I Could Never Live Here
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re still hanging out by Lake Como. Last week we had several lunches with some friends who were staying in the village down the road (hi Marcy and Andrew!). One afternoon we all stopped to browse the real estate listings in an agent’s window, and Marcy and I got to chatting about how often we both fantasize about buying a home, in various countries all over the world. Our conversation reminded me that I had been thinking about a variation of this very impulse a few months back, while we were in Australia.
I Could Never Live Here
There’s one filter that’s difficult to shake, even after eight years of nomading—it’s the can I see myself living here lens. It slips down over my vision at unexpected moments—usually in a grocery store—but I’ve looked through that lens often enough now that it doesn’t surprise me, and it rarely stays long.
I’ve been reading David Lebovitz’s blog about being an expat in Paris since forever, and I’ve always loved the genre of travel book that starts with ‘We bought a run-down farmhouse in France/Spain/Italy and here’s all the humorous faux-pas I made before becoming besties with the plumber, in spite of the way he wears his pants.’
Yes, somewhere in the back of my mind, I fantasize about buying a run-down farmhouse in Tuscany and settling there—I think many of us who love to travel have these secret (or not so secret) dreams. I probably won’t, because I don’t actually like run-down farmhouses, no matter how picturesque they are. And whenever I give it serious thought, I realize I don’t want to settle anywhere. As much as I love balsamic vinegar and fresh ricotta and long, lazy pasta lunches, I know eventually I’d want to go to Thailand or Argentina or Uzbekistan.
Mostly, though, I know it wouldn’t live up to my fantasies, because I don’t speak real Italian. (I speak a few words of coffee Italian and lunch Italian, but that’s about it.)
Our four weeks in Melbourne were an interesting reminder of the essential role language plays in our sense of belonging in a community. Whenever I had moments of fantasizing about living in Australia, those pesky but I wouldn’t have any friends objections never showed up. I could totally make friends in Melbourne. The people are friendly, and I understand everything they say. I was able to have actual real conversations, about things like the challenges of parenting adult children and which kind of salt is best on avocado toast and how to deal with food waste on a broad scale and why more shirts should be pink, with little pangolins all over.
That’s not true in most of the world. Lee likes to say he and I are post-language, and we are in terms of day-to-day functioning, which is fine as long as we a) keep moving, and b) have each other.
There’s a tremendous amount of science showing that community and relationships are essential to our physical health as well as our mental health. Humans need other humans in our lives. We need to have friends and social lives and people to take care of and people who take care of us. We need community. We all have unique levels of need—introverts and extroverts are pretty different—but the human who can live as a total hermit is pretty unusual.
As much as I don’t need to speak Italian (or Thai or Japanese or Polish) to get breakfast, I do have to have some way to communicate in order to make friends. That is where, for me, I bump up against an impermeable barrier—no matter how many ‘tourist’ words I learn, I’m always an outsider.
I could learn Italian, of course, but how long would I have to study in order to be able to say, “I love your pink shirt—are those pangolins? So cute! Where in the world did you get it?”
From my writer’s notebook:
Another friend (thanks, Dan!) alerted me to an arrest in Germany. A trove of ancient Celtic gold coins was stolen from a Bavarian museum last year; four men (suspects in previous robberies of places like gas stations, supermarkets, and a casino, so not exactly antiquities connoisseurs) have been arrested in the case. The most distressing part, in my opinion, is that they appear to have melted down at least some of the coins; the rest have not yet been found. What a loss.
Take care,
Lisa
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