Como what may

Mark and I have spent the past few days in northern Italy at lovely Lake Como. This place deserves its reputation as a gorgeous spot. White, puffy clouds laze around the tops of green Alps. Sunshine sparkles on the emerald blue of the lake. We have a darling little apartment a stone’s throw away from the lakeshore. We’re spoiled for choice in restaurants and bars and have been getting around nicely in our rental car and on the boats carrying passengers around the lake. Of course I’ve posted pictures on Facebook, receiving kind comments in return. But one of these responses has bugged me this week. It was “It’s just perfect!”

Now, I know that this reaction is actually just a bit of hyperbole, because everyone knows that nothing on this planet is actually perfect. I think. But what troubles me about this kind of statement, though, is that somehow it plants a niggling little suggestion in your mind that something out there is perfect, and that if your experience it as less than perfect, there’s probably something wrong with you.

So instead of telling you how perfect Lake Como is, I’m going to tell you some of the imperfect stuff from our trip.

1. Our apartment may be adorable, but the hot water in the shower strongly resembles the Holy Spirit: it comes and goes as it will. No amount of futzing with the temperature control fixes this problem. All you get for your trouble is the opportunity to endure more blisteringly hot/teeth-chatteringly cold spray. And all of this is happening in a space roughly the size of the average Amazon box, so there’s no place to hide.
2. We’ve had a couple of very mediocre meals here. For example, my lunch on the first day in Como featured lukewarm green beans and a cod “hamburger” that consisted of two small rounds of grilled fish complete devoid of any flavoring. I ate it, over the objections of my taste buds, because breakfast had consisted of two and a half brownies at 3:20am.
3. The roads here are crazy. The main road on our side of the lake is narrow – okay, Mark has driven narrow before, like in Ireland – BUT EVERYONE IS DRIVING TWICE THE POSTED SPEED LIMIT. Motorcycles and scooters routinely appear out of nowhere to cut around cars, cars dash around curves on the theory that on the whole it’s better just to get them over with, and people walk in the streets because there’s no place else for them to walk. It’s a perfect traffic storm, and I’ve missed some great scenery because my eyes are squeezed shut a fair bit of the time.
4. People who told me I’d understand a lot of Italian because I understand a lot of Spanish lied to me. For example, we’ve frequently seen road signs that say “Ignitzio cantieri” and then, a bit later, “Fin cantieri.” Since “cantar” means to sing in Spanish, I assume we’re supposed to break into song during these intervals in our journey. So far I’m just humming a little and hoping that’s enough to keep the police at bay. Those dudes carry very large guns, and they all look like they’re about 12 years old. Firearms and puberty are never a good mix.
   
   So life at Lake Como isn’t perfect. But you know what? We’re still having a blast. The scenery is wonderful. Our apartment has a comfortable bed, a working refrigerator, and a darling little terrace covered in grapevines. We’ve had some spectacular wines and cheeses and even did a wine tasting at a small family vineyard today with three guys from Germany and a couple from Switzerland. (I’m still wondering about the bona fides of the guy in the couple, because he told me he runs a beach bar for a living. Do they have those in Switzerland?) Nobody has hit anybody or anything on the road (yet), and I’ve pretty much decided to stick to “grazie” and “toilet” in the local tongue.
   
   Apparently, then, I don’t need perfection in my life. Give me good enough and I’m a happy camper. There’s real pain and tragedy in this world; trying to focus on the good is the best trick I’ve got up my sleeve to deal with it. Como what may! (Sorry, I couldn’t resist that one.)