Just Outside the Frame

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Mid September. We are now officially halfway through our initially planned, committed 13-month stint in Italy. A few days ago, I was sitting in a beautiful park in Puglia. This was my view.

A scenic beach with clear turquoise water, surrounded by trees and rocky shores. People are swimming and relaxing on the beach under a blue sky.

Beautiful, right? But it was almost as though I could only look straight ahead. The second I turned my head, breathed deeply, or paid attention to anything outside the photograph, some of the magic disappeared.

What you don’t see in that photo is the trash near my feet or the ants crawling all over me. You can’t tell that I’m sitting on dirt packed so hard that the towel underneath me offers almost no relief from the little rocks poking through it. You can’t smell the cigarette smoke drifting by or feel the dust being kicked up from the dry ground as people bustle past my towel. You certainly can’t feel the roughly 90-degree heat or the sirocco blowing in from North Africa and wrapping everything in humidity. None of that makes the photograph false. It just means the photograph has a frame. And there are many things outside the frame that cannot be seen.

Experiences like this, outside the frame of the beauty, took me by surprise initially. When I talk to anyone at home and express some of the frustrations or talk about things that are less than ideal, the first answer is usually, “But your photos are so beautiful!” Then they start telling me about how beautiful Italy is. Some have been here, some haven’t. Media and Hollywood have contributed to the American perception of the country. I wondered if I’m part of the machine that does that too.

On a separate but completely related note, I have been thinking a lot about the concept of Satya, or truthfulness, these days. Satya is part of the Yamas and Niyamas, which are kind of a guide to broad-minded, healthy living through a yogic lens. Mostly for fun, my friend Michele and I are writing a book on the Yamas and Niyamas in the workplace, so I’ve been thinking a lot about what truthfulness really means.

The same evening this photo was taken, Daren, two friends and I went to dinner in the old part of the town of Gallipoli. Daren and I had gone for a run through this area earlier that morning, before the busy time of day. It looked like a ridiculously charming fishing village. Fishermen were repairing their nets and a few people were sweeping the streets and getting ready for the day. By evening, it had transformed. The streets were packed, every shop was open, restaurants and cafés spilled into the streets, and lights reflected over the water.

The four of us at dinner are all retired (for lack of a better word). Three of the four of us finished our last day of paid employment before turning 50. In some way, we are probably all figuring out how to spend the rest of our days in a meaningful way. While we were sitting at a restaurant overlooking the water in yet another postcard scene, Daren asked the four of us a question.

Do you miss work? And if you do, what do you miss about it?

While everyone answered (myself included) and shared, I let this question marinate through the evening and into the next morning. In all honesty, I don’t really miss my job, but the question made me realize that I miss being completely excited and energized about something the way I once was at work. Because for a very long time, I loved my work.

Sometime along the path of my career, I had a job that changed my relationship with work for good. There were too many meetings, I felt increasingly removed from the mission of the organization, and there were what felt like way too many things that frustrated me. But one thing bothered me more than everything else, and it came up while I was writing the Satya chapter on truthfulness. We sometimes kept people hopeful about things we already knew were very unlikely to happen.

We didn’t lie. We said maybe. There were understandable reasons for it. We didn’t want people to become discouraged or walk away. We wanted to preserve relationships and keep people engaged. Saying “maybe” avoided a difficult conversation. Except that sometimes “maybe” wasn’t really true. People were spending their time doing work based on information we were giving them. They were planning around possibilities we knew were barely possibilities at all. Eventually, I found it increasingly difficult to participate in what felt like a charade. I stopped loving work and being excited about what I was doing.

What was marinating in my mind alongside the beautiful photo I took while ants were crawling on me and I was practically choking from the dust and cigarette smoke was this question: Can what we say or share be technically true and still leave someone with a false impression? I mean, yes, of course! But do we realize the impact that it has when we do this and that people are basing their impressions, decisions and work, on it?

This is what has been bothering me about Italy and the reaction I get when I share the not-so-perfect moments with others who are not here. Nothing I’ve posted about Italy is untrue. The flowers really are spectacular, the quaint towns are picturesque and adorable, and some of the food is extraordinary. The ancient streets, the evening passeggiata, the cafés, the vineyards, the olive trees, the old men sitting together in the piazza—all of it exists.

The photographs and blog experiences are real. But so was the “maybe” at work. Sometimes something can be completely true and still leave out enough of the story to give someone the wrong impression. I lost my appetite for work by participating in what felt like a charade. I don’t want to do that with sharing anything about my retired life. But how do I do that in modern day without posting pictures of dirty diapers, half built buildings and graffiti? Of course we’re going to photograph the beautiful sunset instead of the overflowing garbage bin twenty feet away.

I am bothered by the concept of Satya (that yogic concept of truthfulness) and impressions because I think we also arrived here with a story already written. We’re moving to Italy for a year. That sentence practically comes with its own Instagram filter. Italy is romance, reinvention, pasta, Tuscan hills, walkable villages, slower living, long dinners and flowers pouring from ancient stone windows.

Then we actually lived here. It has been six and a half months now. Living somewhere is very different from visiting. When you live somewhere, you need doctors and pharmacies. You realize that the walkable village requires parking outside ZTL zones and can be a big hassle. You deal with government offices, use the trash system, drive, and need things repaired. We experienced the brutality of the summer heat and smelled cigarette smoke in places I haven’t smelled it since I was a child. We have been immersed in extreme overtourism. We haven’t eaten more than a handful of non-Italian (mostly terrible-tasting) meals in more than six months. We are experiencing the systems behind the scenery.

Two opposing things can both be true, and that is the part I didn’t understand until I lived here. That is what living somewhere does by forcing you outside the frame.

The morning after that dinner and Daren’s question, while the ideas about work, Italy and truthfulness continued to linger; I walked Koji along the same path we had walked him the prior evening. Along the promenade the night before, the water was glowing, and people were everywhere—walking, eating, drinking, talking and laughing. Lights from restaurants, cafés and amusement park rides reflected off the water.

Even though Koji and I walked that very same route, in the light of the morning it looked and felt different. I noticed the trash, the broken glass, the tall grass that hadn’t been cut, and all the things that darkness and twinkling lights had made invisible the night before.

When I ran into the same old city even earlier the following morning, I noticed the overflowing trash, the street sweepers who were distracted and hardly paying attention to what they were missing, the broken cobblestones that I tripped over and all kinds of things I initially filtered out. Same run, just a different set of eyes. Neither experience was untrue. It’s the same city, same walk, same run. So why or how do I see it differently at times? And what am I sharing that gives people an impression that isn’t the whole story and might leave them with a false impression of what something is all about?

Daren and I are intentionally spending much of our time talking, reflecting and thinking about how to live intentional, meaningful lives going forward. Between our conversations and the book Michele and I are working on, I am thinking a lot about what happens when all our individual selections and the things we leave out or don’t say accumulate into a story. How much of a story did I buy into about a people, places and things in my life and how did my experience measure up?

How does what I chose to show leave someone with an honest understanding? Because that was precisely what bothered me about maybe: it wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t the whole truth.

The opposite of romanticizing a place isn’t criticizing it (which is my first instinct, to be honest!), but perhaps we need to allow things to be whole and full of the nuance they inherently have. Our Italy story doesn’t become less beautiful when I include what has disappointed me. It becomes more honest.

Italy does have spectacular hilltop towns and overflowing garbage bins. There are extraordinary meals, food fatigue and some really terrible overpriced meals. Universal healthcare exists, but so do truly frustrating healthcare experiences. There are absolutely gorgeous places and lots of unkempt public areas. There is truly remarkable history, UNESCO sites and maddening bureaucracy steeped in that same history. Warmth, beauty, neglect, generosity, inefficiency, tradition and contradiction all exist side by side.

None of those things cancels the others out. My photos are not untrue, but they are not giving anyone the full picture of what goes unseen. What part of that is Satya and being truthful? Am I/ are we misleading anyone?

I try via the blog to tell a bigger story, but some people may scroll past the words to look at the pictures. Why do we do that? Why at work did we tell people maybe and lead them to have hope about something that had a small chance? Why didn’t we tell them what the chances were? Do people want to have hope that something better is out there? Daren and I always wanted to live in Europe. Why? What impressions did we have that were not entirely true?

As I try to share that I am no longer loving the ideal of Italy, but getting to know the actual place, I see people almost defending their own idea of what it is. Wanting to keep the hope alive that there is something better out there, that the grass is greener, that the “maybe” could be true.

While I don’t have answers to these questions, these are the kinds of conversations we spend our days having while doing laundry in the sinks of hotels, sitting in traffic, shopping in grocery stores with nearly empty shelves and coughing on cigarette smoke. We also have these conversations by pools, on gorgeous scenic drives throughout the country and over long meals that extend long past sundown while lights come on and illuminate the town like a gorgeous painting.

Countries are nuanced. Workplaces are nuanced. People are nuanced too. Don’t we do this with people too? We meet someone, fall in love or have a hero, and then that person disappoints us by being human. We feel shocked that they don’t meet the ideal that was only in our head due to the filter, the partial picture they showed us, or the one we were willing to see. Is it human nature to have something be all or nothing? Why are we not just looking at and accepting the full picture without attaching to or longing to put it in a category that we either like or don’t like?

This is what living in Italy rather than visiting it is like for me, and it is expanding my understanding of life and, of course, travel. When we travel somewhere we’ve romanticized, especially as tourists, much of what we experience has already been framed for us. We visit the historic center, eat at the recommended restaurant, photograph the piazza at sunset, walk the beautiful streets and leave a few days later. We don’t usually stay long enough to need much from the place beyond what it was already very good at giving us.

When we spend enough time to see past that, like when we spend enough time with a loved one or an idolized hero, we see the whole picture. While it might not be what we expected, it is the truth, and I want to be someone who is honest in following the Satya principle.

We don’t have to pretend the flaws aren’t there, nor do we have to abandon our affection the moment we see them. We can admire someone without requiring them to be perfect, be disappointed by something without rejecting the whole, and acknowledge what is difficult or ugly without somehow betraying what is beautiful. When something finally comes down from its pedestal, we don’t necessarily love it less; we get the chance to know what we’ve actually been loving and love it more.

As for this halfway point in Italy now… There are things I adore, things that make me crazy, things I expected, things I completely misunderstood and things I still don’t understand. It’s a wildly less romantic story, but a more loving, honest and truthful one.

Thanks for reading! The feature image is a dog park at a rest stop.

We’d also love to hear from you! Any of you. Tell me what you think or what experiences like this you can relate to. You can comment here in the blog or email or text either one of us.

Namaste.

Abruzzo & A Quick Lunch in Molise

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Friday of Labor Day weekend and the smell of BBQ filled the air. There were mountains, fresh air and cowboy hats. But we were not in the United States celebrating in any traditional way—although a look around and it kind of felt like it!

Welcome to Abruzzo, Italy. Abruzzo is a lesser-known region in the south(ish) central part of the country. It is dominated by the Apennine Mountains, a high altitude plane, and has a rugged landscape as well as a rocky coastline along the Adriatic Sea.

Daren and I really wanted to get to every region in Italy if possible, and when our friends were planning a visit and wanted to hike, we all agreed this might be an ideal location. Months later, here we were on Labor Day weekend, in the heart of Abruzzo trying the famous arrosticini, skewers of lamb that you roast over charcoal grills. We all opted to try this local specialty at Ristoro Mucciante, the place Stanley Tucci featured in the fourth episode of Season 1 of Tucci in Italy. It was just one of those beautiful clear blue days (hot as heck) where it felt a little unreal for so many reasons. We stood by the grill watching the meat sizzle and then sat down for a delicious picnic.

The trip itself started out with some with some unexpected challenges. We left Tuscany at a reasonable hour giving ourselves plenty of time before our 3pm check in. There was some talk about which route to take and after not too much deliberation I made the proclamation that we should take the shortest route. That made the most sense, right?

Wrong… we sat in traffic (unmoving traffic where people got out of their cars and walked around type of unmoving traffic) for about 2 1/2 hours. There was a terrible, fatal accident on the A1 so it felt wrong to complain too much given the terrible tragedy. When we finally did start moving there was another road closure on the way to our lodging requiring a long detour on winding mountain roads. Then Apple maps took us to the wrong location; 45 minutes away from the correct place. Maps said “you’ve arrived” but we were in the middle of a small back road with no hotel in sight. Our friends Dave & Angela using Google maps were blessedly unaffected by that one 45 min ooops. When we finally did arrive to what should have been a 3 hour trip a mere 9 hours later, it was so late and we were so grumpy and so out of sorts, we didn’t even eat dinner that night. We opted for apples, chocolate, and nuts on the bed in the hotel room.

But rocky start aside – let’s get back to where I started at the BBQ, finally relaxing in the mountains of Abruzzo (important stuff here!) So, about this arrosticini… Arrosticini are small skewers of mutton or sheep meat, traditionally cooked over long, narrow charcoal grills. At Ristoro Mucciante, though, the experience is as much about how you eat them as what you eat. You go into what is essentially a macelleria, choose your raw meat—arrosticini, sausages, lamb, pork, whatever looks good—and then take it outside and cook it yourself over rows of communal grills that are already fired up and waiting. There was a lot of other options too – lots of grilled vegetables which Daren bought, dessert, and even in this far off middle of nowhere part of Italy – non alcoholic beer to my happy surprise!

It looks like the old West in this DIY BBQ restaurant. The Mucciante family has been doing some version of this style of buy your own meat and cook it outside for a long time. Their family had been returning to Campo Imperatore, the high plane National Park in Abruzzo, with their sheep for generations, and in 1965 they set up a small hut here to sell meat during the summer. Then Hollywood, or at least Italian cinema showed up. A fake American gas station and café called the “Way Station Café” was built nearby as a movie set for the 1977 Franco Nero thriller Autostop Rosso Sangue (Hitch-Hike). After filming ended, Giulio Mucciante took over the structure and turned it into a permanent place to sell the family’s meat and salumi. His sons Rodolfo, Roberto and Gianni grew up there and continue the family business today. Parts of Campo Imperatore were also used in the filming of They Call Me Trinity, the famous Bud Spencer and Terence Hill western, adding another little piece of movie history to the landscape.

One of the sheep dog sleeping on the job

The region really feels unlike other parts of Italy that we have seen—or that folks might typically associate with the country. In the area where we stayed, livestock were everywhere. Cars pulled over like it was completely normal to wait for cows to cross the road. The plan in this area was to hike and try local foods. While that was pretty cool, sometimes the most interesting parts of a trip are the least expected, even with the best-laid plans.

On our first day in Abruzzo, we plotted a trip to visit Rocca Calascio (a castle) – a stunning, windswept medieval fortress situated at about 1,460 meters in Gran Sasso National Park. Then we would hike the three miles or so back down to see the town of Santo Stefano di Sessanio and have some lunch. The town was described as a beautifully preserved fortified medieval village famous for the Albergo Diffuso concept, where visitor accommodations are spread throughout restored historic buildings.

But once we got remotely close to the castle, we learned that we needed a shuttle, that the shuttle had a bit of a wait, and that what Italians call an accessible path to the castle is rather steep. Then, while the weather was on the cooler side, for whatever reason- perhaps the lack of shade and/or the altitude—Koji wasn’t exactly his springy self but panting and lagging-behind on the way down to the town of Santo Stefano. We opted to cut the hike short and made an “emergency” plan to get the car and get Koji off the planned trail.

Our friends, who also quit the hike down with us, went to find a place to eat for all five of us. Koji was unhappy about the pack splitting, and, (un)naturally, a parade of donkeys had to come by while he was waiting alone with me, adding some nice stress to his canine adventure. Daren picked Koji and I up in the car and we parked. The walk to the restaurant, where our friends had pinned their location, was in the hot sun and up a hill and did little to improve anyone’s mood or Koji’s rest.

When we got to the restaurant and sat down, we just wanted to hydrate, sit, and make sure the dog was okay. Honestly, the LAST thing we wanted to do was make conversation with strangers. So when some English-speaking women started talking to us and our friend Dave invited them over, some not-so-nice words might have been dancing through our heads.

Like I said, sometimes it’s the least expected circumstances that lead to the best experiences. This is where I think we actually connected with the area and what it was all about. The two English-speaking women were cousins, originally from Australia, and probably in their late 50s or early 60s. Their family was from the area but had moved to Australia. One of the women’s parents moved back to this part of Abruzzo when she was 12.

What no internet information or anyone else had yet told us was that the area had been devastated by an earthquake 17 years earlier, killing hundreds of people and causing extensive damage throughout the surrounding towns and villages. Santo Stefano di Sessanio was among them. Its medieval tower almost completely collapsed, homes were damaged, and rebuilding would become a process measured not in months or even a few years, but in decades.

According to the women we met, only about 20% of the town had been fully restored. The cousin who had moved back to Italy told us that her life would have been much easier had she stayed in Australia and that she wished her parents had never moved back to Italy. Her mom, who was 70 at the time of the earthquake, was one of the many residents whose homes were severely damaged. The government set up temporary housing outside the town while homes and the surrounding area were restored. This temporary area was quite comfortable and newer than many of the residents’ original homes, so of course many of them liked staying there. They were also near open shops and amenities.

Now it’s 17 years later, and this woman’s mother is 87. Her home has been restored, but she physically cannot move back into it. She can no longer easily get around the house or get to the stores and other amenities she needs. The temporary housing that made sense after the earthquake still makes sense for her now—but because her original home has officially been restored, she can no longer live in the temporary housing for free. If she stays there, she has to pay for it. So you’d think, okay, she can at least sell her home. But not really. There is not only very little market for the area, but very little market for a home in an earthquake zone without a fully functioning town around it.

There are so many pockets of the country where there are stories like this. The administration had good intentions, but the long-term consequences have not always been fully thought through, and citizens are left with very few choices; choices that can leave them close to poverty. The two women left, but the story stuck with us.

After lunch, we walked around the town, and I think we saw it through a new lens. There were mostly closed buildings, with a few cute shops selling handmade goods. Now those goods took on new meaning. We purchased one or two small things to support the local economy and to remind us that things are not always as they first appear.

The next day was another beautiful hike, although not quite as long. This time it was the feeling of vertigo for one of us. And maybe a side of hunger! We had the earlier-mentioned BBQ joint on the itinerary, and it didn’t hurt to get a head start on that—which brings us back to where I started this blog.

That evening, we sat in the breakfast nook of the old convent-turned-hotel where we were staying. We were all a little full from the big pranzo (lunch) we’d had and just had snacks in the setting light while talking and playing a card-type game that mostly just led to lots of conversation.

We were staying at the Convento di San Colombo, a former Franciscan convent in the mountains outside Barisciano. The convent dates back centuries—the present complex is generally described as a 16th-century Franciscan convent—and sits at more than 1,000 meters above sea level, surrounded by an old oak forest. The property has been restored as a small historic inn, with just eight rooms, some carved out of the friars’ old cells, as well as the former granary and dovecote. The property is also home to the Apennine Floristic Research Center, a botanical garden and an enormous herbarium. So basically, we were sleeping in old friars’ rooms in a convent on the side of a mountain surrounded by plants. Pretty cool!

NOT our photo below, but pulled off the Internet:

Then these are our photos of the convent.

The last morning Daren and I woke up early, as we often do, to do yoga and exercise. We took a jog down the road where we saw some trails up a mountain on the drive back to the convent a few times. The early morning light lit the sky and, while it wasn’t the nicest area to run or hike in, it certainly was stunning and the lighting made it quite magical.

We hit the road toward Puglia right after breakfast, but we made a point to have a lunch reservation in Molise. Our friends were driving their own car and it not only made a nice halfway point, but gave us the opportunity to at least set foot in Molise—and for Koji to set paw there—if for nothing else than to check off that we spent at least a smidge of time in this very small, relatively unknown region.

There seems to be skiing and some winter activities farther inland, so we may have to plan a winter adventure there. But for the time being, we hugged the coast and had a nice lunch in Termoli, a colorful Adriatic seaside town and one of Molise’s best-known destinations. Not quite enough to say we’ve seen Molise. But enough to say we’ve been there. Next up – Puglia!!

Molise:

Ciao! 🇮🇹

Two Days in Matera

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

We are sitting at breakfast this morning at a great hotel in the Sassi of Matera, Basilicata, getting ready to leave after two nights here.

Matera was one of the places I really wanted to visit while we were living in Italy. We’ve heard so many good things about it. It’s one of those places where, when you mention you’re thinking of going, someone inevitably says, “Oh my gosh, you HAVE to go!”

But I’ve been hearing that about so many places in Italy that I’ve learned not to go anywhere with particularly high expectations. Matera, though, lived up to the hype.

A Little About Matera

Matera is in Basilicata, the region tucked between Campania, Puglia and Calabria in southern Italy. What makes it so unusual are the Sassi, the ancient neighborhoods built into and around the rock along the side of a ravine.

People have lived in this area for an incredibly long time. There is evidence of human occupation going all the way back to the Paleolithic period, making Matera one of the oldest continuously inhabited settlements in the world. Over thousands of years, people took the natural caves here and expanded them, carving homes, churches, storage areas and cisterns directly into the soft stone. Eventually buildings were constructed in front of and on top of those caves, creating the maze of stone houses, stairways, alleys and terraces that you see today.

The result is hard to describe until you see it. A street can be the roof of the house below it. A doorway may lead into a room carved deep into the hillside. Churches disappear into the rock. Today, those same spaces hold hotels, restaurants, shops, homes and spas. The Sassi and the surrounding rupestrian churches have been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1993.

But Matera’s history isn’t entirely romantic. By the first half of the 20th century, many families in the Sassi were living in terrible conditions, often sharing their cave homes with livestock and without adequate sanitation or running water. In 1952, the Italian government passed legislation to relocate residents into newly built housing, and much of the Sassi was emptied during the 1950s. The ancient neighborhoods sat largely abandoned for decades before restoration efforts began bringing people back in the 1980s.

Today, the Sassi feel almost like a giant open-air museum that has come back to life. You can wander for hours through the old streets, but this isn’t a reconstructed historical attraction. You are walking through the actual caves, homes and passageways people used for centuries.

And you really can’t drive around the old part of the town. Access to the historic center is restricted, and even if you were allowed to drive here, I can’t imagine navigate these tiny stone streets in a car.

Arriving at the Busiest Time of the Year

We booked this trip about two and a half months ago, deciding Matera would make a great two-night stop on our way to see my family in Calabria. It wasn’t that far out of our way, so why not?

I was a little shocked — though I probably shouldn’t have been — by how difficult it was to find a place to stay both here and in Calabria. Then we remembered/learned when we were going: Ferragosto.

Ferragosto is officially August 15, the Feast of the Assumption and a national holiday in Italy, but the word also describes something much bigger culturally. August, and especially the weeks around Ferragosto, is when huge numbers of Italians take their summer vacations. Cities get quieter, businesses close, and people head to the beaches, mountains and holiday towns with their families. The stories about Italy shutting down in August aren’t exaggerated. So yes, of course hotels were booked!

The only hotel we could find in Matera that would also take a dog Koji’s size was the five-star Vetera Matera. Vetera is part of Gruppo Bellevue and is also a member of Relais & Châteaux, a collection of independent luxury hotels and restaurants around the world. We stayed at another Relais & Châteaux property in Norcia a couple of months ago and I fell in love.

I fear these experiences may have ruined me. Five-star hotels are very nice. Who knew?

Vetera itself fits perfectly into Matera because much of the property is incorporated into the old stone buildings and caves of the Sassi. Even the spa is carved into the rock.

The Drive South

We left our home in Tuscany around 6 a.m. Monday and drove south, making two stops along the way. We’ve come to love the Autogrill stops on Italian highways. The coffee is reliably good, and we really like the pastries and meals they serve.

With the August crowds I just described, the first Autogrill was out of our beloved Nutella cornetti — basically croissants stuffed with Nutella. Instead (poor us) we had to settle for pain au chocolat with our doppio macchiato. Holy cow, I love those stinking things too and am now fantasizing and hoping that there is an Autogrill on the way from here to Crotone today.

I griped early on about Italian coffee culture and the tiny sip of espresso. I still cannot embrace this tradition first thing in the morning. I need a big ol’ American cup of coffee. But I’ve come to really enjoy and sometimes (sometimes) look forward to an afternoon macchiato.And in the  evening, a little espresso after dinner is divine.

Lunch was another Autogrill stop — just as busy and lots of fun.

Our First Look at Matera

When we arrived, we had to park outside the Sassi and call the hotel about 20 minutes ahead so they could send a car for us. The hotel car picked us up, and by the time we drove into the Sassi we were tired and hot, sitting in a car full of stuff with an excited giant dog squeezing his way around everything.

Check-in was leisurely, with someone showing us around the property and then our cave room (where our bags miraculously appeared). Most importantly, the room was blessedly air-conditioned and cool. The three of us — me, Daren and Koji — seemed to take one proverbial sigh before lying down for a while to cool off and adjust.

Koji was not too keen on going back outside anytime soon, so Daren and I slipped our shoes on and went exploring without him. We took the hotel elevator up to a terrace the receptionist had told us about, and there we got our first real look over the Sassi.

Wow. This was one of those rare times when the view actually was as good as everyone said it would be. And it was the first of many. We thought this one was good!

Next we set out to see the town. About three minutes after walking out the hotel door, I turned around and went back for sneakers with better grip.

Matera is built primarily from local calcarenite, a relatively soft limestone that could be excavated to create the caves and building blocks that form the Sassi. After centuries of wear, those stone streets and stairs are smooth in places — and a smidge slippery.

Take two. We were off.

Wandering the Sassi

It was about 4:30 in the afternoon, a time when we’ve learned that not many self-respecting Italians are out wandering around in August heat. There were enough other tourists that it didn’t feel like a ghost town, though. And the views!

Every corner seemed to open onto another cluster of stone buildings, caves, churches, staircases and terraces. You’d walk down one narrow alley, turn a corner and suddenly be looking across the ravine at the entire city.

That evening we had dinner at 7 — absurdly early by Italian standards — and then wandered through the city after dark. Matera was totally charged! The streets filled with people eating, walking and shopping. Lights came on throughout the Sassi, illuminating all those layers of stone houses across the hillside. The whole place had great energy. There was a string quartet playing at an open air bar high above the ravine, and the music filled the entire section of the city with heavenly music, adding another layer to a magical scene.

Day Two

The rest of our visit was equally slow and beautiful. Yesterday morning, after I did yoga and Daren walked Koji, we put on our sneakers and took a power walk around the ridge of the city before the sun made it too hot.

We came back, showered, had breakfast and then headed out again with Koji to explore the area with more of the shops. Yesterday was basically a repeat of the first with some more shop visits, plus one of the “see how the people lived in the caves” tourist museums; and Daren went to check out the cistern area. There isn’t a giant checklist of things we felt we needed to accomplish here. Matera itself is the thing to see.

Last night at dinner we met an American couple about our age who were here on their honeymoon. They were both on their second marriages, like us, and between them they have five adult children.

It was nice just to sit and speak English with other Americans for a while. It was also interesting listening to their impressions of Italy after being here for only a short time. I could hear in their observations some of the same assumptions we made when we first arrived, and it made me realize how much our own perspective has changed over the past several months. I think we all agreed that two days in Matera feels about right.

So this morning I’m sitting here at breakfast, looking out at this strange and beautiful stone city one last time, and I feel completely happy and satisfied with this stop.

We came. We wandered. We ate. We slept in a cave.

And now… off to Calabria.

Up before the sun today – then watching it come up this morning-

The Downtime

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

By Esterina Anderson

When Daren and I first got here to Italy five months ago, and Daren got the blogging bug (I’ve been blogging for over 10 years), we reframed my WordPress site around our Italy experience and created three areas on that page: My Experience/Posts, Daren’s Experience/Posts, and Our Travelogue.

If you haven’t seen it because you get the blog in your email, it’s EsterinaAnderson.com.

At first we did post separate things, but for a long time now we’ve pretty much only used the joint Travelogue section.

Why am I saying all this? Because this post is from me (Esterina) and belongs completely under the Esterina’s Posts button. This isn’t one of the posts we both edited together, so I don’t want to rope him into this.

We came to Italy to take a break from life and see how other people live.

When we first started tossing around the idea we are now living, the main goal was to step away after retirement, work on my citizenship, and see what happened. And that break is happening.

Our mornings are slow to start. Yoga, then coffee and the New York Times games together. Then often some exercise and computer work. We talk—a lot. Most of the day. We talk during meals, during errands, and on our many long car rides as we travel. This was the goal. To connect, ponder, and explore.

The conversation has shifted and changed since we got here. Initially we thought we might want to do NGO work, maybe in Africa or the EU. Citizenship certainly would open more doors for us to do those things. We also initially considered really ramping up and expanding our small consulting company. Those talks have now evolved into different conversations.

We talk about deep and spiritual things. We talk about how we want to spend the rest of our lives, who we want to be, and how much, if any, work we want to do for profit. We are doing a lot of reading for fun, but also a lot of reading about Life Part II and spirituality. The books we both read, whether novels or not, we talk about often for hours—how the characters behave, who or what they remind us of, and things the other person might not have considered. We talk about experiences we’ve had, both together and separately, and what we’d do differently now. We talk about the similarities and differences between the U.S. and Italy, what we like about each, and what we don’t like about each. We fuss over Koji. We talk about how we want to show up for the people we love.

These conversations have become really important and might just be a keystone of how, in years to come (assuming I’m lucky enough to have years to live), I look back on this time here.

I know from our blogs it probably looks like all fun, games, traveling, and bliss. But there is another side to what we’re doing. It’s not as glamorous, it’s hard to explain, and it has nothing to do with frescoes, churches, or sightseeing. It’s what happens in between, while we are shopping and going to the comune and to the veterinarian.

While I love traveling, the glitz and writing about it have fallen to the back burner for me. We’re mostly going to tourist cities, and for the most part they are very similar. Walled cities with souvenir shops, gelato, and churches. These places are indisputably beautiful, but they’re honestly starting to feel like a lot of the same. Luckily, our next few planned trips are a little more off the beaten path, and the places that aren’t will be with friends who are coming to visit.

In case I haven’t said it before (if you’ve talked to me, you’ve heard it!), I am really tired of Italian food, and it’s almost all we can get while traveling. Daren keeps writing that we eat different things whenever we go to cities, but we don’t go to cities very often. We used to eat Indian food at least once a week, and I think we’ve had it four times since we’ve been here. We can cook different things at home, but even that’s limited. The grocery stores are very large, but not as diverse as I expected.

I’m also really struggling with the cadence of life. The riposo is a bit of whiplash for me. From a non-Italian or non-Spanish perspective, it initially sounds cozy, romantic, relaxing, and family-oriented. Riposo (like a Spanish siesta) is the afternoon break when many businesses close for a few hours. It wasn’t created to inconvenience anyone. It grew out of a culture that values a long midday meal with family, stepping away during the hottest part of the day, and then returning to work later into the evening. It’s a rhythm that made a lot of sense long before air conditioning, supermarkets, and 24-hour convenience became normal in the U.S. and other European countries. But I’m finding it a little depressing. The streets are empty. Stores look like they’ve been closed since the Dark Ages, with metal gates over the doors. The piazzas empty out. It feels like a deserted ghost town.

The riposo and lack of air conditioning go hand in hand. The buildings are made of heavy stone with small windows, so many places are naturally dark. The shutters stay closed to keep the heat out, which means even less natural light. I’m used to bright, open, airy spaces with lots of sunshine, so this doesn’t fit with my natural circadian rhythm, and I find it difficult. I know what I need to do, and I do it. But I haven’t gotten used to it, and I’m struggling a bit.

I’ve been feeling a little off. We were up until 2:00 in the morning Friday night at the opera, and I slept terribly that night. Then I slept poorly again last night because I was overtired. After a mid-afternoon nap, I had a nice break to reflect on how I’d like to say this (which I am doing now).

When I woke up, I just lay there and thought about nothing… in the heat, with the sound of a fan blowing. It reminded me of when I was a kid in Brooklyn and later on Long Island, before we had air conditioning, or when we would only turn it on for a little while during the day. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go. The days felt so long. It felt free. Someone else took care of dinner and the bills. The day would be ahead of me. I’d wake up, lie in bed, and just think about nothing in particular while I listened to the fan blowing.

Today was like that. I need this in my life. Everyone should be fortunate enough to take a (what Daren is calling) sabbatical in their mid-life at some point.

I wanted time to reflect, to think, to decide what to keep and what to let go of—in what I think, what I own, what I do, and what I want to do. While riposo isn’t my cup of tea, it is helping me not “go, go, go” all day and instead take an afternoon break.

Retirement adjustment is a real thing. I knew it wouldn’t be some kind of amazing transition. I wasn’t sure what to expect and this is all part of it.

I’m not sure exactly what I’m trying to say, except that there is much more going on here than what shows up in our Travelogue. While this kind of sounds like a Seinfeld show (in that it’s about nothing), there is so much more than the eye can see in the nothing. There’s been a lot of soul-searching, a lot of downtime, and a lot of adjusting to a different way of life. Some parts of it I think I’ll carry home with me. Other parts I’ll happily leave behind. I don’t think the grass is greener anywhere else, but I do think it’s worth seeing that there are other ways to do things, even in two first world kind of similar countries. I feel blessed to have this experience even though most days do not look like the blogs you read! And I have to say I’m gladder than you would think that the actual experience is not exactly as it may seem in our posts. The nothingness is really where the treasure is for me. And that is something I will always carry with me no matter where I am standing in the world.

Namaste,

Esterina

Murder, Passion, and Lucca: an Italian Opera Weekend

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

by Daren Anderson

The gorgeous sounds of the opera Tosca filled the lakeside amphitheater as we took in the spectacle of an open-air opera in Italy. The leading tenor, Cavaradossi, pours out his love of life and his love for Tosca as he prepares for his imminent execution. No one writes soaring, sumptuous melodies quite like Puccini. And no one writes opera with such passion, tenderness, and heartbreak. The haunting theme of E lucevan le stelle  is passed from a clarinet, to violin, before being taken up by the tenor, and finally returning back to the orchestra. These are melodies that stay with you long after the opera has ended.

Puccini wrote some of the world’s most beloved operas.  He composed many of them from his home on the lake in Torre del Lago, where we found ourselves on Friday evening watching Tosca in an open-air amphitheater. From our seats we watched a full moon rising over the stage while catching glimpses of the lake beyond. Onstage there was torture, passion, betrayal, stabbings, suicides, and of course magnificent music. It was the full Italian opera experience.

We were lucky enough to have heard about the Puccini festival back in the spring, an annual summer-time event in which his operas are performed at Torre del Lago Puccini, where Puccini did much of his composing. To make a weekend out of it, we booked a hotel in the nearby city of Lucca for two nights. Lucca is one of our favorite cities. We first came to Lucca last December on a very quick trip to make a final decision on our apartment. While the rental near Lucca did not work out, we loved the very brief time we spent in the city and vowed to come back when we had more time to explore.

Lucca, like many Italian cities, is surrounded by thick walls. Unlike other towns, Lucca’s Renaissance walls are still completely intact, having never been breached or destroyed. They are impressive to look upon. It is difficult to imagine how many bricks were made and laid, how many workers labored, and over how many years such a massive structure, stretching nearly three miles around the city, was built. It is equally difficult to imagine living in a world where every city needed walls to protect itself from neighboring powers such as Pisa or Florence. But this was the reality of 15th century Italy which explains the fact that so many cities are walled in and, whenever possible, built on top of hills! Defense was critical in the dangerous world of Medieval and Renaissance Italy.  

While the walls were interesting, the best part about them now is that they have been transformed into a kind of outdoor park. The top of the wall is planted with grass and stately trees and there is a paved trail on which one can walk, jog, or cycle completely around the city without interruption. One morning, before the heat settled in, we enjoyed one of our favorite runs since moving to Italy. Koji sniffed a good portion of the walls as well, and even got to spend a bit of time off leash.

Inside the walls, Lucca offers many of the things we have grown accustomed to in Italian cities: ancient churches, lovely piazzas, excellent gelato, Italian restaurants, and centuries of history. Yet the city has an energy all its own. It feels clean, beautifully preserved, and less encumbered by the overwhelming crowds found in nearby Florence.

For me, one of the highlights was a small museum dedicated to Puccini, housed in his ancestral home. The museum had original scores, libretti, some of his clothes and my favorite thing, the Steinway piano on which he composed his works.

Much of our time here felt similar to time in other Italian cities: We had good pizza, good gelato, did some window shopping, and appreciated some historical buildings. And we are starting to feel a bit of “been there, done that” as we continue to explore Italy. But this city still captured me and found a place in my heart.

I am adding it to my list of top places to visit in Italy. I am even thinking about putting together a few sample “itineraries” for those interested in an experience in Italy beyond (or even avoiding) the usual Rome, Venice, Florence circuit. Send me a note if you’d be interested.

We also managed to squeeze in a short trip over to Pisa to see whether the tower still leans. Pisa is only about 30 minutes from Lucca, so after breakfast on our first morning we headed over, hoping to beat both the crowds and the heat. We learned two things. First, the tower does indeed lean—a lot. Second, it is part of an extraordinary complex that includes a magnificent cathedral and baptistry, all set within the Piazza dei Miracoli just inside Pisa’s ancient walls. The cathedral, with its blend of Romanesque, Byzantine, and Islamic influences, is one of the most remarkable I’ve seen in Italy. We also learned that this is one of the most tourist-heavy destinations in the country. By late morning it was packed with tourists, buses, influencers, selfie-snappers, and the heat was becoming intense. We made a quick, surgical strike, admired the tower and cathedral, and retreated before Koji completely melted in the building heat.

Now we are back in Gaville to catch up on projects, get some work done, and implement a new strategy for dealing with the heat. Heat is a new reality that has taken center stage recently. Our apartment has no air conditioning, relying instead on its thick stone walls and high ceilings to stay comfortable. This strategy has worked well for hundreds of years, but this week, with temperatures are hovering daily around 100, it is becoming a bit more of a challenge.

We are learning to adapt. We have standing fans upstairs and downstairs. One blows on us all night. We are also reorganizing our days, taking advantage of the morning hours before the heat sets in. We try to get our exercise and dog walks in early. By 1pm it is simply too hot to run or bike, or even to walk around. During the afternoon we try to move less, drink a lot of fluids, and avoid going out whenever possible.

The extreme heat has added a whole new and unwelcome element to our experience, turning summer, which has always been the best time of year for outdoor activity and travel, into more of a grim slog requiring strategizing and sapping the enjoyment out of many experiences. Fortunately, autumn is not far away.

We continue to find ways to adapt to life in Italy. Learning to live with the heat is simply the latest chapter in a year of discovering new places, embracing unfamiliar routines, and, along the way, learning more about ourselves. That was, after all, the point of this entire adventure. I have no doubt that we will return home with a renewed appreciation for much of what we left behind, but also changed by an experience that was as much about looking inward as looking outward.

Veneto & Friuli Venezia Giulia

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

It’s been a few weeks since we last blogged. Mostly because we’ve been traveling, but also because it’s been so hot that it’s harder to be motivated to do much more than sit in front of a fan (yes, a fan, because A/C is a lot less common here than in the US)!

Before I write about our recent trip, I want to step back and tell you about the regions of Italy.

Italy is divided into 20 regions which are, in some ways, like our states. Many of these regions you’ve probably heard about, like Tuscany, Campagna, Piedmont, or Sicily. Five of the regions have a sort of special status. They are fully part of the country of Italy, but they are considered “autonomous regions”. Unlike Italy’s other regions, these five have a little more control over their own affairs because of their geography, history, or cultural identity. Some have strong French, German, or Slovene influences. Others are islands with strong local traditions and culture. The reasons for this special status are historical and cultural.

I was excited to learn about these regions. I am not technically able to travel outside of Italy without risking my residency in Italy. I’ve been here more than the 90 days that are allowed in the Schengen countries of Europe. Because I have a pending citizenship application, I am allowed to stay in Italy past the 90 days. But other countries like France or Germany might not see it that way. So we’ve essentially made peace with the idea of staying put in Italy until things are “official”. Poor us. But in truth, I have been getting a bit tired of Italian food. Hard to believe. And much of what we’ve seen is starting to look a bit familiar; piazza, Roman ruins, hilltop castle. It’s all incredibly beautiful, but I was starting to crave something just a little different. Perhaps these autonomous regions would do the trick. Maybe a visit to one of them would be like leaving the country without actually leaving the country.

Two of the five are a little harder for us to get to—Sicily and Sardinia. We may make it to Sicily this winter when it’s cooler, but Sardinia, while I’d love to go, just might not be in the cards. The other three are close enough to make easy road trips.

So we started out with a trip to Valle d’Aosta a few weeks ago. We wrote about the trip itself, but we not much about the culture. I was genuinely excited as we crossed into this special region. I was hoping to see something a little different and, even more importantly, eat something a little different. The architecture changed almost immediately. The towns we visited looked more like Swiss Alpine villages—which makes perfect sense since it borders Switzerland.

I couldn’t wait for dinner.

Unfortunately, we arrived at our hotel in Courmayeur a little late and many places were already closed. We ended up at a small restaurant that mostly served pizza and the usual Italian staples. It did have fondue on the menu. Fondue and polenta were about the only things that felt new (and honestly, polenta isn’t exactly that “new”). And the fondue came with the standard cured meats for dipping, and the rest of the menu followed the familiar antipasti, primi, secondi, and contorni format. The other restaurants we looked at were much the same—maybe one or two dishes that weren’t on menus elsewhere in Italy, but not much beyond that. The homes and building definitely looked different, and the mountain scenery was a major change, but the food was solidly “Italian”.

So last week we set out for the regions of Veneto and Friuli Venezia Giulia. The latter is one is another of Italy’s five special autonomous regions.

Below is a photo of the Italian regions. The pins are where we have pin and the blue circles highlight the 5 special regions.

VERONA

When we got to Verona, I was seriously surprised at how much international stuff there was. There was an international pharmacy that specializes in helping foreigners. There was food other than Italian! Of course Italian food still dominated the scene, but there were more options than we’d found in Florence. It wasn’t always obvious, either. What looked like a typical Italian restaurant often had burgers, wings, salmon, potatoes… no Thai or deli sandwiches, but things… options. Exciting! You can tell from my writing that I really am craving some non-Italian food!

Verona itself was just… pretty. I get why Shakespeare set Romeo and Juliet there. We used an app for a self-guided walking tour and were quite impressed with the history that was visible and beautifully preserved. When strolling through Verona you move seamlessly amongst well preserved Roman ruins, including a large coliseum, Medieval buildings, elegant palazzos, and lots of lovely piazzas. The town felt vibrant and well preserved without feeling run down.The squares were probably the coziest and most inviting we’ve seen yet. Other cities have squares that are more architecturally impressive, but Verona had a warmth to it that we just loved!

One medieval square had an ancient fountain from which Koji was delighted to take a drink, and a host of buildings colorfully decorated wiht frescos from the 1400’s. It contained a market, just as it had 600 years ago, although todays “market” featured refrigerator magnets, hand held fans, and granitas, rather than mutton or grain.

My favorite evening was one when we left Koji behind in the hotel to recover from the heat, and just wander the city as dusk fell. We stumbled onto Castelvecchio just as the sun was setting and slowly walked across an ancient medieval bridge that connected the castle to the other side of the river. It was truly magical. Unlike some of the other castles we’ve visited, this one felt like a place people had actually lived in—the kind of castle you imagine in fairy tales. It even had a moat and a drawbridge. We didn’t rush back. Instead, we meandered along the river, enjoying in the fading light and watching people enjoy the cooler evening air. Magical!

We thought two nights might be too much for Verona. Instead, we left wishing we’d stayed longer and are already hoping to come back.

TREVISO

Next we went on to try out our first stay at an agriturismo. Think of it as somewhere between a bed & breakfast, an AirBnB, and a farm stay. There are agriturismos all over Italy. Many are working farms that have converted part of their property into guest accommodations, often serving food made from ingredients they grow or produce themselves. They’re scattered throughout the Italian countryside and are a great way to experience a quieter side of Italy.

I was not expecting air conditioning, a large space, or almost anything really—and whoa what a surprise! It was hands down one of the nicest places we’ve stayed. This agriturismo was part of a working family winery making Proseco, along with a few red and white wine varietals. We literally walked out of our room and into a vineyard. And it was inexpensive as heck! It wasn’t close to much, so driving was a must, but it was absolutely perfect as a stop between cities.

Our main objective in coming to this part of Veneto was to check out Treviso and, of course, to try tiramisu. What we didn’t realize is that we would discover unexpectedly, one of the most beautiful regions we’ve seen in Italy. But first, Treviso.

Treviso is sometimes called “Little Venice” because it has canals that wind through parts of the historic center, although on a much smaller scale than its famous neighbor. More importantly, from our perspective was that it is widely credited as the birthplace of tiramisu, with several cafés claiming to have created the dessert in the 1970s. Whether that’s completely true or not, it was reason enough to visit.

Well, a mini Venice is a S-T-R-E-T-C-H, but I can see how one might say that. The canals were scenic and beautiful in their own right, but had little in common with those in Venice. I actually think Treviso would be wise to drop the comparison to Venice and instead just promote itself as a beautiful town on a river with many lovely little canals running through the historic town center. Think swans and weeping willows rather than gondolas and serenades.

We did our research ahead of time on the place where tiramisu was supposedly “invented”: Le Becchieria, an old and respected restaurant that now, with its tiramisu fame, has added a bakery café for those seeking this famed dessert.

I had a twinge of missing my dad here. For some unknown reason, when he met Daren back in 2010 over breakfast one morning at my brother’s house, he was already talking about what we’d have for dinner. Like many Italians, food was never very far from his mind. He didn’t know Daren from Adam, but somehow decided Daren liked Fra Diavolo. Later that evening, when we picked up Italian takeout, there was the Fra Diavolo for Daren and tiramisu because, apparently, “Daren & Gabby like it.”

This was quite funny to all of us at the time—my dad deciding who liked what. The funny part was that Daren had never even had Fra Diavolo before that night, although he did end up really liking it. Gabby, on the other hand, never liked tiramisu, and while Daren certainly wouldn’t turn up his nose at it, he’d never have called it a favorite. Well now, after nearly five months in Italy, Daren claims that tiramisu is in fact one of his favorite deserts, and the one at this little restaurant in the small town of Treviso, is the best!

So here we were in the birthplace of tiramisu… and I thought of Pops. As I said, I’m not a fan, but this was truly the best tiramisu I’d ever had. We usually share desserts, but we each got our own piece, and it was 100% worth the calories—and getting completely full.

Later that day we took a drive and discovered the unexpected highlight of the trip: The Proseco Hills, the place where the famous Italian bubbly is made.

The hills between Asolo and Valdobbiadene are a UNESCO World Heritage Site, recognized for their centuries-old vineyards and the unique landscape shaped by generations of winemakers. This is the heart of Prosecco country. While wines labeled “Prosecco” can be grown and produced from a wide range of places across north-eastern Italy, only Prosecco from two small regions, Valdobbiadene and Asolo, can be designated “DOCG”, indicating the highest quality and strict adherence to the ancient methods of growth and production.

We drove through several of the towns. Each one we came to was more beautiful than the last. The views were drop-dead amazing. Rolling hills covered with vines. Proseco grape clusters hanging down from the vines. The Alps themselves looming in the north. Farms, churches, and houses dotting the hilly landscape. We had the windows down, Koji had his head out the window, it was the golden hour, and it will forever be one of the more memorable drives I’ve taken in my life. Daren mapped out the entire route, and I’m so thankful he did.

TRIESTE

Our last stop was the autonomous region of Friuli Venezia Giulia where we hopefully would find some hearty Eastern European food. On the way, we stopped in Aquileia, another UNESCO World Heritage Site. Once one of the biggest and wealthiest cities of the Roman Empire, Aquileia is home to remarkably preserved Roman ruins, one of the world’s first Christian churches, and among the largest and best-preserved mosaic floors in the world. It’s considered one of Italy’s most important archaeological sites.

And yet… it was here, walking down the street in the burning sun on our way to another church, and I thought, I don’t think I can walk into one more dimly lit church, crane my neck to look at another fresco, and pretend to care why or how it got there. I had officially hit historical site overload.

So I sat outside with Koji in the shade and urged Daren to go geek out on this stuff. According to Daren, the mosaic floor was truly spectacular. The basilica was first built in 313 AD, but the current structure dates from the 11th century. However, the floor is the thing that visitors come to see. You enter the church on a raised plexiglass floor and look down on an enormous expanse of mosaic floor perfectly preserved from the 300’s, showing scenes from the bible as well as animals and fish and complex Roman designs. It’s amazing to learn that some of the original structure was destroyed by the Huns, yes the Huns, but the floor remained intact.

After Daren finished viewing the church, we were getting hot, hungry and cranky, so after an unremarkable (truly terrible) lunch, we hopped back in the car and headed for Trieste.

Trieste has an interesting historical and cultural background. It only became part of Italy after WWI. Prior to that, it was a major port city in the Austro-Hungarian empire where goulash, schnitzel, and beer were more likely to be found than pasta, pizza, and red wine. It’s history, culture, buildings, and traditions share more in common with Vienna and the Balkans than with Italy.

We arrived smack in the middle of a Sunday afternoon in July, not far from the famous Miramare Castle. Right on the water at a cute(ish) hotel on the Adriatic where it looked like Spring Break: Trieste Edition.

There was no beach to speak of—just a few miles of stone and concrete waterfront where hundreds of people were stretched out in the sun or under the trees. There were stairways leading down to the water and the whole city was swimming, or so it seemed. It was a scene! I wasn’t sure I was going to like this place. Too crazy? Too busy?

So we headed into the city and left Koji back at the hotel enjoying what turned out to be the best thing about it—the air conditioning. Naturally, we started with gelato and coffee. We went straight to the recommended gelato shop, but the line was so long you had to take a number, so we skipped it and found another place in the main square where we could sit in the shade.

The gelato was more like ice cream, and my Americano (I think) tasted like classic drip coffee. I don’t know for sure, but it smelled and tasted unlike any coffee I’ve had so far in Italy. I loved every drop of it. Maybe things were different in Trieste. Afterward we wandered through the canal area and walked up to Castello di San Giusto for views over the city.

When we got back, the crowds had thinned enough to allow us to walk along the waterfront with a dog, so we took Koji for a walk. For dinner we stopped at one of the permanent food kiosks along the way. I wasn’t expecting much, but my sandwich was one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in a long time. Daren got a burger that he said was great, and we finished with Nutella crêpes.

By evening the crowds had thinned further, the air had cooled, and suddenly Trieste felt completely different. The place started to grow on me.

The next morning I went for one of the most pleasant runs. Monday morning was a completely different world; sun, cooler temperatures, and no crowds. Later we grabbed Koji and walked down to Miramare Castle. That ended up being my favorite place in all of Trieste. With my historical site overload still in full force, I insisted Daren tour the castle while Koji and I enjoyed the shade and people-watching. I went back by myself the next day and wandered the grounds for a long time.

We went back into the city one more time before heading home, but I think we’re officially “citied” out for a while. Instead, we spent most of the afternoon reading and talking along the waterfront before ending the day at an American restaurant that looked like something straight out of the Old West.

You’ll likely sense a bit of travel exhaustion if you read between the lines above. We are incredibly lucky to be able to have these experiences, and we have seen and done so much. But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and I think we may have hit that point during this trip. It’s not black and white. We loved so many of the things we saw and did, but some of the little annoyances that you either don’t perceive, or don’t assign much weight to on a brief vacation, can start to grate a bit more after many months. It’s also very apparent that the heat is has a major negative impact on our enjoyment. It’s just very hard to escape the hot sun and the air conditioning that we are so accustomed to in the U.S is not as ubiquitous over here. That is where we are. We are taking a bit of time off back “home” in Gaville to rest up. But we’ll be back on the road next month with a trip down south to see the family and spend some time on the beach.

Until we blog again!

Piedmont Region of Italy

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

By Esterina Anderson

Following directly after our last blog in Valle d’Aosta https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/06/21/italy-has-more-to-offer-than-hilltop-towns-and-great-cities/

After the rugged beauty of Valle d’Aosta, our next stretch through northern Italy brought an entirely different rhythm—lake life, elegant city streets, and rolling wine country.

This leg of the trip felt softer. Less dramatic mountains, more charm and leisure. More time by the water, slower mornings, and places that surprised us in ways we didn’t expect.

As we left the Alps of Valle d’Aosta behind us, the flat fertile plains of Piedmont spread out before us. This is a land of serious agriculture. It felt more like Kansas than Italy with the miles and miles of cornfields. Only here there were also sunflowers, rice and lots of hay. This is one of the areas where risotto and polenta come from. 

As we turned North into the Lake region, the farmland gave way to foothills- the Alps towering in the distance once again. 

Once in Lake Orta it felt like we landed in a tiny vacation paradise where people were clearly there simply to enjoy the lake, slow, swim, rest, and soak it all in.

Our hotel had an incredible infinity pool overlooking the water, and from there it was also possible to step right into the lake itself. As ocean people, swimming in truly fresh water felt both strange and exciting.

Orta San Giulio felt like something out of a storybook. Narrow winding streets lined with charming little shops opened into the main piazza right on the water.

We wandered through the streets & shops and ended up purchasing a small original painting from an artist who works exclusively with palette knives instead of brushes. He was running the small shop so we had the chance to meet him, which always makes a piece of art feel more special. 

The town is also home to the Sacro Monte di Orta, a UNESCO World Heritage Site dedicated to St. Francis of Assisi. The sacred mount consists of 20 chapels built between the 16th and 18th centuries, each filled with frescoes and life-sized sculptures depicting moments from the life of St. Francis.

We spent a leisurely few hours exploring all 20 chapels with Koji. It was obscenely hot, and about halfway through we found the perfect open-air café where we cooled off and rested before finishing the walk.

https://youtu.be/-oHBP8MpHoE?feature=shared

Another day, we took the short ferry ride from the piazza to Isola San Giulio, the tiny island that sits in the center of the lake.

The island is home to a basilica, a Benedictine abbey, and a small community of cloistered nuns. Cars are not allowed, and the atmosphere is meant to be quiet and contemplative.

One of the most special parts of visiting the island was walking the “Path of Silence and Meditation,” a peaceful path that circles the island. Along the route are signs with reflections on silence, stillness, and contemplation.

The walk itself is short. It was also so meaningful that we walked it three times.

The first time, we just took in the stillness. The second time, we slowed down even more. After that second lap, Daren noticed there were additional reflections written on the backs of each sign. So naturally, we walked it a third time to take those in too. Koji cooled himself in the water while we mostly just honored the quiet.

https://youtu.be/SSD9uz_iTsQ?feature=shared

Our next stop was Turin. But before heading there, we made a small detour to Sacro Monte della Santissima Trinità near Lake Maggiore. After loving Sacro Monte in Orta, we thought another sacred mount would be worth exploring.

Unfortunately, this one felt entirely different. It felt isolated, neglected, and depressing. Still beautiful in its own way, but we didn’t stay long. 

Instead, we headed to Cannobio near the Swiss border in search of lunch. It ended up being more of a functional stop than a memorable one. The town was pleasant enough, with colorful flags stretching along the waterfront and hints of its international location near Switzerland.

From there, we made our way to Turin. My cousin Vinny and his wife Katia live there, and we had made plans to meet up. They were waiting for us at our hotel when we arrived.

Turin was nothing like we expected. I had heard it described as “Little Paris,” but I really couldn’t picture just how elegant and charming it would feel. The city center is massive, beautifully maintained, and at times it barely felt like Italy.

There are dozens of piazzas, grand tree-lined boulevards, statues, fountains, and endless porticos that stretch for miles across the city. Turin was the first capital of unified Italy, and you can feel that history in its grandeur and architecture. It feels sophisticated, and refined.

One thing Turin is especially known for is Bicerin, a traditional drink dating back to the 18th century made with espresso, drinking chocolate, and cream served in layers in a small glass. The name means “little glass” in the local dialect. Of course, we had to try it.

As a funny side note, I happened to be reading the The Italian Daughter on my Kindle during this part of the trip. It wasn’t my favorite book, but I enjoyed it enough to keep going—and it turned out to be a strange little coincidence because part of the story touches on the history of Nutella and Piedmont’s chocolate traditions.

When we found a cozy café to try bicerin, sitting there was a pastry called a pain au chocolat—essentially the French cousin of a chocolate croissant.

I wasn’t expecting much. My entire life, Italian pastries around family gatherings were everywhere, and truthfully I never loved most of them. I also wasn’t expecting to be blown away by something that looked like a simple chocolate pastry. 

I was wrong and it was incredible. Warm, buttery, flaky, and filled with just the right amount of chocolate—so good! 

The bicerin was equally delicious. Rich, and indulgent. It was so special, unique & interesting. If you find yourself in Turin and are curious it’s one of those things that lives up to its hype. 

Turin is filled with beautiful buildings, fascinating sites, and so much history. Vinny and Katia gave us a wonderful overview of the city. Unfortunately, the day we planned to explore more of the major sites, the weather had other plans. Those porticos ended up being a game changer!

Instead, we ended up back at their home for a lovely meal and even more meaningful conversation. Vinny is a little older than me, and although I saw him often when we were kids, age differences feel much bigger when you’re young. 

It was really special to discover how much we had in common—how our family experiences shaped us in similar ways, how much we understood without needing to explain, and simply how much Daren & I genuinely enjoyed being with them. I only wish we lived closer.

Turin quickly became one of our highest recommendations—and one we still feel we haven’t fully explored. I suspect we’ll be back.

The final stop on this two-week trip was the Langhe Valley in Piedmont. The Langhe is known for rolling vineyard-covered hills, prestigious wines like Barolo and Barbaresco, and world-famous hazelnuts. The landscape is stunning—gentler and softer than Tuscany’s rugged beauty, but beautiful in its own way.

Vineyards and hazelnut orchards stretch as far as the eye can see. It’s also the birthplace of Nutella, something I only learned because of the book I was reading. Naturally, we expected to find some sort of Nutella celebration in the area. Truly surprisingly there is nothing, not even a fridge magnet.

From what I read, Ferrero has historically been very private and protective of both its brand and its famously secret recipe. They don’t really get into tourism or public spectacle around Nutella the way you might expect.

There were hiking opportunities everywhere, with trails weaving through vineyards and rolling hills. But it was too hot to enjoy them – not that we didn’t try! We did and gave up. 

Instead, we spent much of our time enjoying the hotel, the pool, and the surrounding views.

Not every stop becomes a favorite. Some places we immediately loved and others can end of being a place to rest. 

Lake Orta gave us peace and the lake vibe. 
Turin gave us a city vibe and family connection. 
The Langhe gave us beauty and rest.

This was a great exploration of the Piedmont region. As long as it was and as happy as I am to be headed back home to Tuscany, I kind of wish it was just a little longer. 

Ciao Amici!

The Italy Situation: A Dog’s Perspective, Part Two

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Posted by Koji Anderson

Hi again. It’s me, Koji.

It’s been a while since I last wrote. I don’t write as much as mommy or daddy, but I do feel it’s important to keep everyone informed about this Italy situation from my canine point of view.

First, I want to say this: I love that mommy, daddy, and I are almost always together. We spend nearly every day together and I go everywhere with them. Back in America, they used to disappear for mysterious stretches of time. I never fully understood where they went or why they insisted on leaving me behind. Here in Italy, we are together constantly, and really, I like this arrangement much better.

I can’t talk to them, of course, but they seem to know exactly when I’m too tired for an adventure. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes I’m happy to stay behind at home or in the cool air-conditioning of a hotel while they go do human things.

Still, most of the time, I’m ready! The exciting part is that I never know where we’re going.

I know mommy and daddy tell me with their voices, but I have absolutely no idea what they’re saying. I just wag my tail and occasionally jump straight into the air with all four paws off the ground to show enthusiasm. Sometimes I nudge my leash with my nose to let them know I’m fully committed to whatever madness lies ahead.

But what we are doing is always a surprise and usually something new and exciting.

When they say “bye bye in the car”, the car ride might be five minutes or five hours. We might go for a short walk or a giant hike. We could be climbing mountains, walking through cities, going into stores, visiting parks, or ending up at a restaurant. Every day feels like a mystery and an adventure. I’ve also mastered several new skills that took courage!

Recently we went to the mountains. Really big mountains! Daddy says I want to over 11,000 feet, which is the highest my dog body has ever been. To get there, I had a truly wild experience involved a giant clear box that carried us up a mountain bigger than I could have imagined. At first I was nervous. But there were other humans and other dogs, and nobody seemed concerned, so I decided to remain calm and brave. When we reached the top, the air was cooler and smelled incredible. I loved it.

We’ve done some epic hikes, particularly when we were in the mountains. As long as it’s cool outside, I absolutely love being off leash and investigating whatever interests me. But on hot days mommy and daddy become very focused on hydration. They’re constantly trying to get me to drink water. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. When I don’t they pour the water from the bowl on my head. This was very confusing at first. While we were in Aosta, a man was enthusiastically demonstrating this technique using hand motions. Mommy somehow understood him, and ever since then… water on the head. I think I like it, but I feel the need to pretend I don’t.

What does surprise me is the heat. Except for on top of that mountain where it was cool, the rest of Italy has been ridiculously hot lately, so I’ve started guiding mommy and daddy toward shaded areas whenever possible. It’s tough being black and furry at 30+ degrees Celsius. When it is I try to lead Mommy and Daddy into air-conditioned stores or any establishment that sells food. Especially food. There was a wonderful store in Norcia a few weeks ago that sold salami (or salumi in Italian). The man in the store kept giving me samples, hoping Daddy would buy some. He did.

But the best way to cool of is to jump into the water. I love any kind of water—lakes, rivers, streams, oceans. When I get near water, my leash usually comes off and I run straight in. I like to wade in until my body is submerged. Nothing cools me off better than submerging in the water of an Alpine stream or a lake! And I always try to sneak a drink. Sometimes mommy and daddy allow it and sometimes they don’t. Apparently salty water is not acceptable and fresh water is encouraged. This seems confusing. How exactly am I supposed to know whether water is salty or not unless I taste it first?

I’ve also gotten very used to city life. The bricks, cobblestones, and all the different textures beneath my paws no longer surprise me. I even do my business on cobblestones when there is no grass or tree nearby. This is sometimes necessary when you are in a city that is thousands of years old.

There are many other strange things in cities. Take the magic box. Mommy calls it an elevator. Daddy says I probably think it’s like a transporter from Star Trek. All I know is this: we walk into a tiny room in one place, the doors close, strange things happen, and then the doors open somewhere completely different. It makes no sense. At first I was concerned. Now I’m mostly impressed. I’ve learned how to steady my legs when it moves, though I still sniff the doors every time because I’m determined to understand the technology.

I am also still not a huge fan of the moving stairs that we encounter in some cities. Getting onto them requires courage. Remaining on them requires trust. But once I’m on, it’s quite exciting! I just stand there while the stairs do all the work which is great because these days, at 12 years old, stairs are a lot of work.

Many stores in cities put water bowls outside for thirsty dogs. I have deep respect for these businesses. My favorite stops, of course, are restaurants. Mommy and daddy sit down for very long periods of time while I settle beneath the table. Usually I position myself in the most inconvenient place possible—preferably where a waiter, chair, or human foot will definitely need to pass. I stretch out to maximum length. I block traffic. I become an obstacle. This is both comfortable and entertaining. I’m better than I used to be, but I still can’t always control myself when another dog walks by. I’m working on it. Still, restaurants are wonderful. I often hear waiters say words like “aqua per cane?” and suddenly a beautiful bowl of cold water appears just for me. It feels luxurious. Michelin dog stars for them.

I also went on a train for the first time. It moved incredibly fast and was very bumpy and bouncy.  I was unable to fully relax and spent most of the ride alert and slightly confused. But that experience prepared me well for something else that was new: the Metro. Yesterday in Torino I rode one for the first time, and I’d like everyone to know I handled it beautifully. The subway was smooth, quiet, and efficient. I walked on like I’d been doing it my entire life. I am becoming extremely adaptable.

Mommy has started calling me a professional travel dog. I must admit, I’ve become very good at hotels. I trot confidently down hallways like I own the place. I know the routine now. And I can always tell when it’s another dog’s first hotel stay. They’re nervous, unsure and a bit overstimulated. I want to tell them it’s okay, and fun and that they will see soon for themselves. But usually I’m guided along, so instead I just mosey along like a seasoned professional.

Even with all this experience, there are still things that freak me out. One day we were walking in a beautiful park and entered a castle. Everything was lovely until I stopped dead in my tracks. We were walking along and suddenly there was no floor ahead. At least, that’s what it looked like. Mommy and daddy walked right onto it like complete lunatics, but I knew better. I planted myself firmly and refused to move. Again, I was forced into personal growth. Eventually I realized there was a floor—it was just clear glass. Underneath me were ancient ruins. ANCIENT RUINS. I don’t know what that means exactly, but mommy and daddy were pretty impressed.  Once I understood I wasn’t going to fall into history, I cautiously walked across. Very cautiously. Tiny steps at first, maximum suspicion. It was ok! And kind of cool except that I couldn’t smell the ruins.

And last but not least… one of my favorite things in all of Italy is gelato. When we go out I always get some. Sometimes there is dog friendly gelato and sometimes I eat the human kind. I can’t tell the difference, I just know it’s cool and delicious and I sit there and eat it with determination until it’s gone.

This whole adventure has been full of surprises. I’ve become an expert in elevators, escalators, trains, subways, hotels, glass floors, mountain hikes, cable cars, hydration strategies, gelato and restaurant etiquette. I think I am braver than I used to be, more adaptable, and more worldly.

This Italy country continues to impress me. It seems like people really like dogs here. I am allowed almost everywhere, even in stores and restaurants. And everyone pets me and says things like “bravo cane” or “que bello”. I think that means I am good and I am handsome. So that’s my update on life in Italy. I’m having a really good time.

Until next time,
Koji

A Milestone & Some Mountains

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

I was afraid to say anything last week for fear of jinxing it, but I had my Italian citizenship appointment last Tuesday. It was an unexpected surprise, and in this instance alone my immigration attorney was worth his weight in gold. I should have been able to register as a resident nearly from the moment we set foot in Italy, but due to a myriad of issues, the comune (city hall) somehow lost my residency application. We are still waiting for one final document from the U.S., but because the comune dropped the ball, my lawyer was able to negotiate an appointment anyway.

Below is a photo of me with the mountain of paperwork I’ve been gathering since 2018, just before heading down to the comune. From here, I’m still awaiting approval of the residency application, and I still need to submit that final document. Assuming all goes well, citizenship should hopefully be completed in the coming months. Fingers crossed.

Right after the appointment, we hopped into the car and headed NORTH. In case you haven’t heard, Europe is in the middle of a serious heat wave, so escaping to the mountains sounded pretty perfect.

Our first stop was Valle d’Aosta, and wow—it felt very different from the rest of Italy we’ve experienced so far. Tucked into the far northwest corner of the country and bordered by both France and Switzerland, Valle d’Aosta is Italy’s smallest region. It’s also one of Italy’s five autonomous regions, meaning it has more self-governance due to its unique geography and history. French and Italian are both official languages here, and you can feel that blend everywhere—from the road signs, to the architecture, to the food.

And the food? Definitely mountain food in the best possible way. Think polenta, fontina cheese, wild game, cured meats, and hearty dishes designed to fuel hikers and skiers. I’m not a cured meat gal, but I can definitely appreciate it!

We spent four absolutely beautiful days in this mountain region—mostly hiking, a little shopping, and of course eating.

The first night we arrived fairly late since we got a delayed start after the comune appointment. We dropped our bags at the hotel and headed straight out for dinner. It was late—which is when Italians eat—and for once we fit right in. We are usually the first people at a restaurant when they open at 7:30, but this night the town was buzzing.

We had to try a polenta dish, of course. We also met a lovely couple from New York City and spent the evening enjoying easy conversation in English, which always feels comforting after always making attempts at piecing together Italian.

The next day we headed up to Monte Bianco (or Mont Blanc in French). There is a cable car that takes you up the mountain to Pointe Helbronner, one of the highest accessible points in Italy. Pets are allowed, so naturally Koji joined the adventure. This was a new experience for all of us. We went all the way up to 11,371 feet, the highest altitude myself, Daren, or Koji had ever been. When we stepped out into the open air at that height, it was exhilarating. One of us may have cried a little from sheer amazement.

The temperature was incredible too—just 9°C (48°F). After the heat we’ve been living in, it felt absolutely amazing. We were surrounded by serious hikers and climbers preparing for much bigger adventures than ours. The station sits so close to the French border that part of the complex is essentially in France. The border crossing area was closed, which was fine by me since while waiting for citizenship I’m not supposed to cross borders anyway.

After reaching the highest point, we took the cable car down to the midpoint where there were easier trails, family areas, and food. We had lunch with a spectacular view and then went for a leisurely hike to a beautiful waterfall with fresh glacial water flowing through.

That evening we wanted something hearty and casual, and there was a burger place right in the middle of Courmayeur. Daren and I had fantastic burgers with fresh fontina cheese and fries. Koji got a few scraps. None of us had had burgers in ages and they were SO good. We took a long walk afterward to burn off some of the indulgence and explored even more of the beautiful town.

The following day we laced up our hiking shoes and headed toward one of the local rifugi. A rifugio is basically a mountain refuge or alpine hut—part shelter, part restaurant, and sometimes part lodging for hikers tackling longer routes through the mountains. They’re a huge part of hiking culture in the Alps.

The trail itself wasn’t supposed to be very long, so we brought Koji. But when we arrived near the trailhead, the road was closed for 3 km leading up to it. No problem, we thought. It was hot, but there were plenty of glacial streams and shaded areas to cool down. One of the coolest parts was passing cows and sheep everywhere.

When we finally reached the trailhead, the sign said 50 minutes. I honestly thought that had to be for slow people. Everyone around us had hiking poles and serious gear. We had a backpack, hiking shoes, and Koji—who, of course, was completely naked. The trail was marked level E. I’m actually glad I didn’t know what that meant beforehand because I may have chickened out.

We instantly understood the 50-minute estimate.

The climb was steep. Really steep. But it was also jaw-droppingly beautiful. We let Koji off leash and he had the time of his life despite the heat and climb. He was an absolute trooper.

When we finally reached the rifugio, it was completely worth it! This particular rifugio sits fairly close to the Swiss border. It’s about halfway up to the border crossing trail. Before leaving in the morning, we considered continuing all the way up, but with an aging dog, tired legs, and the extra 3 km to and from the car, we wisely decided halfway was enough.

We rewarded ourselves with a hearty lunch of more polenta and cinghiale (wild boar), then spent time cooling down and taking in the views. Hikers from all over the world were there in various stages of their journeys. Languages filled the air, though French and Italian were the most common.

After resting and refueling, we were ready to head back down. The descent was much faster and much easier. Koji slowed down during the last couple of kilometers, but he did so well. Such a good boy!!

The next day we needed a break from the mountains and rugged hiking, so we headed to the capital city of Aosta. We did a little shopping, gelato eating, lunching, and site seeing.

Aosta is often called the Rome of the Alps because ancient Roman ruins are scattered all throughout the city. Unlike Rome, though, there’s almost no heavy tourism around them, which makes it feel especially cool.

The Roman theater was under renovation, but we still managed to peek through construction barriers. We also saw arches, gates, and the Criptoportico Forense, an underground Roman structure that once surrounded the sacred area of the forum and helped support the complex above. The whole day was steamy hot.

On the way back to Courmayeur, we stopped in the town of Fénis to see its famous castle.

Castello di Fénis is exactly what comes to mind when you picture a fairy-tale castle—towers, battlements, stone walls, and all. Built in the 13th and 14th centuries, it’s one of the best-preserved medieval castles in the region and somehow looks even more magical in person.

That last night, we left Koji relaxing in the cool hotel while Daren and I returned to the burger place one last time. After dinner we wandered through town again, this time down side streets and little shortcuts, discovering charming homes, tucked-away parks, and quiet corners we hadn’t seen before.

The next morning, after a brisk run and a complimentary breakfast buffet, we packed the car for the next leg of our trip.

But not before one final stop in Bard.

We wanted to see the impressive Fort Bard, a massive 19th-century fortress built by the House of Savoy on a rocky cliff overlooking the valley. Historically, it guarded one of the most strategic mountain passes into Italy and famously slowed Napoleon’s army for nearly two weeks. It is an imposing structure.

We opted not to tour inside the fort and instead wandered through Bard’s medieval streets and soaked in the atmosphere. Koji seemed especially happy to find a fire hydrant in the middle of a medieval village and drink from one of the old public fountains.

This little town sits close to the border of Piedmont, our next destination. So we said Arrivederci—or Au revoir—to Valle d’Aosta and headed onward to the next adventure.

Thanks for reading! Would love to hear from you too, we love hearing your comments ❤️

To see some video, check out the YouTube video we made of this week –

https://youtu.be/3buB_D3XkrY?feature=shared

What Italy is Teaching Me: What Remains

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

By Esterina Anderson

A few weeks ago when we were in Chiavari, we walked the promenade there over and over. Drinks for aperitivo were advertised all over the place, and next to the usual Aperol Spritz I kept seeing something called a Hugo Spritz.

Last night I finally decided to look up what it was and make a non-alcoholic version at home. We happened to have the right ingredients, and Oh My Gosh, it was delicious –  Light, refreshing, and perfect for sitting outside on a hot summer evening!

We were out on our back balcony enjoying the drinks and the view when I noticed my glass was halfway gone. My immediate thought was that I should go inside and make another.

But I caught myself. That thought felt very familiar. For a long time, I thought this was just part of my drinking problem. But I’ve come to realize it’s bigger than alcohol. The deeper issue is scarcity.

If I love the taste of something, the moment I notice it’s running out my mind shifts. Instead of enjoying what is still there, I start thinking about how it’s going to be gone and how I can replace it. If it’s replaceable, half full becomes a signal to refill.

What’s interesting is that this didn’t disappear when I stopped drinking alcohol. I noticed the same pattern with seltzer, soda, and other NA drinks. The object changes, but the thought pattern stays the same.

As I sat there looking at my glass, I thought about the saying: glass half full or glass half empty.

I’ve always kind of thought of myself as a glass-half-empty person, though that never fully made sense. People who know me often describe me as optimistic, sunny, and positive. So why have I always identified more with half empty? I think I finally understand.

This isn’t really about optimism or pessimism. It’s about how quickly my mind shifts from enjoyment to scarcity. The moment something reaches halfway, I stop experiencing what’s still there and start focusing on what’s disappearing. And that mindset can insidiously steal joy.

Way back in 1992, someone told me something that left a deep impression on me. Her grandfather always said to think of the gas tank as empty once it hits halfway. If you fill it before it drops below half, and you’ll never risk running out. That idea embedded itself in me.

I developed this strong need to prevent depletion. Refill early. Stay ahead. Don’t run out. In many ways, that mindset has served me well. I’m organized and prepared. I rarely get caught off guard. But it doesn’t work everywhere. Especially not with life.

When it comes to personal consumption—food, drink, time, energy, even joy—constantly trying to refill or stay topped off can actually rob me of the experience itself. Instead of enjoying what’s here, I’m focused on what’s going to be gone.

Turning 50 and moving to Italy has shown me how much my thought patterns are changing. I know I retired young. And if I live to be 100, I still have half of my life left. That feels very different from thinking half is gone.

I am seeing this now a lot in the recovery community or in conversations with younger people who feel like they’ve messed everything up. They get stuck in thoughts like: I wasted so much time. I’m behind. I ruined things. That’s half-empty thinking.

But the shift happens when you start looking at what remains instead of what’s gone. You still have time. You can still change direction. You can still create something meaningful with what is ahead of you, whether you are 30, 60, or 90. Why not live the remaining years with purpose and be proud of every minute of it?

I’ve spent much of my life focused on avoiding depletion—refilling before things run low, staying ahead, making sure nothing runs out. That mindset can be useful in some areas, but it has also robbed me of presence and joy because I was hyper-focused on what was disappearing instead of appreciating what remains.

The Hugo Spritz ended up being a reminder. Half empty doesn’t always mean lacking. It can also mean there is still plenty left.

Maybe the better question isn’t what’s gone. Maybe the better question is what remains, and whether we can appreciate it before reaching for more or mourning what was lost.

So I sat there and enjoyed the remainder of this Hugo Spritz slowly, savoring it and reminding myself that I still had half left. And when I reached the end, I didn’t want more. It was just right. It was enough.