Lily Haight

Still a bit skint from our trip to Paris, summer approaches and I am unable to scoot off to some beautiful Italian villa or island resort. 

We went to Paris in March intentionally to avoid summer crowds, high temperatures, and to stay home during the prime farming season. And yet, advertising has its little claws in me, showing me resort wear that looks so flowy and comfortable, showing me photographs of beaches and outdoor cafes, where skinny, tan, beautiful people are sipping aperol spritzes and looking so warm and gorgeous. Glowing. Relaxed. I want that, I think. No, I need that, I think. I need to go to Italy. 

And the truth is, I have had some really fun times in Europe during the summer. But it comes with a price: not only a dollar amount I cannot currently afford, but also a long and grueling plane trip where I and hundreds of others shuffle through horrid lines like cattle. Then the jet-lagged treks through unknown cities in suffering heat where I can’t really communicate more than a “hello” and a “please can I have a coffee.” And then, of course, the fact that I want to go to all the same spots as everyone else. Because they saw the very same ad, video, post, Pinterest pin, etc. that I saw and it worked on them the same way it worked on me. 

So for the first time in a while, I am resisting the call of an international summer vacation. I am staying close to home this year. It is partly an intentional attempt to reject consumerism and the forces that tell me to do more, buy more, etc. and partly an intent to appreciate the full summer splendor of coastal Washington. Which is where I live. Appreciating the things I have, and all that. 

Oh, and it helps to save money. Which I will use on my next trip. Because I am only human, after all.

But for this summer, we have Italy at home. 

Here is an example of what I mean. I sit writing this in a ray of sun with a salty breeze drifting through an open window next to my table at a cafe. Out of the crack in the window is a slice of beauty, just as stunning as any Italian beach: large rocks tumble out into the shallows of sparkly blue water (cold, always cold, but that won’t stop me this summer). A stretch of completely empty beach. Blue sky behind it all, going on and on until it hits the horizon, and there are the white craggy peaks of les alpes (the Cascade Mountains). 

It is the view that is available to me every time I come down to Better Living Through Coffee, which used to be my favorite cafe in the whole wide world. But I’ve grown too used to it, in many ways, so it no longer holds that spot in my line-up of good cafes. (Surprisingly, a little coffee shop in Paonia, Colorado is holding that spot right now. Not because of the location, but because of the people inside it and the intentional way I saw them creating community.) But the view from Better Living is still beautiful, and different every day, and a privilege to have access to. We have Italy at home. 

If I put my headphones in and cover up the sound of American voices with Italian 80s pop music, I am basically there. On vacation, on my lunch break.

(I just need to start bringing my own cup, since, to my dismay, the coffee shop has rescinded our glassware privileges and started serving everything in paper. This is an atrocity that would never occur to a European.)

The more I think about it, the more I start to feel a little silly. Why on earth would I choose to leave this place on its nicest days? When it is actually warm enough outside to endure the cold water of the Pacific ocean? When the rest of the year here is so soggy and bitter and windy, but for those few precious months it is not too hot but not too cold, and so, so blue? Why would I abandon my garden in its peak growing season? Free of crowds and car exhaust. A little paradise. 

So we have Italy at home this year. I own a variety of swimsuits already and don’t need new ones. I live near the beach. I’m relearning to play the piano and can serenade my little neighborhood. I purchased an ice maker for constant spritzes on the back deck. Libby is perfecting her pasta making skills. I have a battered old Moka pot that makes good espresso. I can swim even in the cold Pacific water. 

North Beach is the new Amalfi Coast.