Perhaps you’ve read the book, or seen promotions for the film of the same name scheduled to open this month. For anyone journeying to that sumptuous region of Italy, “Under the Tuscan Sun” by Frances Mayes has become a fixture of travel preparation, as necessary as sunscreen in summer and a wine opener any time of year.

The book is engaging, if overwritten; the film, according to early reviews, is little more than a well-photographed chick flick. No matter. The story of a depressed divorcee who impulsively buys a dilapidated Tuscan villa in an effort to find a home and reclaim her life surely will resonate.

This is what we wish we could do when life is a mess: take off to a land where the culture is slower, friendlier and more rooted, where the elusive sense of home can be found amid ancient ruins and olive groves.

But this archetype of the American in Europe, drooling over the continent’s sophistication and style while bemoaning the lack of both back home, overlooks a simple solution: We can’t import the sun, soil or, thank goodness, the politics of Italy, but we can take the best of another culture and meld it with our own.

American culture seems to be seeping into every corner of Europe — the good (entrepreneurialism and egalitarianism), the bad (McDonald’s and Madonna), and the indifferent (Diet Coke).

And cities are the standard-bearers — not the dustbins — of their culture. There may be slums in Paris and Rome, but they are not on display.

Why can’t the relationship be mutual? Sure, there is much to learn from others about living life well. Many European nations offer five weeks of vacation and government-funded preschool and health care. College education is actually affordable.

In a book laughingly called “Too Much Tuscan Sun,” Italian tour guide Dario Castagno observes: “As recently as 20 years ago, if someone had told a Tuscan peasant whose dream was to go to America that his old, dilapidated farmhouse would soon become the dream home of wealthy Americans, the peasant would have considered him just this side of a lunatic.”

And we can surely learn a thing or two from Europeans about staying healthy. After enjoying a full Tuscan meal, Castagno says, his clients inevitably ask: How is it that, in Italy, people eat so much but hardly anyone’s overweight?

His answer is diplomatic, but instructive. Tuscans eat meals; they don’t graze in the car, on the job, in front of the TV. They cook with fresh ingredients and extra-virgin olive oil, far healthier than the overprocessed fast foods soaked in butter or lard routinely consumed here.

They drink wine as if it were water, without the falsely puritanical notions that create such American perversions as the Liquor Control Board and binge drinking in college. Instead of turning alcohol into a sin — and therefore all the more attractive to young people who overindulge on a Saturday night — red wine in Italy is savored.

And they walk more, helped by excellent public transportation and cities that encourage pedestrian traffic.

All this savoring and sauntering can be taken to extremes, of course. The French government, trying to explain why thousands died in this summer’s heat, acknowledged that the 35-hour workweek and traditional August vacations had played a part: There weren’t enough medical personnel available to deal with the emergency.

Americans would never stand for that, much as Europeans would never agree to two-week vacations and insurance co-pays.

Still, there must be ways to learn from each other, to share the best and at least consider the alternatives.

Besides, if adopting Mediterranean diets or urban policies is not possible, there’s another option: Frances Mayes is this month — what a coincidence! — launching a line of furniture inspired by her Tuscan experience. A furniture book, “A Tuscan Home,” is due out soon.

I wonder who’ll star in that movie.

Jane R. Eisner is a senior fellow at the University of Pennsylvania and a columnist for the Philadelphia Inquirer. Her e-mail address is jeisner@phillynews.com.