Italy: Trash-Filled Roads Leading to Luxury Resorts.

A Contradiction That Says Too Much About Us.

Read the original version of Esco quando voglio #85 in Italian, here 👇🏻

Italia: le strade piene di rifiuti che portano ai resort di lusso. Una contraddizione che dice molto (troppo) di noi.

Image generated with artificial intelligence—mainly to avoid any legal threats…

I hate to say it, but it's an all-too-familiar scene: you enter a stunning tourist facility, maybe one of the most awarded, with magazine-cover suites and impeccable service… but to get there, you had to drive through filthy streets, neglected flowerbeds, overflowing bins, and garbage bags scattered everywhere.

It happens a lot. And, let’s be honest, it happens almost everywhere in Italy. The further south you go, the worse it gets. In the North, these are rare exceptions; in some central areas, they become more visible; and by the time you reach the South, they often feel like the norm. With the likely exception of Alto Adige—whether it’s due to culture, discipline, or love for detail—even the most remote mountain trail there is a lesson in order.

But let’s return to “ordinary” Italy. The one where resorts compete to offer a perfect experience but ignore the fact that the experience begins at the front gate. I recently spoke with a senior hospitality manager: she was stunned by the contrast between the elegance of a five-star resort in Sicily and the squalor of the surrounding streets. “Is it really possible,” she asked me, “that no one has even the slightest sense of aesthetics or hospitality just outside the property?”

I get it—it’s not the private owner's job to clean public space. But that’s not the point. The point is: do you really not care that your guest has to step over garbage bags to reach the entrance? Do you feel no discomfort knowing that the first visual impact of your property is shaped by decay?

I admit it—I’m almost clinical about this stuff. And no, central London isn’t necessarily better than Italy. At home, in shared buildings, in the street—if I see trash, I clean it. Not out of heroism. Simply because I can’t stand the disorder, even when it’s not mine. I do this in London just like I do in Italy. And yes, I hate doing it—so much so that I spend hours disinfecting myself afterward—but at least the temporary result makes me feel a little better.

When you see school kids going out to clean up parks, or local groups organizing “walks with a trash bag,” you think: finally, something’s moving. But the fact remains: decay has too often become something we accept, something we see as “inevitable.”

I remember years ago a public outcry in Noto, a stunning baroque town, after a furious post by journalist Selvaggia Lucarelli about trash in the nearby countryside. Instead of being outraged about the garbage, people were outraged that she dared to say it. But the problem remained—tolerated.

That’s why I continue to admire certain places in the North, where even after hordes of tourists, rain, markets, and festivals, every inch is put back in order. Not because there’s more public staff. But because private citizens step in first—quietly—out of love for the place and respect for those who visit.

Cleanliness isn’t just about appearances. It’s about respect. It’s beauty. It’s part of the experience, the message, the identity. And maybe even a measure of our civic spirit.
Trash outside, luxury inside: this is an Italy we can no longer afford.

P.S. Let me be clear—I’m not saying this to shame parts of Italy. Quite the opposite! Those who follow me know how passionate I am about the regeneration of many of these areas—which doesn’t just mean restoring a property, but also restoring the sense of beauty around it. And anyone hosting tourists should be the first to show that beauty also means value—economic value included.

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