Was It Worth It?
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re in Mexico City, staying in an Airbnb, exploring the neighborhood, eating chilaquiles and pan de muerto. Mostly we’re recovering from our time in the US—it’s always a busy visit, and always exhausting.
Was It Worth It?
Travelers or tourists will often say authoritatively that a given destination—Zurich or Hamburg or Delhi— is only ‘worth’ two days, or one day, or some other nonsense. Such proclamations always make me a little stabby. Tell that to the people who live there. Maybe they think their city/town/village is the center of the universe, and they wouldn’t want to live anywhere else on earth. Or maybe I just want to stay longer, soaking up the vibe and getting to know what life looks like in this place I’ve never seen before.
In July, Lee and I spent two weeks on the northwest shore of Lake Como, in a little village that is not one of the famous ones. We had lunch at random, whatever’s-open restaurants, with friends who were also visiting the area. One day we drove into Como town, but the traffic was horrendous, on tiny serpentine roads, so Lee spent the whole afternoon dreading the ninety-minute return drive. Another day it rained, so we went to a mall in another (much nearer) town, and walked around indoors, just to get some steps.
We ate gelato. We ate pizza. We had cappuccinos at the bar and embraced the rhythm of village life. I discovered that the grocery store closes for two hours at lunchtime, which makes me weirdly happy. We went for long evening strolls along the promenade and got lost in the dim, ancient lanes of our village. I watched the final week of the Tour de France. I read hotel reviews so that we could plan and book our February destination. I painted my fingernails. Lee did a bunch of work. I wrote a bit, and made lunch a few times. We talked to friends on the phone, and lay in bed listening to the most amazing thunderstorms, and were grateful to be further north than the worst of the summer heatwaves.
And that’s all we did. Is there history behind the many churches in the village? Of course—this is Italy. There‘s history under every rock and around every corner. Did I look it up? Nope. If I walked by a church and the door was open, I poked my head in to have a look around. I didn’t buy a guidebook, or ask questions at the tourist information booth, or look for pamphlets. All the churches I saw were very pretty and very different and I have no idea why.
There’s an ancient palazzo on a cliff, and it too is very pretty. I did glance at the sign on the road, and I believe it’s now a municipal event space. It’s a stunningly beautiful old building, and I had the fleeting thought that Lane, who was in the wedding industry pre-pandemic, might enjoy seeing it. But I didn’t ask for a tour, or even try to get a glimpse inside. I’m sure it’s lovely.
I also read the historical marker commemorating a resistance unit that was active in the area during the Second World War—it was very interesting, and I tried to imagine what life was like in Gravedona in 1943 as I wandered through the twisting narrow lanes of the old village every evening, but I didn’t google it. Sometimes it’s enough to know—there were people here, always, and they lived their lives, and time marched on.
One day I asked a waitress what ‘rolled pizza’ was, and she looked at me as if I were a dolt. In perfect English, speaking slowly and a little loudly, like you might to an elderly dementia patient, she said, “It’s a pizza, that’s rolled up.” We ordered it, and went back the next day to order it again, because sometimes it’s good to remind the neighbors of my idiocy.
Was it ‘worth’ two weeks? Absolutely. It was worth a lifetime, and then some.
I recognize that most people go on vacation wanting to maximize their time away from work or the value of that long flight across the Atlantic. I realize that paying for hotels in addition to a house is expensive. I realize that six-countries-in-ten-days is a thing because that’s what people want. We all have FOMO. I also recognize that I am extraordinarily privileged to even have the option of ‘slow travel.’
Lee and I often say travel is like scuba diving: you can kick your fins and go fast and cover a lot of ground, or you can breathe slowly and stay in one place, studying one tiny spot on the reef. If you go fast, you stand a greater chance of seeing the big flashy things. If you go slow, you’ll see more of the tiny shy creatures and their subtle behaviors.
Both approaches have value. Sometimes we like to go fast. Sometimes we like to just hang out and eat pizza. There’s no right or wrong. We all get exactly one lifetime, and we all get to decide how we want to spend it.
Take care,
Lisa
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