My name is Bianca Vanni Calvello Mantegna dei Principi di San Vincenzo. Of Sicilian origin, I studied classical humanities before moving to London, where I earned a degree in Comparative Literature at University College London. I now live in Milan, where I am taking my first steps in cultural publishing, with a particular focus on essays. From late spring onwards, I always return here, to Sicily, to this house by the sea where I spent every summer of my life, with my sister Gloria and my brother Alessandro.

We are here at the Castello di Solanto, our family residence. Suspended above the Gulf of Palermo, on the Tyrrhenian Sea, it stands adjacent—with its large tower—to the Tonnara, a former tuna cannery entirely built from blocks of sandstone, now used as a reception hall. We are all deeply attached to this place, almost viscerally so. It is not just a holiday home: it is a home in the most profound sense of the word. We have given this very singular place a true dimension of sharing and transmission. I believe that is what is most precious.

There is a real feeling of being inside the sea. Some of the rooms give the impression of being on a boat, with the wind moving through them like on a sailboat. We are so close to the water that my father has already jumped into the sea from the terrace. At times, it feels as though there is nothing else around us—like we are alone, in the middle of the sea.

This house has a very ancient history. For a long time, it was believed that the tower, designed as a defensive bastion for the tuna fishery, dated back to the early 12th century. Then my sister Gloria—who works in contemporary art in New York and is something of our family art historian—discovered, while researching archives, that it may be even older, possibly once a mosque. In the 18th century, it was later transformed into a residence. Today, we continue to trace its history, but beyond all of that, it is above all our place of the heart.

It is our meeting point. We all live somewhat scattered across the world, so coming together here is rare—and all the more precious. We even enjoy being bored here. Simply being together is enough. It is an immense luxury, almost beyond price.

They are shaped by very simple rituals. In the morning, we always have breakfast in the same place, sometimes at dawn. Then we live outdoors: we swim, we explore, we play cards. And then we eat a lot—we are in Sicily, after all—and our mother makes sure of that with great care.

Talking for hours on end! My sister and I always have so much to tell each other. Here, it takes very little: the sea is within reach, almost at the snap of a finger.

The pink bedroom, without hesitation. It was the one I shared with my sister when we were little. We loved it: everything was pink, we were dressed the same, probably even in matching pyjamas. It was almost like a staged scene. We felt protected there, with this large Virgin placed on the bedside table. But above all, there was that moment when we opened the windows. Everything changed then: we became two pirates. It’s paradoxical for a pink bedroom, but as soon as we opened them, we could smell the sea, feel the wind. We would imagine ourselves on a real adventure.

We have a very close, almost symbiotic relationship. People often take us for twins because we look so alike, even though our personalities are very different. But we work perfectly together. And even from a distance, we always find a way to preserve that bond. I know it is rare—and very precious.

I am very attached to the Sicilian land. With my father, we manage the family farm located in the inland countryside. We are committed to a gradual transition toward organic farming. It is another, complementary way of extending this very strong bond with our territory.

Here, without hesitation. It is the place where I am happiest in the world. And when my whole family is together, it becomes even more intense.