Living the Tourist Attraction

With no TV and a lousy (or no) internet connection, watching a film at my house means setting up the laptop with two tiny speakers and watching a DVD from the library. Last night's pick about a German girl moving in with her Italian father-in-law in Sardenia was an interesting insight into just how much my life has changed in the past 13 years.

Greta entered the fairytale taking pictures of the three-wagon train as it pulled away and left her miles from everything she knew. She loved the woodburning stove where water boiled in a big pot and the ladel and spatula hung on the open stove top. She took a shower outside, shushed the boys if they spoke while the church bells were ringing and lay in a hammock eating kiwi she picked from the overhead canopy. She was in love with the shepherd and sheep, surprised by how easily the sickle cut the grass and happy to hang her laundry on the clothesline in the Sardenian sunshine. This land was so sweet and strange she decided to turn her new life and home into a destination for tourists.

When I first came to Italy I loved the same things Greta loved. The difference is that for her they were a tourist attraction and for me, a daily distraction. I heat my houses with wood on the same stove I saw in the film. And there's still a thrill to cooking dinner with no gas or electricity. I, too, love shepherds and traffic jams caused by sheep, especially when there are a few donkeys thrown in for good measure.

But some of these hundred-year old habits aren't as quaint as they seem. Laundry on the clothesline is only cute 'til it rains and you can't wear your favorite shirt out for pizza. Forgetting to light the fire in the hot water heater means the dishes and your hair will have to to be washed later. Weekend houses with fireplaces can't be heated with an app on your phone and and there's no Campbell's soup to warm your soul when you get there.

Some days it's hard to remember that all good things come to those who wait. My only choice is to grab my granny square afghan, set up my laptap and watch a 20-year old movie suggested by the local librarian. And if the movie's no good, I can dream about the next time my American friends come to experience my daily life which still seems to them like a tourist attraction.