Abroad in Italy – esterinaanderson.com

The City Pattern

Posted on 04/06/202604/06/2026 by Esterina Anderson

Last summer, one Saturday morning when we first started talking about coming to Italy for a year, we were very keen on the idea of moving to a city. Esterina grew up in Brooklyn and Daren had lived in New York City and Boston for several years. We both have fond memories of city living—the energy, the walkability, the simplicity of not needing a car.

We were excited about it for a few days, until one rainy afternoon when we were stuck inside. Esterina asked, “What would we do in a city on a day like today in a small apartment?” That question planted the first seed of doubt.

Later in the fall, while looking for a place to live, we still explored the idea. Our first stop was Bologna—everyone we knew, in and outside of Italy, loved it. It felt like the perfect fit. But after just a few hours of walking around, doubts crept in.

Then came Rome. For a few days, we were convinced that was it. But not long after arriving, something shifted. We found ourselves paying a small fortune just to sit in a park for a bit of greenery. The loud clashing of church bells at noon and the constant sirens made it feel like there was no escape from the noise. Once again, the doubts surfaced—this time more clearly.

We don’t know why we don’t recognize the pattern sooner. We live in Connecticut and love going to New York City. Every time we go, we’re excited and start imagining what it would be like to live there. But after a day or two, something changes. It starts to feel like too much. And when we get home, the birds, the trees, the open space—it all feels exactly right.

Luckily, we gave ourselves enough time in these Italian cities to notice that same shift. It led us to choosing a home in the hills of Tuscany—just 10–15 minutes from town, with everything we need nearby, including a train that gets us to Florence in under half an hour.

This week, we had to go into Florence to swap out our car (a long story), and decided to stay a few days.

And just like that, the draw of the city pulled us in again.

Florence is stunning. Walkable, charming, full of life. We parked the car once and didn’t need it again. That alone felt like such a relief. We started imagining—what if we lived here long-term? Everything felt easy and beautiful.

And the options. After weeks of mostly Italian cuisine (which is incredible, no question), we were suddenly surrounded by variety again. Different foods, big grocery stores, clothing shops, markets, art—everything right there.

It felt exciting. Full.

And then…

The dog had nowhere to go. No grass. Nowhere to sniff. We walked and walked, searching for even a small patch, and came up empty. Eventually, he just went in the middle of the street.

And when we got tired—from all the walking—and wanted a break, the options were shops or our small hotel room. I had that same thought again: where do you go to actually relax?

On our last day, we planned to go to Mercato Centrale—the big open market—before everything closed for Easter. We left the dog at the hotel and headed out, ready to stock up.

We walked in and it was beautiful. The smells, the colors, the energy—it felt magical. The kind of place you imagine having at your fingertips all the time.

And within minutes, we were done.

Too many people. Too many options. Too much navigating, deciding, sampling. We looked at each other and walked out.

We headed back toward the hotel—and toward our poor dog—and realized we’d much rather just go to the local Coop and get what we needed.

We love cities. We really do.
But we love leaving them just as much.
And coming home—where it’s quiet, green, and enough.

And we will be back. Again & again & again. Here is why! (photos below)

Updates from Esterina https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/04/06/on-easter/

Updates from Daren https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/04/06/beauty-in-the-large-and-the-small/

Stone wine selling niche embedded in a wall, featuring an archway and engraved text 'VENDITA di VINO'. — One of the many ancient wine windows in Florence

Night view of the Ponte Vecchio bridge in Florence, Italy, with buildings lining the riverbank reflecting in the Arno River. — One of the many ancient wine windows in Florence

Beauty in the Large and the Small

Posted on 04/06/202604/06/2026 by Esterina Anderson

This past week we spent three days in Florence. It is a gorgeous city steeped in art and history. The Medici, who ruled the city for 300 years, placed enormous value on art—particularly painting, architecture, and sculpture. They used their vast wealth to bring the greatest artists from around Italy to Florence, where they could create masterpieces and experiment with new techniques. It’s not an overstatement to say that the Medici were the founders—or perhaps the midwives—of the Renaissance.

Everything about Florence is big. The statue of David is 17 feet tall and weighs 12,000 pounds. The Duomo, Florence’s famed cathedral, can hold 30,000 people and is one of the largest in the world. Its dome, designed and built by Brunelleschi, remains the largest masonry dome ever constructed. And the crowds in Florence are enormous as well. We were there during the first week in April—not even high season—but the crowds were impressive.

I’d call this phenomenon “big crowds to see big things.” Everyone has heard about the great sights in Florence, and they come in droves to experience them. The line to get into the Duomo stretched halfway around the building (we took a pass). Crowds on the Ponte Vecchio were so dense it was hard to get across. We waited in line for 20–30 minutes to enter the Boboli Gardens. Despite the crowds, we thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated the beauty of this magnificent city—great works, great sights, great food, great city.

I’ve been reading about the life and teachings of St. Francis. Although I’m only at the beginning of what I hope will be an ongoing exploration, I’ve learned enough to know that he would not have thought much of these big, beautiful things. St. Francis found beauty in the small things and preached the importance of simplicity, nature, and faith through action. He didn’t like big churches, big titles, or showy deeds. He cautioned against the dangers of pursuing the “three P’s”: power, prestige, and persona.

I was thinking about him a few days ago while walking Koji first thing in the morning. In the past, I would have been in a bit of a rush. I always walked Koji early, right after getting up, which meant his walk was a chore to complete before breakfast, coffee, and getting to work. While I tried to use these walks to clear my mind and appreciate my surroundings, my thoughts were often elsewhere—focused on “big things” like an upcoming presentation, a meeting, or a deadline.

Big Sights & Scenes from Florence

My walks here in Italy have been different. There is no rush. There are few big things to worry about.

On this particular morning, Koji was very into sniffing. In the past this would have annoyed me. This time, I let him sniff to his heart’s content, which gave me time to appreciate the beautiful views from our hilltop property. This time of year there are wildflowers everywhere—yellow, orange, purple, and white. Whole fields are dotted with them, but they’re so small you miss them unless you stop and look closely.

Then, in the distance, I heard the faint tinkling of what sounded like cowbells. I would not have noticed them had I not paused in silence while Koji sniffed. As I searched for the source, I saw a flock of sheep grazing in the valley below. The bells were sheep bells, not cowbells. Mountains in the distance were snowcapped, and a layer of fog covered the valleys below. In the past, I would have missed this entire scene.

It was as much a masterpiece as any painting in a Florentine gallery. But unlike those in Florence, this one was mine to enjoy without the crowds. Its components were small, everyday things: flowers, fog, and sheep.

Scenes from Morning Walks with Koji

I loved Florence and will absolutely go back to see more. But there are two messages for me in these contrasting experiences. The first is that if we spend our time only seeking out the “big things”—great domes, statues, and famous paintings—we will miss the great works of art that exist everywhere in nature. They are not celebrated or recorded, but they are there for the taking if we only stop and look.

And therein lies the second message: these natural masterpieces are easily missed. We likely overlook hundreds of them every day when we are preoccupied with other things. Slowing down, even for a few moments, opens us up to appreciating the masterworks in our own backyard.

On Easter

Posted on 04/06/2026 by Esterina Anderson

Happy Easter – Buona Pasqua
(in Italian, if you couldn’t deduce that ☺)

We are in Italy and alone. I feel like I should feel sad or lonely, but I don’t. And that in itself has me reflecting, because Easter hasn’t felt like much of a holiday to me for a long time.

And yet here I am, in the hills of Tuscany on Easter morning.

When I was a kid, I went to Catholic school—St. Brendan’s in Brooklyn, New York. I loved Holy Week, beginning with Palm Sunday all the way through Easter and the vacation week that followed.

It wasn’t because of Jesus, exactly, or even religion. I loved the tradition, the pomp, the feeling that spring was on its way, the dressing up.

Being in Catholic school made it all feel special. The church was right next to the school, and for religion class we were often inside—looking around, practicing music, getting familiar with it. I knew what it looked like during Mass and in between. I loved how, in preparation for Easter, everything got cleaned and polished. The priests, who lived in the rectory on the block and were always kind and involved, would bring out their special robes. I had a crush on one of the younger priests—Father Michael.

Starting on Palm Sunday, the church was all dolled up. There were special Masses all week that were different and, to me, kind of fun—even if the topic was somber. For the short time I was in the youth choir, there were lots of practices and lots of reasons to go to church and hang out with my friends. By Wednesday of Holy Week we had a half day, and then were off for the next week and a half. As a kid, that felt magical.

Easter itself was always a little anticlimactic. The build-up was over. But there were egg hunts around the apartment, Easter baskets, and those gigantic Italian chocolate eggs my dad always found for my brothers and me—each with a toy inside. The toy was never anything special, but as a kid, any toy lit up my heart.

When we moved from Brooklyn to Long Island in middle school, Easter and Holy Week were never quite the same. I went to public school and didn’t spend time around church anymore. We still went to Mass on Easter, but we became the kind of Catholics who mostly showed up on Christmas and Easter. Going to church now required a car instead of a three-block walk, and we didn’t know anyone there.

Still, Easter was fun. We colored eggs, got baskets, received those chocolate eggs from my dad, gathered with extended family, and had a special meal that included rabbit—yes, rabbit, like the Easter bunny.

Years went by. I grew up and had children young. Until then, I hadn’t really experienced Easter without kids involved—either being one or having them. It was always about eggs, bread, a great meal, and extended family. Holy Week still carried that feeling of something special, even though I was no longer part of church festivities and rarely attended them.

And even though I no longer got those giant, mostly hollow chocolate eggs, my father always made sure my kids and their cousins did. I’m not even sure if the toy was still inside—my kids might know. What I do remember is trying to get the egg home intact and usually finding it cracked from the car ride. It always felt like too much chocolate, so I’d break it into smaller pieces, freeze it, and use it later for cookies or some other dessert in the spring.

It wasn’t until I got divorced and the family split up that Easter really started to lose its shape. Different traditions. Not always having the kids. The standard divorce agreement doesn’t even count Easter as a holiday.

And as I got older, I started to notice that Easter isn’t really considered a holiday at all. It falls on a Sunday, so there’s no time off from work. Even people who work that day don’t get special pay like they do on actual holidays. In the United States, Easter comes with plenty of fun—egg hunts, baskets, the Easter bunny—but the day itself doesn’t carry the same weight. It feels more like Mother’s Day or Father’s Day.

Over time, it started to feel less special. Holy Week stopped registering, the kids never really loved it, and somewhere along the way it became just another Sunday—one where I might text people, but didn’t make plans or go to church. Not because I didn’t want to, exactly, but because I’d feel like a total hypocrite showing up.

My father, who passed away last August, always loved Easter. Being here now, in his mother country, I can see it from his perspective. It feels like a bigger deal here—no Easter bunny, no egg hunts—but the bakeries are full, and those giant hollow eggs he always brought us are everywhere.

I can’t help but look at them and tear up a bit. He wasn’t always my favorite person, but once he was just a young boy excited about chocolate and toys like the rest of us. That’s what he passed on.

Those eggs feel different to me now.

And yet this morning, I sit far from family in the hills of Tuscany. An Italian sauce simmers on the stove. I hear birds outside. Soon we’ll pack up lunch and head down to the pool to celebrate Pasqua with other expats who also have no family here.

Today—between the sauce simmering, the quiet hills, and sharing pranzo with others who are also far from home—I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Not the old version of Easter.
But something just as real.

Happy Easter to my pops in heaven.

A young girl in a pink and black jacket stands smiling on the grass, while a man holding a colorful basket stands next to her. In the background, another man in a black hoodie leans against a tree, overlooking the scene.

A close-up of an orange Easter egg labeled 'Koji' next to a decorated mug featuring a black dog. In the background, a bowl of colorful Easter eggs is visible.

Not New Anymore, Not Quite Routine – Week 4

Posted on 03/30/202603/30/2026 by Esterina Anderson

By Esterina & Daren Anderson

Another week under our belt. This was another week about settling into a routine. We had some online work to do. We had a few calls. We did some shopping. Our house is now fully set up, and we can find our way around town pretty well. Nothing especially blog-worthy.

We did take time to adopt one of the rituals of Italian life: Market Day. Most towns in Italy have one, and Italian markets are much more than the typical “farmers market” we see in the U.S. To visualize an Italian market day, picture a good-sized farmers market combined with some food trucks and Walmart spreading all its goods out on tables and trucks in the town square. Market day is as much about shopping for cheap clothes, linens, and kitchenware as it is about artisanal cheese and organic broccoli rabe. You can even buy dog beds. Our town’s market day is Tuesday from 8:30 to 1:00. We took Koji, who now loves markets, and did a good amount of shopping for things we needed around the house. But we made the mistake of then heading to the main grocery store in town, Coop, and doing our weekly shop. This was simply too much shopping and stimulation for one of us (EA). We came home tired and a bit cranky—but well stocked for the week.

A man in a beige jacket explores a market stall filled with assorted colorful items, accompanied by a black dog, with vendors and shoppers visible in the background.

A sunny urban landscape featuring rooftops, tall cypress trees, and a pedestrian crossing sign against a clear blue sky.

This was also a week for exploring our immediate surroundings. We live on a hill, surrounded by more hills. There are farms all around. A flock of sheep grazes in the valley below. There are horses, donkeys, and chickens nearby, as well as the ever-present olive groves and vineyards. Every road is either straight up or straight down. The road leading up to our house is so steep that cars, bikes, and even walking dogs all struggle to make it up. But despite the hills, exploring the area on foot has been fun. There are multiple little streets—paved and dirt—leading to hilltop clusters of farms and houses in all directions.

Esterina explored the area by taking really long runs—one was 90 minutes this week. While she doesn’t intend to be out so long, once she gets out there she keeps seeing roads—either on the map or en route—she wants to explore. She’s always beat when she gets back home, but always has new vistas to describe and a rich collection of sights and sounds to process.

A scenic rural pathway lined with vibrant flowers and greenery, leading towards snow-capped mountains under a partly cloudy sky.

Scenic view of a rural landscape featuring blooming trees, a wooden shed, and a distant house, with mountains in the background under cloudy skies.

New running shoes help. Somehow, she left her running shoes at home and had to buy multiple pairs—cost escalating with each new purchase—before landing on one that felt cushioned and supportive. Sometimes you do get what you pay for. Daren started exploring the surroundings more seriously on his bike. The hills and narrow roads pose a challenge, but it’s also a great way to explore the immediate area more closely.

We had our first major storm this week: two days of heavy, cold wind and rain. The house shook. The doors and windows were drafty. It was so loud that Koji—previously unwilling to hike up the stairs to the second floor—ended up at our bedside in the middle of the night. He was so scared by the noise that he decided to relocate to our bedroom for safety and security.

We’ve decided to work in a mix of day trips, long weekends, and more substantial trips over the next year, with a goal of exploring every corner of Italy. This week we took a day trip on Saturday. Val d’Orcia is in the southern part of Tuscany, and it is home to some of the most iconic scenery in the region. If you’ve seen movies or photos featuring stately rows of cypress trees, hilltop walled cities, rolling hills, fields of green, and ancient stone farmhouses, they were probably filmed in Val d’Orcia.

This region is about 90 minutes from our home, so we headed out on a road trip with a rough route mapped out to take us through the most beautiful scenery and to some of the most picturesque towns. Our first stop was San Quirico d’Orcia, a small town with ancient walls, a beautiful piazza, and a church built in the 11th century. We spent an hour sitting outside at a café, having a light lunch, chatting, and drinking coffee in the main square. Next stop was Bagno Vignoni, an ancient hot springs/thermal bath used since Etruscan times for soaking and healing. Last stop was Pienza, described as the “Jewel of the Val d’Orcia.” It was indeed a jewel.

It’s always a worry that overblown descriptions of beautiful places will leave us disappointed, but that wasn’t the case with Pienza. The beauty exceeded our expectations. Perched high on a hilltop overlooking green fields and rolling hills that extended to the horizon, Pienza was stunning: ancient stone walls and buildings, a Renaissance cathedral, lovely shops and cafés, and some outstanding local products like Pecorino di Val d’Orcia (cheese). We spent several hours strolling the walls, exploring the shops, and taking in the breathtaking views over the valley below. It helped that the weather was perfect—about 60 degrees and bright blue skies.

A vintage blue bicycle decorated with flowers leans against a stone wall next to a window, with potted plants nearby.

Charming street view featuring a stone wall adorned with potted tulips, set against buildings with green shutters and a clear blue sky.

We’d like to say that the day ended on a high note with a great meal and a relaxing evening. But reality needed to reassert itself after a magical day. This isn’t a storybook—it’s real life. Things can’t be too perfect. After taking in all the sights in Pienza, we decided to head home, order takeout, and watch a movie. This had been a standard ritual back home, usually on Friday or Saturday night. And takeout meant Indian food.

We were very excited to find that Italy has its own version of Uber Eats (called Deliveroo), and on Deliveroo there was Indian food: Tandoori and Curry House in nearby San Giovanni. We placed our standard order: samosas, garlic naan, chicken tikka masala, and saag paneer, with kheer (rice pudding) for dessert. We laid out a tablecloth on our coffee table for some meal-in-front-of-the-TV dining and waited. And waited. And waited. It took well over an hour for the order to arrive. By then it was nearly 8:30 p.m. “Hangry” summarizes the mood.

When it finally arrived, we discovered that Indian food—at least in Italy—doesn’t come with rice unless you order it (we didn’t). So add 20 minutes to whip up some rice. Finally, time to eat… the most disgusting food we’ve ever tasted. It looked vaguely like Indian food, but there the similarities ended. Imagine chicken cubes with some onions and a bottle of Ragu tomato sauce. And a handful of frozen spinach thawed in the microwave and mixed with cubes of paneer cheese.

Esterina bailed and had popcorn. Daren suffered through the horror. And then the movie was terrible. We chose Mary Supreme, and after a dog burst into flame halfway through, we looked at each other and said, “Why are we watching this?”

How silly. None of this matters in the least, but when you change up your life and make a big move, there is a learning curve. Some things don’t translate well. And if you expect to replicate routines and comforts of home, you may be disappointed. But who could complain even slightly after a day exploring one of the most beautiful places on earth? Even we couldn’t really manage it—other than to laugh and go to bed with a smirk and a reminder that nothing is perfect.

Update from Esterina this week: https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/03/29/beef-stew/

Update on musings from Daren this week: https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/03/29/learning-the-rhythm-of-italy/

Thanks for taking the time to read. We’d love to hear your thoughts!

Please feel free to leave a comment or subscribe for future updates.

Not New Anymore, Not Quite Routine – Week 4

Posted on 03/30/2026 by Esterina Anderson

By Esterina & Daren Anderson

Update from Esterina this week: https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/03/29/beef-stew/

Update on musings from Daren this week: https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/03/29/learning-the-rhythm-of-italy/

Thanks for taking the time to read. We’d love to hear your thoughts!

Please feel free to leave a comment or subscribe for future updates.

Learning the Rhythm of Italy

Posted on 03/29/202603/29/2026 by Esterina Anderson

By Daren Anderson:

This week was about settling in. We’ve now been in Italy for four weeks, and it feels like we are starting to get the hang of things. We bought the Italian version of an EZ Pass and felt very proud breezing through the tolls without stopping, just like back home. We shopped at a local market for housewares and some food. We took Koji to establish care with a new veterinarian, and we got a membership card at our favorite grocery store.

Mastering some of these day-to-day basics has been rewarding and has helped us start to feel settled, but it’s also given me a chance to think about how different it can be to be “settled” in a new country. Italy is a modern, Western country with a language and culture that overlap with ours in so many ways. There are many similarities to life back home. But when you step back and look at the mechanics of daily life—the minute components that make up our activities and routines—differences emerge that require some adjustment.

A big contributor to these differences is history and the varied ways our societies have developed. I would describe Italy as a thoroughly modern country, as advanced in consumer technology and infrastructure as the US, but superimposed on a physical environment that was built, in some cases, over a thousand years ago. Yesterday we looked upon a beautiful church in the small town of San Quirico d’Orcia that was built in the 1100s. Buildings are old. Roads are old.

Even the location of towns is different. Have you ever seen a town in the US built on top of a hill? Or encircled with large stone walls? Likely not. In the US, most towns and cities are in valleys or along major rivers. That’s probably because American towns were not built with the need to defend against raiding barbarians in the 500s. However, Italy is filled with walled-in, hilltop towns. When you gaze out over the Tuscan countryside, you see hills everywhere capped with beautiful towns. Hilltop towns are one of the best things about Italy. Today they are beautiful and historic. In ages past they were ideal for hurling rocks, arrows, and spears down upon invading hordes and keeping them at bay. Such a need simply didn’t exist when Albany or Peoria were founded.

This geography and history drive some of the most obvious differences between living in Italy and living in the US. You drive up incredibly steep hills to reach many towns and cities. Roads are very narrow. Navigating through cities—a topic I explored in more detail in a previous blog—is fraught with challenges: squeezing through tight passages and bumping over cobblestones. It simply can’t be done with a large vehicle. Cities were designed and laid out in the Middle Ages or earlier. They certainly were not built with SUVs and 4x4s in mind. An 18-wheeler will never deliver supplies to a business in an Italian town.

Which is why Italians, almost without exception, drive very small cars. There are models that simply don’t exist in the US, like Opel, Citroën, the Mercedes A-Class, or the BMW 1 Series. Fiat 500s and Pandas are among the most common vehicles, and they are rarely seen in the US except as novelties for a few Italophiles. There are no Chevy Tahoes. There are virtually no pickup trucks.

Parking is very different too. It is rare to drive up to a store, pull into a well-apportioned parking lot, and walk in to buy your shampoo. While some stores have parking lots, most are on city streets requiring parallel parking, or parking in a parcheggio (parking lot) outside of town. Our favorite very large, very well-stocked grocery store does have a nice parking lot—but the spaces are really tight and narrow. Our car, with its range of cameras and sensors, sounds like a horror movie as beeps, tones, and progressively dire chimes ring out just to pull into a space at the Coop.

In addition to the physical differences, there are others that have taken more time to recognize. There is a cadence and schedule in Italy to which we are still adapting. Much of it centers around eating. We are breakfast eaters and always start the day with a decent, healthy meal. That hasn’t been an issue since we tend to eat at home or, when traveling, at a hotel with a breakfast buffet catering to tourists. We’ve been able to find our favorites—oatmeal, cereal, eggs, cottage cheese, and yogurt—without difficulty.

For Italians, breakfast is espresso or cappuccino and a pastry. A breakfast like this would leave us both cranky and barely functional. The first real meal in Italy is pranzo (lunch). Lunch starts at 1 p.m. and can run from 1–3. It is considered the main meal of the day. Interestingly, outside tourist towns, everything closes at 1 p.m. until as late as 4 p.m. to allow time for pranzo. This means that if you have shopping or errands—or even just want to window shop in a new town—you need to get it done in the morning. By 1 p.m., you should be seated in a restaurant or, if you are like us and prefer a sandwich at noon, find a way to occupy yourself from 1–4.

Dinner is where we’ve struggled the most. Stores and businesses reopen, and whole towns seem to awaken around 4 p.m. But if you are looking for dinner at six, you’d best cook it at home. Most restaurants won’t even offer seating until seven. And you’ll often be the only one there until 8 p.m. If you are like us and prefer to be heading toward reading and bed around 9:30, you’ll be doing so with a full stomach—which is a prescription for heartburn and a bad night’s sleep.

We haven’t sorted out how to adapt to this new cadence yet. When we are home, it’s easy. We make our own food and eat when we prefer. If we have errands to run, we do them in the morning or after four. It’s more of a challenge when we are traveling and sightseeing. Then you are more at the mercy of the Italian schedule.

One thing we’ve discovered that offers a potential solution is the café. Every town has at least one, usually in the piazza, with a mix of indoor and outdoor seating, a display case of sandwiches and pastries, a commercial espresso machine, and a full bar. Most have decent non-alcoholic options as well. These places serve as a bridge between the main meals. Italians seem to use them for coffee and pastries in the morning, and for drinks and light snacks in the late afternoon. Aperitivo hour, which picks up around 5 p.m., finds people sipping Aperol spritzes or glasses of wine. For us, these are great places to get a bite at noon, or—if we’ve had a full pranzo—a lighter dinner at 6 or 7. We’re still working it out. I’ve been surprised at how out of sync we feel based on these differences in schedules.

Other notable differences: dogs are everywhere. It’s quite a shock initially to walk into a restaurant and see dogs at their owners’ feet under the table. You’ll see them in grocery stores, clothing stores, or pretty much anywhere else. Dogs are extremely popular in Italy and accepted nearly everywhere. We read that dogs—even large ones like Koji—can accompany you on trains. The Italian airline ITA just adopted a policy allowing you to purchase a “seat” for your large dog on domestic flights. It’s been nice for us in that we can bring Koji on most outings and he gets to explore parts of the world his dog mind could previously not have imagined—like a grocery store, a cheese shop, or, yesterday, a china shop (a bit dicey). It does lead to more barking.

Which brings me to another subtle difference: the ambient background noise of daily life in Italian towns. Barking dogs are everywhere. It’s rare to take a walk without hearing them. Chimes are a constant presence. These are brass bells, not electronic imitations. Every town has bell towers atop its churches and municipal buildings. They ring the hours and sometimes the half and quarter hour. At Mass time the bells ring out all over town. More subtly—perhaps unique to our location on a hill in Tuscany—on my morning walks I can hear the distant tinkling of bells around the necks of the sheep in the valley below. These sounds may not even register at first, but they form part of the rich tapestry of life in Italy.

I could write about many other large and small differences—like the confusing electrical outlets (10A, 16A, two-prong, three-prong, large prong, small prong—I bought three different extension cords before getting the right one), or the challenge of finding over-the-counter meds (you buy them in surprisingly small quantities at a pharmacy). I could write a whole blog about traffic circles, which are a huge improvement over traffic lights and stop signs.

But the more important point is that daily life is shaped by history in ways we rarely notice when we’re at home. The routines, the infrastructure, the timing of meals, even the size of our cars—all of it reflects decisions made long before we arrived. Living somewhere new makes those invisible assumptions visible.

And that, I think, is what it really means to begin settling in. Not just learning where to shop or how to pay tolls, but slowly recalibrating your expectations of how a day unfolds. You stop measuring everything against home. You start noticing the logic in the differences. And eventually, without quite realizing when it happened, the unfamiliar rhythms begin to feel less like disruptions — and more like another perfectly reasonable way to live.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Please feel free to leave a comment or subscribe for future updates.

A black dog on a leash walking through a colorful shop filled with decorative pottery and glassware. — Koji in a China shop!

Narrow cobblestone alleyway with colorful buildings, featuring green shutters and a shop window displaying swimwear. — You would not drive an SUV up this street!

Beef Stew

Posted on 03/29/202603/29/2026 by Esterina Anderson

By Esterina Anderson

A week or so ago, I was on an email string with an amazing group of women back home who meet semi-often—sometimes with a question or a theme to contemplate so we can keep the conversation flowing, expand our minds, and get to know one another on a deeper level. One of the women who will be hosting soon asked the group to bring their favorite childhood recipe.

I can’t attend (you know, being in Italy and all), but I did consider contributing to the conversation from afar with my own favorite childhood recipe. Two came to mind, and if I had responded, the other likely would have won out—but this week, Beef Stew is what I would choose today.

Let me backtrack to Thursday.

I woke up as happy as I have been almost every day since we arrived in Italy. It had been nearly four weeks.

One of my less healthy habits is checking my phone first thing in the morning. Thursday, there was a routine email from our realtor—but something about it didn’t feel routine after everything that had happened with renting our home in Connecticut. For some reason, it set me off. It felt jarring. My body reacted instantly, and I could feel myself mentally spiraling.

I tried to sit and meditate, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t focus on anything useful. My mind was off to the races, my throat tight.

At the same time, I realized we had planned to bring the dog to the vet, and a plumber was supposed to be coming. Daren was out walking the dog and had been gone for a while—with no phone. I started to worry: What if he forgot about the vet? What if he didn’t realize the overlap with the plumber? (I barely realized it myself since we hadn’t scheduled it—the landlord had casually mentioned it, which somehow made it feel even more chaotic.)

Then my mind went further—visions of the dog chasing a wild boar (which is actually a thing here), or Daren falling somewhere in the woods with no way to call because he left his phone at home.

Yeah, as I write this it sounds ridiculous, but it was where my mind was at the time, when suddenly, everything felt like too much all at once and I felt like I was coming undone.

Nothing is actually new or different just because we’re in Italy. The same patterns of panic and spiraling—triggered by big or small things—are still here. But underneath it all, I realized that morning that I was really missing home.

The first few weeks here were busy—setting up the house, figuring things out, getting settled. But now that things are quieter, the absence is louder. I realized I miss my friends. I miss seeing people. I miss having conversations that aren’t just between my husband and me.I haven’t had any real time to myself. I haven’t watched a show. I haven’t done anything creative. At home, I had built-in space for that—my weekly craft group, walks with friends, book talks, dinners or coffee with girlfriends, meeting up with other couples. Just going outside into the garden and getting my hands in the dirt. Connecting with people as I got mail from the mailbox. Those things grounded me. They gave me connection and a sense of rhythm. That morning I felt lonely.

Don’t get me wrong—I LOVE what we are doing. I love shaking things up. But in that moment of panic, I was craving the ability to kvetch with friends, take a long hot bath, and prepare something that feels like home.

I have been anxious most of my life. It wasn’t until 10 years ago [this month actually] that I even realized it, and that awareness only came because it escalated into panic attacks. Ten years later—after experimenting with medication and lifestyle changes—I’ve never been more in touch with myself or more content. But anxiety still exists.

When I get anxious to the level I did on Thursday morning, I start to fear there’s something wrong with me. I worry that I’ll never be happy. I mean—how can I be in Italy, in this beautiful place, and feel anxious? It must be me. I must be the problem.

But it’s not me. It’s life.

This is life. It’s a fluctuating feeling that will pass. An old blog on this topic: On The Fluctuating Gunas.

It’s not about where you are physically, or where you are in life. Trying to change the world around me so I feel less anxious isn’t the solution—it’s not sustainable, and quite frankly, it would be exhausting. The only sustainable solution is learning how to live with what comes up in a way that isn’t harmful, and sitting through the discomfort knowing it will pass.

I had to figuratively slap myself out of feeling like a failure—or fearing writing about this because someone who knows me might feel disappointed that every moment in a new country with a beautiful view isn’t bliss. I want to wear my heart on my sleeve and let the world know that I love my life—but I’m human. And human emotions don’t disappear just because we change our circumstances.

When I see other people being human, it gives me permission to be human too. I want to offer that same permission.

Daren got home safe. No wild boars attacked Koji, and Daren was standing upright. The plumber came early. We made it to the vet and communicated in a bumbling but ultimately successful way with our broken Italian.

I couldn’t help but think of something I’ve said just recently to a friend (and can never remember when I need it): most of what we worry about never actually happens.

Everything was fine—but the emotional flooding lingered. I still didn’t feel right.

By about halfway through the day—after the vet, some rest, petting the dog, and a fair amount of complaining—I found myself craving comfort. Food, scent, shelter. It was a windy, rainy day—the perfect setting for comfort food.

I pulled out a piece of beef I had bought earlier in the week, intending to make beef stew at some point (thanks to my friend’s prompt about childhood recipes). The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

As I started browning the beef and the scent rose from the pot, I felt my stress begin to melt away. I chopped carrots, onions and celery, remembering how I used to feel as a kid when those same smells filled the kitchen while my mother cooked. We didn’t have beef stew often, but when we did, it was usually on a cold, unpleasant day—when the warmth and smell inside felt like a protective, loving blanket.

With each ingredient I added, I felt better. By the time everything was in the pot and simmering, I felt lighter—like the heaviness was leaving my body.

Chocolate felt necessary too. I converted an American brownie recipe into the European measurements and pans we had, and made a tray of warm, gooey brownies to go with it.

As everything cooked, I felt so much better that I was able to sit down with Daren and talk through one of our consulting projects. I even went upstairs, wrapped myself in my weighted blanket (another reliable stress reliever), and got some focused work done.

Later, one of the kids called and really needed to talk. By that point, I felt clear again—steady, present. I closed my computer and was able to give my full attention to the conversation.

Somewhere in there, I had pulled myself back together. Not perfectly, not magically, not with grace! – but enough. And it felt really good.

Later, we sat down to eat the stew and brownies, which turned out amazing—and were exactly what I needed.

Nothing had been fixed. It had just been felt… and it passed. Sometimes that’s all it is.
You sit with it… and let something warm simmer until you come back to yourself.

A thank you to my friend who knows who she is. I’m calling this Beef Stew.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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Back to Work on Our Terms

Posted on 03/21/202603/23/2026 by Esterina Anderson

By Daren Anderson

The main event this week was both of us going back to work. Well, sort of. But what a different feel this new “work” had for both of us. Both Esterina and I worked for decades in large organizations and held various positions, I at Community Health Center, Inc., and she at the VA. Over the years we worked in different places, had a variety of different roles, and for a long time we both worked from home. But we always worked for someone, had a boss, and had a schedule that generally featured Monday to Friday hours.

This type of work has a cadence that is familiar to many people and generally includes an early morning alarm, a hectic lunch packing, a commute, squeezing in exercise, a rush to prepare dinner, and a “living for the weekend” type of feel. This cadence leads one to think about Wednesday as “hump day” and to celebrate Fridays with “TGIF.” It can feel as if you are wishing your life away. We both enjoyed our jobs, but this daily schedule, at this phase of life, was feeling increasingly constraining. We wanted more independence.

Quitting our jobs and leaving the country was what some might consider an extreme way to find that independence. Last June Esterina retired and, not far behind, on March 1, I followed suit. However, I don’t think either of us considers this true “retirement.” We’ve both spent decades refining our skills and developing our expertise in our fields, and we are not ready to stop using them altogether. We are lucky enough to have complementary skills that are in demand and can be utilized digitally and remotely. The big change from our past work, one that we are adjusting to officially this week, is that we are now working for ourselves.

Prior to leaving, we created and registered a new company, Anderson Healthcare Advisors, LLC. Officially it is a partnership, co-owned and administered by Esterina and me, that provides consulting services to selected clients. With this structure we are free to pursue opportunities that interest us and remain engaged to the extent that we’d like. Prior to leaving work I had put out a variety of feelers to companies and people that I had worked with over the years. Several expressed interest in our new venture, and as of this writing, we have contracts with four of them.

This week, we began working in earnest. We were not sure how it would feel to start working again after only two weeks of being retired in Italy. The truth is, it felt great. For me, it was energizing to dive back into topics like telehealth and rural healthcare improvement, to write memos and white papers, and to conduct some online research. What was most liberating was knowing that I could start work when I chose and stop when I wanted. This allowed us both to get up without an alarm, have a leisurely breakfast together, exercise when we wanted, and sit down at two different desks and work when and as long as we chose.

It’s only been a week, but so far we’ve both really appreciated being engaged on a limited basis and bringing a bit of structure into our as-yet unstructured lives. We know that we are incredibly lucky to have the freedom to do this — our work translates well to remote consulting, and we are at a stage of life where we have both the experience and flexibility to try it. Still, I suspect that some version of this approach might resonate with others who feel weighed down by the weekly grind. We worked in that rhythm for many years, preparing—perhaps unknowingly—for the option to step away. When the opportunity presented itself, we took it.

We also chose to define “work” more broadly than just the consulting engagements and as such to build in structured “work time” each day that we are not traveling. Both Esterina and I have a long list of things we would like to do that can be classified as “productive”. From writing blogs to creating art, to learning Italian, and perhaps even to writing a book, we both tried this week to create a structure of daily work that enables us to do so. While much of this week focused on the new consulting work, we both also used the structured work time to start pursuing our other goals as well.

I’ve been surprised at how many people, when contemplating the concept of retirement, worry about not having anything to do and being bored. Neither of us could imagine how this could be. But I will say that re-engaging in “work” demonstrated the importance of being productive. There are so many ways to be productive. But I can definitely see that getting up each day without some form of productive engagement could get old really fast.

So we’ve mapped out a new cadence for our new life. The schedule is loose and flexible. Perhaps you could call this semi-retirement. The good thing is that we can ramp up or ramp down the amount of work, and we have the freedom to deviate from the plan at any time. The main thing that we both craved at this phase of our lives was more freedom. And that is what our new lives now provide.

It’s only been a week, so we’ll call this a pilot. But already it feels like we’ve found something we were both craving — not retirement, exactly, and not work as we knew it, but something in between. A rhythm with purpose, structure without rigidity, and days that feel intentionally shaped rather than scheduled. At this point, I think this next chapter may be less about stepping away from work, and more about defining what work means for us.

Views from my new “desks”.

When You’re the Stranger

Posted on 03/21/202603/21/2026 by Esterina Anderson

By Esterina Anderson

When I went for a morning run today along the path that follows the water from Santa Margherita to Portofino in Liguria, I felt so alive. So happy. So free.

My body was thanking me for running. The sun felt amazing on the few parts of my skin that were bare. I felt the thread of life all around me and deeply connected to my surroundings.

I’ve often felt this way while running or walking. Most often, it happened at home—in my neighborhood or during the lunch break walks I took nearly every working day since 2003. During those walks, I’d pass people and smile—sometimes say hello or good morning. If I was too out of breath, I’d just smile. If the other person noticed, there was almost always a small, lovely connection. Just human to human. A brief moment.

Smiling begets smiling. I always think of the line: “A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.”

Today, on this particular run—alone in a new place, but along the same path Daren and I walked yesterday—I felt that same connection for the first time here in Italy. And for the first time, it felt normal to run by people and say, ciao, buongiorno, scusi, grazie, permesso…

People smiled. People greeted me back. Some were lost in their own thoughts and didn’t notice. It was no different from my lifelong experience at home in the United States.

This simple, beautiful act got me thinking: we are all the same. Everywhere. Humans are the same.

But a day or two earlier, I don’t think I would have had this experience. I would have been looking down at my phone, trying to figure out the route. I thought at first it was just that—being in an unfamiliar place.

But it’s more than that. Just a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t have enough words under my belt to greet strangers or make a passing comment, like “what a beautiful day.” Not that I’m any expert now—but having even a few phrases that I know I’m saying correctly creates connection.

And then, somewhere along the run, The Doors’ People Are Strange started playing in my head—and that sent me down another path of thought.

People really are strange when you are the stranger.

I am new to this land. Definitely a stranger. A foreigner. The one who doesn’t quite fit. So, of course, people feel strange. But as I get more comfortable—as I learn the paths—people become less strange. And I start to see how similar we all are, how people respond to me the same way whether I’m running here in Italy or on the familiar roads outside my home.

My mind then made a further leap—to all the things friends and family back home have told us or asked us, based on their assumptions about Italy and Europe in general.

I have to say… a lot of it just isn’t true.

Our lives, our stores, our people, our systems—love, power, corruption, generosity—you name it… they are far more similar than different.

There are three assumptions I’ve heard over and over again—one of which even showed up in my husband’s blog this week. There are more, but for brevity, I’ll stick with these:

The food is better
People are more put together and always well dressed
The roads are strange and driving is more difficult

These are often shared as facts—based on a single trip or experience.

So what’s actually true?

Food: Some food is better. But I’ve also had some really bad meals here, to be honest—especially outside of tourist areas.

Grocery store food? Hit or miss. I’ve bought the same items from Lidl or Coop and had completely different experiences—likely depending on delivery or the crop. Tomatoes and lettuce have ranged from absolutely incredible to completely tasteless.

Well-dressed people: On past trips to Italy, I noticed how put together everyone seemed. But now that I’m living here, I see plenty of pajama pants, yoga pants, joggers, sneakers, messy buns, and chipped nail polish. Sound familiar?

Driving: The roads are smaller, yes—but so are the cars. It actually feels pretty similar. The signs are slightly different, but very understandable if you’ve driven in the U.S. And the drivers? Same story. Tailgaters, slow drivers, unexpected moves… different place, same cast of characters.

So why do we think it’s all so different—and better?

Because most of us experience Italy as tourists.

And in tourist areas, the food is better. People are more dressed up. Everything is curated.

Think about major U.S. destinations—New York, D.C., Las Vegas, Orlando, New Orleans, Chicago, Miami, Seattle, San Diego, San Francisco. When I’ve visited those places, I’ve had the same experience: great food, well-dressed people, chaotic driving that feels totally different.

But what’s actually different in those moments?

Me.

And what’s the same?

They’re all tourist destinations.

Tourist destinations are designed to impress—better food, cleaner streets, people dressed for work or presentation.

Step outside those areas—whether in Italy or back home—and it’s the same story. Food is hit or miss. Roads are wider and quieter. And people are out living their lives in whatever is comfortable… sometimes not exactly stylish.

So back to my run. I realized that when I feel comfortable—when I know what to say—I connect more easily with people, and in turn feel more connected to that thread of life around me.

People aren’t all that different. They respond in much the same ways, no matter where I am.

And when I take that a step further, I see how this extends beyond just brief interactions. It challenges the assumptions we carry about entire cultures—about how friendly people are, how they live, what they value. Even the things we romanticize most—the beauty, the clothing, the food.

It’s not that these things aren’t special.
It’s just that they’re not as different as we imagine—and maybe neither are we.

Week 3 – Still Learning a New Rhythm

Posted on 03/21/202603/21/2026 by Esterina Anderson

by Daren & Esterina Anderson

Ciao, buongiorno. It’s Saturday again, and today we are writing from a beautiful balcony in Santa Margherita Ligure, Liguria. I can’t believe a week has passed since I last sat down to write.

Last Saturday we attended one of the local Market Days. Market Day is really a thing in Italy. While we had some experience in the US with local farmers markets, usually during the summer months, these have little in common with an Italian town’s market day. Each town in our region has a different market day, and some of them have themes. There are markets that emphasize home goods and clothes. There is one that emphasizes antiques. Others are more food-focused. In general, they start in the morning and last until 1 pm. Streets are blocked off and market vendors park their trucks and lay out their goods on tables, clothing racks, and display cases. Some are larger than others, but so far the markets we’ve been to are lively and fun. It’s early spring now, so the fresh produce is somewhat limited, but what is available is incredibly fresh. Artichokes are in season as are strawberries from the south of Italy. Heads of lettuce are gorgeous and so tasty. We’ve started building markets into our weekly schedule, testing out different ones nearby to decide on which one we like best.

Last Saturday we visited the largest market in our area, San Giovani Valdarno. There was pretty much everything you could imagine—from food to shoes to housewares. We bought a good amount of produce from a vendor for very little money. After we paid, Daren noticed the famed Tropean onions, so we asked for a few of those too. These onions are a specific type of red onion from Tropea in Calabria reputed to be the sweetest and tastiest in Italy. But gasp—the onions cost as much as our large bag of produce! We’re heading to Tropea in a few weeks to meet up with my brother and his girlfriend Mary, so maybe they’ll be less expensive there. Daren whipped together a beautiful meal for us that evening using the onions, some garlic, olives, capers and a delicious swordfish steak.

After shopping in the market we stopped in the square for coffee and a bite to eat. A lot of these little “bars” are really coffee and drink shops with a few sandwich and pastry options. There was a whole section of non alcoholic cocktail options, so we enjoyed a coffee and a NA Negroni. It was quite good!

Sunday we “wasted” (definitely not the right word) most of the day mapping out how we want to spend the year traveling. It took way longer than we could have imagined, but we now have at least a loose outline of what we’d like to do and when. The only trip we actually booked is the one we’re on now.

After some exercise, we spent the rest of the day on our patio reading and enjoying the sun.

Monday through Wednesday we settled in to do some work. See Daren’s post for more on our new version of work. Some of it was actual paid work, and the rest was creative—writing, updating WordPress, sorting photos, and communicating with people back home about business and house things. We can’t even tell you where the time went—it flew by—but it felt good to settle into a bit of a routine.

We cooked dinner each night, and made NA drinks. On Tuesday, we had a St. Patrick’s Day mocktail. It’s not a holiday celebrated here—there wasn’t a single reference to it anywhere. However, we’ve learned that St. Joseph’s Day (March 19th) is widely celebrated in Italy. Growing up with my Italian father (Esterina), we celebrated with zeppole. We also read that it’s considered Father’s Day in Italy, which makes sense since Joseph was Jesus’ father. But again, there wasn’t any mention of it in stores or around town.

Meanwhile, Pasqua (Easter) is everywhere—bakeries, grocery stores, signage, ads. It’s very clearly “advertised,” if that’s the right word. But St. Joseph’s Day seemed to come and go without much notice, aside from a meme that Uncle Joe sent in our family text thread.

Naughty dog on the couch where he is NOT allowed, who knows why he is posing and staying here…. ?

Thursday, we got up at a leisurely pace, packed up the dog, the car, and some lunch and snacks, and headed to Liguria. We’re here for just three nights—and somehow it feels like both enough and not enough.

First, WOW. This part of the country is colorful and vibrant. Our landlord had told us about the cuisine here, and it’s exactly as she described. We’ll share more thoughts on the food separately, but for now let’s just say—it has been excellent. Seafood, pasta, and pesto. We learned from Stanley Tucci’s “Searching for Italy” food series that this region of Italy, also known as the Italian Riviera, is the home of pesto. And we’ve had pesto in some form in every meal we’ve had out since arriving.

Liguria stretches along the coast from the French border down to Tuscany and is home to some of the MOST scenic towns in all of Italy. If you’ve seen photos of vibrantly colorful buildings perched on steep cliffs descending down to the Mediterranean, there is a good chance it was from Liguria. The famed region of Cinque Terre is among the most beautiful.

Another thing that feels oddly different is the temperature. It’s technically the same as back home in Figline (Tuscany), but it feels so much warmer here. We’re dressed for late winter/early spring, just like everyone else, but it’s completely comfortable sitting outside to write or eat. At home, at this same temperature, we’d definitely be freezing.

Thursday night we walked around, tried the signature dish from the region: pesto with potatoes, pasta, and string beans (so, so good), and had a long, romantic dinner on a charming little shopping street in town.

Koji allowed inside the first rest stop of his dog life

Yesterday morning we woke up gently (with Koji licking himself) and went for a walk with him along the seaside promenade as the sun rose over the hills in the distance. We watched the town come to life as the morning unfolded: vendors opening their gates, men sweeping the streets, morning commuters on motorbikes heading to work.

We came back to our albergo (hotel in Italiano) and had breakfast, then put on our walking shoes and made the journey from Santa Margherita to Portofino. There is only one road into and out of Portofino. It is incredibly narrow and winding, and we’d heard that there is almost no place to park in the town. The universal recommendation was to walk the 5km (about 2.7 miles). There are two ways to walk to Portofino, along the road, or hiking through the hills on well marked trails—we chose the non-hiking route. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect.

The walk—and Portofino itself—was nothing short of breathtaking. We’ll let the photos do the talking. But we agree that this town is one of the most stunningly beautiful places we’ve ever visited. We spent much of the day with our mouths figuratively open, marveling at the view as it seemed to keep getting better and better.

Tired after the walk back and a day spent in a near-constant state of awe, we kept the evening simple with Friday night pizza, bringing Koji along to a small restaurant down the street. He sat right under our table and appreciatively gobbled down the pizza crusts we shared with him.

Side note: Koji is welcome everywhere. And we mean everywhere. We knew this from reading about dogs in Italy, but it’s still surprising to experience. He comes into shops with us, even grocery stores, sits at our feet during breakfast and dinner—even indoors. Dogs are truly and completely welcome almost everywhere. And he’s been such a good boy about it all (mostly)…

Oggi (today) And now here we are—this glorious Saturday morning. Still “on vacation” in the midst of our year-long sabbatical. We’re not used to this kind of freedom yet. There’s no rush. If we want to stay an extra day, we can. If we want to come back next weekend, we can. We don’t have to cram in every church, fresco and museum to make the most of it.

In fact, we almost did. We were this close to hopping on a train to squeeze in one of the Cinque Terre towns. But why rush it? Why pick just one and try to fit it all in? We can come back to see them all at a leisurely pace —and we will!

That’s the bigger shift happening for us right now. We’re not entirely sure yet how we’ll spend our time or how this new rhythm will feel. It’s unfamiliar, this slower cadence, this openness. But we’re very happy to be learning it, to let our mindset shift along with it.

For now, we’re just here—on this balcony, in this moment—letting it all unfold.