I suppose that, deep down, I’m still doing something very similar to what I used to do at that lot in Neuquén’s airport:

I look. I follow the trail. I wonder what might be on the other side — and write to find out.

Carmina. A