Camel from Kyzylkum

In 1960, when I was 10 years old, I met Nicoletta Champitte, an Italian girl about my age who traveled to Ukraine with her mother and father as tourists. This family immediately became a sensation in our little Ukrainian city. When the three of them walked on the main street of our sleepy little town, they stood out in marked contrast to all the natives of our city. A crowd of onlookers would follow them in great amusement. I was part of this crowd. I remember how beautifully they dressed. The good-looking father wore a classic, well-fitting, black suit; he had dark hair and brown eyes. The mother was a very attractive young woman, wearing an elegant, light navy, corduroy coat and stunning high-heel shoes; her dark, long hair was expertly pulled at the back of her head, her skin was ivory, her bright red lips grabbed anyone’s attention, and her bluish-green eyes shone like diamonds. Nicoletta was the same height as I, with blonde, curly hair pulled into a bun at the top of her head and big, bright blue eyes. What struck me especially was her black patent leather shoes and white stockings. This family walked calmly and freely down the main street of the city, set apart by dignified richness and grace. At one point, they turned around and gestured to invite me to step ahead and join them. From the entire crowd of people who were following them, they chose me—I could hardly believe it! Holding my breath and trying to shake off my nerves, I walked with them for a while; we communicated mostly through body language—I did not speak Italian and they did not speak Russian. Still, though, we managed to learn a bit about each other and exchanged our addresses.

From that one amazing evening began years of communication between Nicoletta and me. She sent me postcards with a view of the city where she lived—Lecco on Lake Como in Northern Italy. There were white, gorgeous houses on the banks of the azure blue water of the lake, surrounded by lush, green mountains. These postcards were, to me, a window into a magical, faraway world. Once, Nicoletta sent me a little package with a beautiful silk scarf. I was skipping lunch at school and saving my money—I wanted to collect enough to send her a gift, too.

After several years, I moved out of Ukraine with my family; at that point, correspondence with Nicoletta ceased and communication stopped. But this story stayed forever in my memory and heart. I always hoped that maybe someday I would travel to Italy to find Nicoletta’s magical city, Lecco on Lake Como, and the street where she lived—via Risorgimento 41. My hope materialized many years later. We traveled there in September 2016; we found the street and the house, but Nicoletta Champitte was no longer living there.