I have talked about home before, and what a evasive, variable thing it can be for a longtime expat like me.
When I was first staring out in this vagabond life, I lived in a brown tiled house on a sandy road in Niamey, Niger. This was before the Internet, before Skype. This was the days when information came in the form of blue airmail envelopes and two week old Newsweek magazines and holding a shortwave wave radio over your head to get the BBC world service. As the Teenager likes to say, when dinosaurs roamed the earth.
I had a boom box, with a double cassette player. I know, fancy. Tapes were passed around and copied and scotch taped back together when they got caught up in the sand filled mechanics. One of the tapes that got listened to over and over and over again was Stop Making Sense by The Talking Heads. One song in particular has always struck a chord with me. I have often said its kind of an expat anthem. Because of lyrics like this.
It's where I want to be. pick me up and turn me round.
Home. It's where I want to be.
I guess I'm already there.
The actual name of the song is Naive Melody, but it is commonly known as This Must be the Place.
A few weeks ago, Sorrentino's new film La Grande Bellezza, premiered to wild praise at Cannes. It is set in the place I now call home.