The villeggiatura, a month-long break, was popularised in the 1960s when trade unions were strong – and so was economic productivity

On the Riviera di Ponente, sandwiched between the glitzy resort towns of the Ligurian coast, sits the Albenga plain. Dotted with campsites and bungalows, the area developed during Italy’s postwar boom as an affordable refuge for workers to escape the smog of nearby industrial cities like Turin and Milan. While much of the surrounding coast is now given over to boutique lidos, this corner of the riviera is still a place where families gather in the shade of eucalyptus trees to play cards, share picnics and nap through the afternoon heat to the chorus of cicadas. These are the stubborn devotees of villeggiatura: Italy’s mythic, month-long summer break.

The origins of villeggiatura go back to the Renaissance, when nobles would leave their urban palazzos for gilded countryside villas in the hills, for weeks at a time. During the 20th century, however, middle- and working-class Italians made their own claim on it, transforming an aristocratic privilege into a mass ritual. By the 1960s, millions of Italians had come to consider a long summer break a fundamental right, spending holidays in ancestral villages, seaside campsites, or even company-sponsored holiday resorts. It was the era immortalised in Gino Paoli’s 1963 jukebox hit Sapore di Sale (The Taste of Salt), which celebrates “lazy days passing by” at the beach, dreaming “of a different world” beyond the factory and office.

Jamie Mackay is a writer and translator based in Florence

The Games could have showcased Milan’s abundant culture and architecture. Instead it has filled the city with gaudy pavilions and gentrification

On a bad day, Milan can feel less like a city than an open-air shopping mall. Since winning the bid to host the Winter Olympics in 2019, the urban landscape has been flattened into construction dust and swamped in corporate messaging. What started as a logo on a tram has gradually evolved into a feverish, full-scale takeover of the public realm. From Piazza del Duomo to the Sforzesco Castle, the city’s most popular spaces have been appropriated by gaudy pavilions, turning Milan into a bizarre spectacle staffed by dancing mascots.

Last Friday, I sat down with friends to watch the opening ceremony, broadcast live from the San Siro, the much-loved brutalist football stadium that has been slated for demolition The reaction in the room was telling. On the one hand, after so much buildup, most people were excited the big moment had finally arrived. But as the proceedings went on and the parade of familiar faces gave way to the peculiar sight of bobble-headed puppets of Rossini, Puccini and Verdi dancing to Italo disco hit Vamos a la playa, the melancholy kicked in. Was this really what these years of disruption had been for? Was this strange, kitsch pop concert worth all the political repression, the public inconvenience, the relentless marketing, the unspecified millions of euros in cost?

Jamie Mackay is a writer and translator based in Florence

The prime minister has been lauded for her country’s growing role on the world stage. But poverty and precarity are forcing vast numbers to emigrate

Earlier this month, the gardens of Rome’s Castel Sant’Angelo were filled with families enjoying some unseasonably warm sun by a pop-up ice rink. Teenage couples skated hand in hand, while the watching crowds sipped mulled wine and hot chocolate to a soundtrack of Nat King Cole. At first glance, it looked like a normal Christmas market. The stands, however, revealed a different reality. Among the nativity displays and kitsch decorations were adverts for nationalist newspapers and something called “patriot radio”. On a wall near the kids’ play area, a mural depicted an unlikely cast of characters, tracing a lineage from the fascist poet Gabriele D’Annunzio to the late American Maga influencer Charlie Kirk.

This was the setup I witnessed at this year’s Atreju, Italy’s biggest rightwing festival, which has been running since 1998 as an annual celebration of patriotism and nationalism. During the early editions, proud neo-fascists, including black-hooded thugs from street movements such as CasaPound and Forza Nuova, made up a visible portion of the attenders. At this year’s event, however, the Celtic crosses and odal rune tattoos were tucked under well-ironed shirts. The crowd was made up of nerdy students, gen-Z influencers, civil society campaigners and passersby who had been lured off the street by the glittery lights.

Jamie Mackay is a writer and translator based in Florence