"Vita Lenta": when influencers, tourists, and politicians miss the point

Is Southern Europe destined to become a place only for tourists?

Recently, I have been to Athens—four days of strolling around, drinking coffee after coffee, and eating superb food. I caught myself being like one of those annoying “vita lenta” influencers on Instagram. I kept praising extra virgin olive oil like a maniac, basked in the sun, and talked about the invigorating energy it has. When I told my cousin that I had read somewhere about how important the sun is for our bones’ health, I knew I had gone way too far. Geriatric thoughts lead to a geriatric life.

“Vita lenta” translates to “slow life” in Italian, and it is a lifestyle movement that emphasizes a slower, more intentional, and mindful pace of living. Usually, it is brought forward by people who own a trust fund. They go around to places like the South of Italy and glorify tomatoes and poor people cooking their own meals. These lifestyle bloggers are usually people who probably have a private chef at home in London, but that’s someone they pay, who grew up in London too but happens to be poor in an urban context. So it wouldn’t serve in terms of likes and followers. If that sounds too specific, it is because it is someone I personally know.

Unfortunately, I haven’t inherited much from my parents except some intergenerational trauma. This makes me not immune but quicker to spot when I am being an out-of-touch-with-reality complete jerk. So I was able to correct my behavior pretty fast. And when I came back to planet Earth, I realized a cappuccino cost me 3.50€, just like in Brussels. One evening, we went to a place where some bunch of spinach soaked in oil cost us 25€. I had a look around, and we could have been in New York. Nobody except the servers was speaking Greek. Like, I don’t want to be venal, but in terms of money, we were not in the South of Europe. Money might be just cold, harsh paper to describe the situation of a country, but it does affect people like poetry.

One evening I was sitting at the open-air theatre at the Acropolis, waiting for Puccini’s Tosca to start. And, predictably, as I always do, I started chatting with a lady and her two young daughters sitting next to me. They were Greek; the elder daughter had done the Lycée français and was now studying in Singapore. “Europe is old, I want to have my own business in Asia,” she said. Her mom looked at her enchanted and proudly listed the schools and experiences abroad her daughter had had. She reminded me of my mother, and I felt tenderness. She told me about the sacrifices she had made to afford such education for her child. She claimed that today Greece can be enjoyed only by tourists and by people like her daughter, who will end up being tourists in their own country. “Greek islands are only for Russian oligarchs and Americans because our politicians have been stuck in an island in their minds,” she said. It stung.

Perhaps it was the fact that my ass was touching the same place the ass of some important Greek philosopher touched centuries ago and that we were waiting for an opera written by an Italian in 1900, but I felt pathetically sad. Pathetically sad about the state in which countries like Greece and Italy fell after experiencing such greatness in the past. I am the one who used to make fun of my friend Kostas, a half Greek half Italian, who would reply to any critique about his country with “When you were discovering fire, we were inventing democracy in Greece.” I am also the one who finds Albanians claiming that every important historical figure was deep down of Albanian origin ridiculous. Also, I cannot stand Italians who, instead of acknowledging the shit in which we are swimming as a country, start listing to you all the art we have produced, forgetting to mention those are things that belong to an increasingly faraway past. I have nothing against pride, but when pride comes at the cost of reality, at the cost of taking action, then I remember pride is a capital sin. And being proud only of a distant past without taking care of the present sounds like foolishness to me.

(Nobody masters the art of selling the Italian cliché better than Dolce&Gabbana)

This weekend is dedicated to voting in all European countries. I have yet to see one politician in the South of Europe speaking seriously about the brain drain experienced by our countries. Let alone prioritizing this subject. I think I will be old by then. They surely do talk a lot about what they will do to keep migrants away, but they omit what they plan to do to keep the youth in. I guess it is because they have no clue or because those who care about this have already left Italy in masses. To me, the Greek lady isn’t a Cassandra. Not because she isn’t right, but because I have been talking about the danger of Italy turning into a place for rich tourists only for a long time. It was a meeting between two Cassandras.

I dislike tourists, and I am certainly never one. Maybe that’s because I am a lazy snob, but when I visit a place, I do everything possible to just live it, experience it. I cannot give a damn about planning a visit to a landmark place. What I hope for is always the chance to meet locals, and create connections with people and a particular place in the city I am visiting. In Istanbul, I spent three hours drinking tea with a carpet seller who, for some reason, thought I was extremely rich and showed me all the carpets stored in his shop. Did I feel kidnapped? Yes. Did I learn more about Turkish culture than I would have by staying in line for entrance at the Hagia Sophia Mosque? Yes, as well. Tourism seems to me like reading the summary of a book. Travelling is reading it in detail and taking breaks in between chapters. It is a different depth.

I also predict that in these elections, a lot of parties that fill their mouths with “patriotic pride” will win. Those who talk about the protection of our borders and values, and yet forget to mention how they plan to retain their own future, their youth. I am always the one to fiercely remind anyone who talks about how useless nations and borders are that patriotism and nationalism are two very distinct things. I treat my country like I treat my brother. I can beat him, but if anyone else dares to lift a finger on him will be in danger. But if we continue to ignore the issue, Italy, and other similar countries, will only be a place for immigrants who cannot even afford to leave, heirs and heiresses, or rich tourists. No in-between.

Italy is sun, beach, pasta, and fashion to the majority. That is the image one has in mind when Italy is mentioned. And that’s fine, but a country that becomes a privilege only tourists can afford is restrained to those clichés. To a pantomime of itself. Patriotism, for me, is cherishing a country to which your ancestors tended. It is like the passing of a baton. My impression is that the marathon isn’t happening anymore, that if the baton of traditions, craftsmanship, and taste isn’t passed to new generations, we will be left with the bitter taste of clichés only. Southern European youth, the ones who stay home, will be serving expensive meals to Northern European youth. The short term is the imperative of the tourism mindset, and I get the impression the politicians of Southern European countries have that mentality too. I’d love to vote for someone who doesn’t turn me into a tourist in my own country.

Vilma Djala