Every year around this time, when the first cold spells begin to grip Italy, a large part of the population thinks about an even harsher winter, about the economic crisis that is evident in shop windows that no longer display sales, but look like sets from a film about the post-war period. Gloomy thoughts, as constricting as scarves around the neck, turn to increasingly hefty bills and increasingly meagre bank accounts, and to good intentions that evaporated with the heat of the last spritz drunk in the September sun.
This reawakens the ancient national discontent linked to the temperature, with the impression that winter is not just a season, but a collective sentence.
The unknowns narrow the range of enlightening visions and do not have the comfort of daylight saving time to provide a little extra light.

As punctual as the fog in Milan and sometimes as early as the panettone in the supermarket and the Christmas lights in nondescript towns, the season of shivers arrives in Italy, those that run down your spine when you think about heating (no, not global warming, which spares no one).
So here they are again, as punctual as swallows in reverse, the Italians in thermal exile.
Pensioners, smart workers, freelancers, even young people in precarious jobs with more dreams than return tickets: all attracted by a simple, banal, unexceptionable thought, but not for everyone as unexceptionable as the rejection of war: “if it's hot, you spend less”.
 
In the end, escaping the Italian winter is more a matter of philosophy than geography.
We delude ourselves into thinking that changing latitude will change our lives, but we often carry the same thoughts with us, only with fewer clothes.
And in this geography of comfort, the coast of Kenya shines like a reliable mirage.
This is how the desire for Africa is reawakened.
But not the Africa of safaris or documentaries, rather the more concrete and less glossy Africa: the one where you can escape the cold, the accountant and maybe even the news and the fury of social media (apart from selfies on the beach to make those stuck in the Belpaese green with envy).
Kenya, particularly the coast, has long been a favourite destination for those fleeing the radiator.
In fact, here you don't even need heating for the shower water, and the gas bill is replaced by the fridge bill to keep your beer ready. Forget adventures among lions and elephants: a small flat and slippers, with supplies of spaghetti wrapped in every piece of clothing in your suitcases and vacuum-packed in the double bottoms.
Kenyan immigration law, for now, is kind to those who arrive as tourists and does not demand excessive fees. With a fifty-euro online visa, you are guaranteed ninety days of summer, plus another ninety if you decide that the melancholy of late February can wait. There are no taxes on rentals (which, in any case, are best formalised with a contract, because the sand on the beaches is beautiful, but not as comfortable as a bed with a mosquito net), and a system that allows you to live decently if you don't expect too much.
Many Italians, caught up in the desire to “get away from it all”, rent houses “sight unseen”, as if the view of the ocean were enough to erase all danger. But then they discover that dreams, even here, come at a price, and that you can find yourself with your suitcase on the pavement and the owner gone, like the promise of a decent pension.
Malindi and Watamu remain the most popular: a piece of Italy in the tropics, with pizza that tastes of the sea and Kiswahili that occasionally bends to “ciao bello”. But the illusion of feeling immediately at home is just that: an illusion.
Because Kenya is a friendly country, but not naive, sunny but not always transparent, and believing you have understood everything after three aperitifs and two rental contracts is the quickest way to discover that life here has its own rules – and they are not those of Rimini.
Those who have lived on this coast for a long time know that the sun is not enough to illuminate naivety. You have to understand the language (English, not just smiles), respect customs, and remember that light-heartedness is fine, but only if it doesn't weigh on your wallet. Kenya is not the solution to Italy's ills, but a respite for its most weary inhabitants. A bright interlude in the story of a people who have always dreamed of warmth as a right and discover, time and again, that even paradise – when you find it – has sand in your sandals.