That plague better known as Tourists

With warmer weather comes an unavoidable nuisance: the tourist. Anyone who has ever traveled outside his city limits has been one, yet citizens unite in hating the tourist. Pushing his way through crowded streets, a guidebook plastered permanently to one hand and a camera in the another, speaking the few Italian words he knows loudly (because everyone knows that it doesn't matter if someone can't understand you - just speak louder and of course they'll get the point!), and crowding the gelato shop... Okay, so I realize that I fit this description perfectly, but after living in Cortona for a month and a half we UGA students feel like natives already.

We can give directions perfectly while trying not to smirk at the random tourist's obvious relief in our ability to speak English. We know that the Lion's Well is the place to be at night, but if you want to get drunk than of course you go to Tuschers first because drinks are cheaper there. We've hung out with the Canadians and know that the French have invaded the local hostel. We've convinced John Luca, the bartender at the Lion's Well to dye our beers green for St. Patrick's day, even though Italians have no clue who St. Patrick is. We know that Route 66 isn't an interstate, but a place to hang out. Especially if you want to smell like smoke until you can afford another wash machine token. And we know that the most important thing to notice at the dinner table in Toninos is whether or not there's a third (dessert!) fork in front of your plate.

I think what irritates me the most about tourists is how each one seems to think that they have some undeniable right to peer at whatever I happen to be working on. They have it down to a science: first comes the sighting, where they'll suddenly notice me sitting on a city wall or in a corner of the piazza. Next, the recognition: she has a sketchbook and a pencil - she must be an artist! Now at this point you've got the annoying people and the extra annoying people. The annoying people will march right up to you and, speaking very loudly in English with wide hand gestures thrown in just in case you still don't understand, ask if they can see what you're working on. The extra annoying people try to be a little bit more subtle: glancing at you repeatedly, they'll sidle up to you on the pretense of admiring the view. Then they'll precede to stare over you shoulder blatantly until an intense glare sends them scurrying for safety. At this point there's a predictable conclusion in which they'll make some bland comment on how it's "nice, very nice" before sauntering away. This is particularly amusing when all I have down on paper are a couple of vague lines.

Italians, mind you, have never accosting me in this way. Artists are a dime a dozen in Italy and are therefore given about the same level of attention by Italians as the hundreds of mangy cats that roam the cities.