🗺️ 📸 Playing Tourist in the Village - The Slow Life Stories - Bedtime Stories for Adults - Cozy Stories for Grownups and All Ages

0:02 Welcome to the slow life of Village, filled with cozy stories for everyone. I'll read this story 2 times to help you zone out or even fall asleep during the second reading. This story is called Playing Tourist in the Village and it's about comfortable shoes. Leaving my phone at home and things I'd forgotten. The morning light spills across my kitchen, brushing everything with gold. I stand by the sink, looking out the window, a cup of tea in my hands.

0:50 I'm already dressed in my most comfortable walking shoes and lightweight linen pants that catch the breeze. When I walk, my camera rests on the table. My real camera, as they're now called, not the one built into my phone. The phone stays behind today purposely so I won't be tempted to scroll or check messages or post the photos I take while I'm out today. I'm a tourist in my own village. I want to see what pops up with new eyes. I'm going fully into it too.

1:35 I fold an old paper map of the village and tuck it into my backpack. It's mostly decorative. I know the place like the layout of my own home, but I want the full experience really. I'm going to compare the village now to the map to see what's changed. As a tourist, it adds to the charm of my day. The wide brimmed straw hat goes on last fastened gently under my chin. Still pretty chic, I winked to myself in the hall mirror. I step out into the warmth of the morning. The slight breeze is coming in the right direction for me to smell the fresh bread and pastries from the bakeries and cafes in the town square.

2:32 Bees hum beside me in the gardens as I walk slowly towards the calm action of the heart of the village. No errands today, just this. Just me and the place I've known for many years. My first stop is the used bookstore on a side street just before the square. I check my map which is 1 I have from years ago, and this book store is one of the landmarks that I know would be on here as it was established before I was born there. It is in tiny letters by my finger, the crooked bookshelf.

3:18 I've left my current reeds at home so I can browse like someone discovering this place for the first time. I'll choose a book to have with me throughout the day, resting on benches, or to sit with after a small lunch, still sipping on a drink between pages. This store is a decent size laid out on three floors with an elevator in the back. I remember coming to their fundraiser to be able to have it installed when they cleverly invited everyone to help raise the fun for everyone. I scanned the odor circle of the first floor and a well loved copy of a travel memoir catches my eye. I don't recognize the author, but the cover shows them walking on a narrow St. in a country I've yet to visit and I decide that's perfect for to day.

4:27 I purchase it with coins from my bag and slip it in beside the map. Already I feel a little transformed. No longer the person who lives just two streets over, but someone passing through. I turn left out of the shop, knowing this will take me further from the village centre to a cluster of small streets that have kept the original cobblestones in place. Walking into the area takes me back in time. A child bumps by on her bicycle, humming a tune that wobbles her voice with every bounce. As we do when sliding down the stairs on our bottoms, I wander along cobbled paths, pausing to take a picture of window sills with flower pots and a stone wall dripping with vines. I make a point to take only those photos that I will get printed off to put in tiny frames around the house. In this historical area is one of the oldest homes in the village, turned into a museum.

5:49 If I kept wandering, I would surely come across it, but I pull out my trusty map in order to find it. I see that I'm close, just around the corner. It's a low stone cottage with a crooked chimney and a garden of herbs. I wait by the door with a small group of visitors, a couple from Halifax, a mother and daughter from Vermont, and two older friends who let me practice my French with them. They have a paper map too. Some have cameras hanging from their necks and others use their phones. As such, the tour begins winding through the narrow rooms filled with old furniture, family photographs and displays of village life from long ago.

6:48 The guide is enthusiastic and perfectly dramatic, his voice rising and falling, keeping us engaged the whole way through. I note many things I'd forgotten or never learned about the place to begin with. As we move from room to room, conversation stirs between us. The couple from the city laughs with interest when I mention I live just up the street. You're on vacation in your own backyard? I nod, smiling. I tell them I left my phone at home and brought a paper map. They're delighted by the whole idea. The mother from Vermont says she might do the same when she gets back.

7:41 I've lived in the same town for 30 years, she says, and never even been to our local museum. As we go our separate ways back out in the sunshine, I am happy to have inspired someone else to play tourist in their own home. The scent of salt drifts towards me and I see it's nearly lunchtime. Many restaurants are just ahead, so I follow the path past the benches where artists sit with sketchbooks and watercolors. In true tourist fashion, I buy a sketch of the museum I've just been in and a painting of the waterfront which I'm about to stroll the length of and stop along for something to eat.

8:35 The painting will be given as a gift to someone on some occasion, and the sketch I will hang in my own house as a reminder of my day away in this very place that I call home. Playing tourist in the village. The morning light spills across my kitchen, brushing everything with gold. I stand by the sink, looking out the window, a cup of tea in my hands. I'm already dressed in my most comfortable walking shoes and lightweight linen pants that catch the breeze. When I walk, my camera rests on the table. My real camera, as they're now called, not the one built into my phone.

9:36 The phone stays behind today purposely so I won't be tempted to scroll or check messages or post the photos I take while I'm out today. I'm a tourist in my own village. I want to see what pops up with new eyes. I'm going fully into it too. I fold an old paper map of the village and tuck it into my backpack. It's mostly decorative. I know the place like the layout of my own home, but I want the full experience really.

10:17 I'm going to compare the village now to the map to see what's changed. As a tourist, it adds to the charm of my day. The wide brimmed straw hat goes on last fastened gently under my chin. Still pretty chic, I winked to myself in the hall mirror. I step out into the warmth of the morning. The slight breeze is coming in the right direction for me to smell the fresh bread and pastries from the bakeries and cafes in the town square. Bees hum beside me in the gardens as I walk slowly towards the calm action of the heart of the village. No errands today, just this.

11:10 Just me and the place I've known for many years. My first stop is the used bookstore on a side street just before the square. I check my map which is 1 I have from years ago, and this book store is one of the landmarks that I know would be on here as it was established before I was born there. It is in tiny letters by my finger, the crooked bookshelf. I've left my current reeds at home so I can browse like someone discovering this place for the first time. I'll choose a book to have with me throughout the day, resting on benches, or to sit with after a small lunch, still sipping on a drink between pages.

12:07 This store is a decent size laid out on three floors with an elevator in the back. I remember coming to their fundraiser to be able to have it installed when they cleverly invited everyone to help raise the fun for everyone. I scanned the odor circle of the first floor and a well loved copy of a travel memoir catches my eye. I don't recognize the author, but the cover shows them walking on a narrow St. in a country I've yet to visit and I decide that's perfect for to day. I purchase it with coins from my bag and slip it in beside the map.

12:59 Already I feel a little transformed. No longer the person who lives just two streets over, but some 1 passing through. I turn left out of the shop, knowing this will take me further from the village centre to a cluster of small streets that have kept the original cobblestones in place. Walking into the area takes me back in time. A child bumps by on her bicycle, humming a tune that wobbles her voice with every bounce. As we do when sliding down the stairs on our bottoms, I wander along cobbled paths, pausing to take a picture of window sills with flower pots and a stone wall dripping with vines.

13:55 I make a point to take only those photos that I will get printed off to put in tiny frames around the house. In this historical area is one of the oldest homes in the village, turned into a museum. If I kept wandering, I would surely come across it, but I pull out my trusty map in order to find it. I see that I'm close, just around the corner. It's a low stone cottage with a crooked chimney and a garden of herbs. I wait by the door with a small group of visitors, a couple from Halifax, a mother and daughter from Vermont, and two older friends who let me practice my French with them.

14:50 They have a paper map too. Some have cameras hanging from their necks and others use their phones. As such, the tour begins winding through the narrow rooms filled with old furniture, family photographs and displays of village life from long ago. The guide is enthusiastic and perfectly dramatic, his voice rising and falling, keeping us engaged the whole way through. I note many things I'd forgotten or never learned about the place to begin with.

15:33 As we move from room to room, conversation stirs between us. The couple from the city laughs with interest when I mention I live just up the street. You're on vacation in your own backyard? I nod, smiling. I tell them I left my phone at home and brought a paper map there, delighted by the whole idea. The mother from Vermont says she might do the same when she gets back. I've lived in the same town for 30 years, she says, and never even been to our local museum.

16:15 As we go our separate ways back out in the sunshine, I am happy to have inspired someone else to play tourist in their own home. The scent of salt drifts towards me and I see it's nearly lunchtime. Many restaurants are just ahead, so I follow the path past the benches where artists sit with sketchbooks and watercolors. In true tourist fashion, I buy a sketch of the museum I've just been in and a painting of the waterfront which I'm about to stroll the length of and stop along for something to eat. The painting will be given as a gift to someone on some occasion, and the sketch I will hang in my own house as a reminder of my day away in this very place that I call home. I wish you sweet dreams.