The story
What happened?
September 2026. My friend Tom and I set off by bike, heading for Palermo.
We sleep in hammocks and on beaches. On a piece of cardboard we write a single word: Palermo.
I am an artist. And in a small black belt bag, rolled up tight around two hard drives, I carry what matters most: six years of my life. Memories, ideas, work that exists nowhere else.
On 20 September Tom takes a photo of my bike. The bag is there, behind the saddle. It is the last proof I have.
Here the bag is still there, rolled up behind the saddle. After this, no more photos.
After that, nothing. Somewhere between Sorrento and Palermo it disappears. Stations, trains, ferries, places we stayed: it could be anywhere.
To anyone else it is worthless. To me it is six years I can never do again.
So I came back. A thousand kilometres to retrace, thirteen stops, one door at a time. I am not giving up.