I’m the Queen of My Own Wading Pool

Every year, my mum stops at the door, glances at me and asks me one last time: "Are you absolutely sure that you don’t want to come with us? It’s only a week and a half!" "Yes, Mum. I’ll be alright. Don’t worry", I always answer robotically. Every year, she tries to convince me to go to Italy, but every year she fails. She sighs, closes the door behind her and there is silence. Finally.


I don’t hate my family, but having spent our family vacation in the same place at the northern coast of the Adriatic Sea since 1998, I’ve simply had enough of Bibione. Sure, going to the same place for so long has numerous advantages. As we’ve already taken every tiny road near the motorway, we know how to avoid traffic jams. As German driving style doesn’t harmonize well with the Italian style, resulting in German bumpers bumping on Italian bumpers and vice versa, this is pretty helpful. But the more you go away from the popular tourist destinations and the more charming the country gets, the more difficulties you have, even as an experienced driver. Charming little roads, built around 1500 and in disastrous conditions, invite you to perform risky maneuvers if you see a truck coming at you from the opposite direction. After seven hours of listening to CDs with children's stories in the car, the only thing you want to do after you arrive at Bibione is get out of the car and do something 'meaningful'. We know where to get the best pizza, where to get the biggest ice cream cone and where to spend some quality time if it rains. But that’s it.

During summer, Italy is not Italian. Millions of Germans and Russians invade Italy each year, exploiting the country and leaving behind deserted land. The German language and the German culture are everywhere; you can’t escape. Let me give you one example: ordering “un litro acqua minerale”, which means ‘a liter of mineral water’, in a restaurant, all you get as an answer is ‘with or without carbonation?’ in perfect German. There simply is no point in learning Italian for two years at school! This and the tiny apartment in which we spend those one and a half weeks are the reasons why I’ve decided to stay home after nine years of summer vacation in Italy. The appartment is incredibly small:  a wet room with toilet, a kitchen serving as living room, a tiny balcony, a tiny garden and two tiny bedrooms; that's it. There is not enough space to enjoy any quiet time because somebody is there all the time. And as I don’t like the feeling of springs pressing against my back, the beds are uncomfortable during the three hours of sleep I get sleeping in the same room as my younger sisters.

So when my parents are away, my holidays begin. Do I regret not joining my family? No. I know where to get the best pizza, where to get the biggest ice cream cone and what to do if it rains. The next pizzeria is just around the corner, my cooking is at a level where the meals actually taste good and traffic jams are no problem at all. 100 sq m all for myself, equipped with everything I need:  piano, ukulele, guitar, flat screen TV, tons of books and a real shower. Kitchen, balcony, terrace, three bedrooms, dining room, living room, study, two bathrooms, two toilets and our tiny garden – all mine. I can sleep in my own bed without the springs massaging my back and I can sleep as long as I want without my sisters waking me up at six o’clock in the morning. Nobody tells me when to go shopping, when to cook, when to wash the dishes or when to use the vacuum cleaner. No one gets angry when I play the piano at ten pm and no one complains when I sneak into the bathroom to brush my teeth at midnight. And a few steps downstairs, I have my own little green paradise with my very own pool. In short: I’m in heaven! Ensconced in a  deckchair, a book in my right hand, a cocktail in my left hand, my feet in the wading pool and nothing more than birdsong surrounding me, that’s what I call the perfect holiday!

Pictures: © All rights reserved (taken by me)