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.

Alarmingly authentic

Still of Alberto Sordi from "Un Americano a Roma"
(on www.italylogue.com)

The summer holidays are fast approaching, and you've probably already started to think about your next getaway. A trip to a Tibetan monastery, maybe? A boat tour down the Amazon? Everything goes as long as it's not a package tour.

We are travelers, not tourists. Frankly, do we not look down on the latter with derision, on those sheepish sightseers in socks and sandals, cameras dangling from their sweaty, sun-burnt necks? Do we not despise them for pilgrimaging to their precious sights like Muslims to Mecca, for buying all the inexplicable kitsch hawked in gift shops and souvenir booths, for crowding into hotels and restaurants that make them feel like at home, instead of pursuing an authentic cultural experience and getting fully immersed in the culture of their holiday destination? Yes, we do. But after all, they may have a point.