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 –
After yet another terrifying, then exhilarating experience yesterday, I believe it’s finally time I tell you what this whole Italy thing has been like from my point of view.
First of all — this is Koji.
Most of you probably know me already, but if not, my mommy and daddy are Esterina and Daren. Mommy is helping me write this because, despite my many talents, typing is apparently beyond my skill set.
It all started with the crate.
I hadn’t seen a crate since I was a tiny puppy. Back then I actually liked it. One day it disappeared, which I assumed meant I had proven myself trustworthy enough not to destroy the house while nobody was home.
Then suddenly, eleven years later, a giant crate appeared in the living room.
This one was sturdier. More serious.
Naturally, I climbed right in because I remembered the assignment. Also, every time I went inside, treats appeared. Sometimes daddy closed the door and left me in there for a while. Honestly? Not bad. Cozy enough. The crate sat next to my dog bed for weeks, so eventually I stopped questioning it.
Then one day the house became chaos.
Suitcases. Humans moving quickly. Doors opening and closing. Stress smells.
And then somehow the crate came too.
I knew we were going on an adventure because suitcases always mean somebody disappears for a while. The trick is figuring out whether I’m included. I watch carefully for clues:
Is my food being packed?
Is my travel bed involved?
Has someone picked up my leash?
The leash is the final confirmation. Once the leash appears, I allow myself to emotionally commit.
That day, I knew I was coming.
But something felt… suspiciously large-scale.
We all got into a huge car with a driver. Me, mommy, daddy, bags, and somehow the crate too. I sat between them while the world rushed by outside the windows.
Then we arrived somewhere unlike anywhere I had ever smelled before.
Let me tell you something about airports: Outstanding smells. Absolutely incredible.
Thousands of humans. Thousands of shoes. Old crumbs. Fear. Coffee. Perfume. Mild panic. One abandoned french fry.
A sensory masterpiece.
At one point, some men took my crate away while mommy and daddy walked beside me telling me I was a good boy in the tone humans use when they are pretending not to worry.
That’s when I realized: Something weird was about to happen.
Eventually they guided me into the crate and suddenly we were separating.
I squeaked a little. Not dramatically. Just enough to register concern.
Then came many loud noises, strange movements, rolling, lifting, waiting, more rolling, more noises, and an extremely long period of time where absolutely nothing made sense.
At some point the whole world tilted upward. Later downward. Then loud again.
Frankly, I decided the best strategy was acceptance.
Eventually the crate started moving again and suddenly — THERE THEY WERE.
Mommy and daddy.
I cannot adequately explain the relief.
I exploded out of that crate emotionally and physically although I tried to remain composed.
They tried to get me to eat and drink and use the potty, but I was simply too overwhelmed to focus on bodily functions.
Then we got into another car — this one just for us — and after a long ride we arrived somewhere quieter.
There were two ladies there. And another dog.
His name was Rhum.
We sniffed each other thoroughly and professionally. He informed me I was welcome to drink from his water bowl, which I appreciated because suddenly I realized I was incredibly thirsty.
That was the moment I understood: We were staying here.
Soon I was introduced to what appears to be my new life.
Honestly? I like it very much.
There are hills everywhere, which is admittedly a little tough on my hips, but the tradeoff is excellent smells.
I have now smelled:
olive groves
vineyards
medieval streets
beach air
outdoor markets
approximately twelve thousand years of accumulated Italian dog pee
Daddy likes to say I am smelling “medieval urine.”
I don’t fully understand what medieval means, but I respect the depth of the scent.
The most shocking part of Italy is this: I AM ALLOWED EVERYWHERE.
Stores. Restaurants. Outdoor cafés. Little shops with meats and cheeses hanging everywhere like some kind of fever dream.
The humans speak in different words now, although honestly I never understood English either, so this has not been a difficult transition for me.
People here love dogs.
Sometimes they bring me water. Sometimes treats. Sometimes they bend down and call me “bravo cane,” which apparently means I am an excellent citizen.
I already knew this.
One of my favorite things is going to restaurants with mommy and daddy. They sit for very long periods of time while I rest under the table like a furry security detail.
The only issue is other dogs.
When another dog walks by, I do feel it is important to announce myself loudly so everyone remains aware of the situation.
This has not always been appreciated.
Still, overall I believe my public behavior has been excellent.
We also visit many piazzas, which seem to be giant outdoor human gathering zones filled with conversations, footsteps, pigeons, espresso, and confusion.
They are exhausting.
I often collapse directly in the middle of traffic flow to recover.
Duomo in FlorenceDipping paw for first time in the MedMarketsAn actual china shop!GelatoMore gelato (dog specific!)What dog heaven is like
Yesterday, however, was the strangest experience yet.
We arrived somewhere with an alarming number of stairs.
An unreasonable number. A hostile number.
I was already emotionally preparing myself for the climb when I noticed something horrifying:
The stairs were moving.
I immediately lay down on the ground because clearly this was a terrible idea.
But mommy and daddy reassured me with pets and encouraging voices, which usually means they are about to force me into personal growth.
Daddy gently dragged me onto the moving stairs.
At first I trembled.
Then suddenly I realized something incredible:
THE STAIRS WERE DOING THE WALKING FOR ME.
Honestly? Revolutionary.
By the second escalator I was uncertain but cooperative.
By the third one I trotted right on like an experienced commuter.
I have changed as a dog.
Mommy later told people this story and her friend Sarah — Chester’s mom — apparently said, “You can teach an old dog new things.”
I was very proud to hear that.
Anyway, I thought it was time I explained what this whole Italy experience has been like from my perspective.
I want to pause for a moment and say how incredibly lucky we are to be able to bring Koji along on this adventure. And honestly, he’s pretty lucky too.
Koji is a rescue dog from a high-kill shelter in Tennessee. On Friday, May 15th, he turned 12 years old. As a larger dog, we’re starting to see signs of age creeping in a bit, but he is still unbelievably happy, curious, loving, and as healthy as we could hope for.
Because Daren, Koji, and I were fortunate enough to find one another — thanks to my son Tom, who originally petitioned for us to adopt him — I’ve been thinking a lot lately about giving back to other dogs and to the organizations that make stories like this possible.
That bumper sticker that says “Who rescued who?” really is true.
I recently created a small section on my website (Digital Downloads)where I’m sharing collections of digital iPhone wallpapers. Some are favorite older photos from the U.S., and others will be small collections inspired by our time here in Italy.
They’re simple instant downloads that cost just a few dollars, and all proceeds will be donated to the Cosgrove Animal Shelter in Branford, Connecticut.
If you’d like to support the joy, comfort, companionship, and second chances that rescue animals give so freely, feel free to download a photo you love.
It’s 9:03 at night. My body is exhausted. It’s 3pm back home.
Home… home is here for now. In Italy. It still feels too new to remember that without a little whiplash.
My mind is tired too—but wired. Jet lag has that strange rhythm where I can feel like I might fall asleep standing up, and then suddenly I’m wide awake again, almost normal. Until I get a good night or two of real sleep, I imagine I’ll feel a little disembodied—like I’m participating in my life, but it belongs to someone else.
But we are here. We are here. We did it! No other day ever will be the first day. It’s surreal. I’m too tired to be excited. Except for being tired, it feels oddly very normal. We are sitting on the sofa. There is no TV yet. Daren is reading. We are thinking about opening a laptop or iPad to watch something, but who are we kidding? We are exhausted.
Traveling Overseas with a Dog
The thing everyone wants to know about is Koji (the dog) and how we got him here. This was hands down the most worrisome part of the trip. It was such a great unknown. We had some idea of what would happen, but not really. And holy worry about how he’d feel and behave. If only he could understand human language, we could have warned him what was going to happen.
For anyone who hasn’t flown a dog in cargo before (I didn’t know anyone who has), let me say a little more about what happened.
We left from JFK. For Italy, the only direct flight that would take a dog was ITA, and because of his crate size (large – for a 70 lb dog) they couldn’t guarantee him on a flight until 72 hours before. Obviously that wasn’t going to work for us, so we had to fly non-direct through Frankfurt.
Koji had never been to an airport. We were concerned he’d be out of his mind with being overwhelmed, barking and sniffing like a lunatic. But weirdly he was normal. He just walked around next to us like he’d been doing this his whole life. There were a few barks when one of us had to stand in a different line – more or less to notify us that our group was broken up. But once we acknowledged that the human at his side knows where the other human is and has eyes on them, he was ok.
Once at JFK we had to check in at a special excess baggage area. Our other bags were checked at that time almost normally, but Koji’s check-in was different. We were to bring an airline-approved crate, large enough for him to stand and turn around. We did a lot of paperwork ahead of time, including a health exam 10 days prior to flying that needed to be perfectly timed to get his shipping information back from the USDA. We showed up with everything needed.
They didn’t take him right away. We were allowed to walk him around and bring him out to a pet relief area. They helped us time his departure from us perfectly so we had time to get through security with him having the least amount of time in the crate.
Koji hadn’t been in a crate in almost 12 years. To prepare for this, we brought the crate near his dog bed in the house several weeks ago. We made it seem normal and like a safe place. We had him sit in there for short periods at first, then with the door closed, then longer periods with the door closed. By the time we got to the airport yesterday, with all the excitement of the ride and the stimulation of the airport, he was sniffing his crate as if he wanted to go in there and shut out all the outside stimulation.
Finally the time came where we walked with him over to TSA. He dutifully went in and was loaded on a cart. He squeaked a little, didn’t bark, and we reassured him with positivity that this was ok, it wasn’t against our wishes. And we left.
That was hard, but we did it!
I’d love to say we didn’t worry about it or didn’t talk about him very much, but that would be untrue. I will say, though, that I thought about it and fretted about it a smidge less than I imagined I would.
Once in Rome we weren’t sure how to collect him either. No one really told us. I am scratching my head in hindsight about why we didn’t ask, but it also turned out not to be that big of a deal.
We followed the signs to the excess baggage, but when we saw it we didn’t think it possible that our dog would come out of there. I stayed near the area and the carousel while Daren went to ask about it. Meanwhile I searched the internet about how to do this. Daren came back to confirm what I also found out – that we were in the right place and Koji would be coming out there.
We were both informed that he’d likely be delivered about 30 minutes after the bags came out. So I went to get us some coffee and croissants. I was only gone a few minutes, but when I got back – there was Koji in his crate!
Side note – it was mandatory to zip-tie the crate. Daren wondered how we’d get the zip ties off if we couldn’t carry scissors with us in our carry-ons. I assured him that the airline would be aware of this and bring out something to cut the zip ties.
Also, a side note – which was quite funny: we had to tape his food and water to the top of the crate. So we were running around with zip ties and duct tape – like kidnappers or something. But no scissors.
Well I was wrong and Daren was right to question this. The porter (a non-English-speaking Italian porter, that is) came out and was surprised to see zip ties. No scissors in sight anywhere. I came back while Koji was practically levitating in his crate with excitement, and the porter was using a key to slowly saw away at the zip tie.
We finally got him out. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I’d be remiss not to say that I was surprised Koji was just himself. Very thirsty, but more or less his normal goofy self.
We collected our bags and proceeded to the car rental area. Koji trotted alongside me and the trolley cart like he’d been doing this his whole life. He even seemed to know where to go. I’m sure that was his nose picking up on the trail that many humans have traveled before us from baggage to the rentals, but it was weirdly and quickly business as usual for him.
On the way to the airport in the van transport, smiling! Trotting around the outside of the airport like it’s something he does on the regularChillaxing on the floor of JFK in front of his crate Made it to the other side! Just out of the crate. “Helping” daddy get the bags on the trolleySitting out on the porch with us – just like at home! Resting after the longest day of his dog life
DAY 2
We are just finding our way about.
Yesterday we hit up the stores to stock up on food and essentials. Our landlord and realtor highly suggested a shopping area that has a “Media World,” which is a Best Buy equivalent, and a really large grocery store. It’s kind of like a Walmart, but with more food and fewer non-food items. Not at Walmart prices though.
We were seriously there almost 3 hours. It was truly epic trying to find things in another language. I mean a lot of stuff is the same, like fruits and veggies, but things with labels in cans and boxes are not. I was undertaking the process of finding baking supplies. Some things I just couldn’t find and gave up and ordered on Amazon. Baking soda and baking powder were among the few.
We got back home and unloaded all the loot. That, plus making dinner and walking the dog, wiped us out for the rest of the day. We did squeeze in a short hike down the street where our landlord suggested.
Today was a true feat and success. We ventured out to get new Italian phone numbers and purchase a washer and dryer. Back to the Media World store we went, with some memorized words in Italian on our tongues, to do both – yes both. There is apparently a wireless service in this Media World.
We level-set our expectations based on the day before, anticipating that we would be in the store for a very long time.
We were quickly sidetracked. When we pulled into the parking lot Daren got a notification that our boxes from the States had been attempted for delivery, but the driver turned around because we didn’t answer the door. We’d only left like 10 minutes before! Of course that’s when they came.
We looked into the Send My Bags service we used and for some forsaken reason it said that if we weren’t home, to leave it with a neighbor, but the “neighbor” was a Tabaccheria. Huh?
A Tabaccheria, by the way, is a small corner type of 7/11-ish store with more cigarettes and lotto tickets than food, but the same idea.
We ended up sitting in the car on a live chat trying to figure out how we could pick up our boxes at a local DHL. We were so bummed to miss this delivery. We finally got it sorted and saw that we’d be able to pick up our boxes the next day.
Satisfied, we put on our armor and trudged back into Media World to attempt to communicate in a foreign language.
Amazingly – we walked out about an hour later with a washer and dryer on order, arriving by delivery with installation next week – AND new SIM cards and phone numbers.
Trying to figure out words and understand them is exhausting but also exhilarating. We were so excited that we’d accomplished this that we took ourselves out for lunch. We went to the piazza in town to one of the only places that was open. It was the kind of place my father would have loved and I would have hated, but the food was good! And quite inexpensive. However, we spent the whole meal messing around with our phones trying to figure out how to keep and use our American phone numbers and use the Italian data plan. With some Google and ChatGPT we were able to configure it all without too much fanfare.
At the end of lunch I checked my email and saw that 11 Amazon packages had arrived. Yikes! Then weirdly Daren got an email that our boxes from the U.S. were indeed delivered to a Tabaccheria. At the moment this Tabaccheria was closed and there were these boxes at home.
Side note: We are learning that almost all places close around 1pm and re-open around 3:30–4. They are serious about a lunch break! Wow. I can’t even fathom it. Most places open at 9 and then close at 7. It’s a 10-hour day, but with a really long break in between. I’m not sure how I feel about this yet.
We went back home to tend to these boxes. I was imagining how cramped we were probably making the walk past our apartment, and it turns out I wasn’t wrong!
Next we were off to the Tabaccheria to get our boxes from home, and entered the address in the GPS. This all seemed so crazy and we thought there was a slim chance our boxes would be there, especially considering how we asked them to be sent to DHL. We pulled into this tiny side street and waited a few minutes in the car until they re-opened at 3:30. We walked in with the Italian word for boxes just looked up and on our tongues, and behold… all 5 of our boxes were there! It was so exciting.
We grabbed them, came back home, and unpacked and unpacked. I assembled a coat rack. Daren messed around with installing a new TV our landlord dropped off. And exhausted… we had leftovers for dinner.
Daren went for his first run while I think I napped. He took these amazing photos.
Day 4
Just like at home I’m already returning stuff from Amazon. We hit up a Farmers Market. I finally found ginger. We stopped at a new grocery store and found cottage cheese! We were so happy. It was otherwise an uneventful day. I finally had most of the ingredients and implements to make our favorite things. We went home to open more boxes. I went to work making chocolate chip cookies, my favorite oatmeal nearly zero-point Weight Watchers cookies, compote, and my beloved ginger tea.
Day 5
First trip to Florence. Ever. It was a dual-purpose trip. One, to drop off our rental car and pick up our car subscription that we’d be using for the year. And the other reason was to declare my presence in Italy with the state police (Questura).
Mentally preparing to get yelled at by the Questura
The street navigation was the most annoying thing. At the moment Daren is furiously typing about it. I’ll let him elaborate.
The Questura, for what I needed to do, was quite a simple process, but a very long wait. My citizenship lawyer warned me about this so I was prepared. Everyone jokes here about Italian bureaucracy, but in all honesty it’s not that different from U.S. bureaucracy. I needed to do many things to prepare for this trip and to apply for Italian citizenship, and one of them was to get paperwork from the Department of Social Security. I speak the language, knew what I needed, and felt obviously confident enough to communicate this, but I also was prepared in the U.S. to get yelled at by a cranky federal employee (and I wasn’t wrong, I was talked to like I was a complete idiot) – both times I had to go down.
Side note: Why just me at the Questura, dnd why did we have to go? Well Daren got Irish citizenship a few years ago and can be in the EU without fanfare. And I can too for now with the 90-day pass American citizens have. But I will be applying for Italian citizenship as soon as a final piece of paper arrives. If we had flown directly into Italy and I came through the EU borders through Italy I wouldn’t have had to make this Questura stop. But because we had Koji and flown in through Germany, Italy didn’t know I was there so I had to let them know.
While at the Questura with my ticket to wait in line, Daren and Koji went to return the rental car. The area at the Questura was immigration. Here in Italy I am an immigrant. There were people from all over the world and walks of life and ages speaking all kinds of different languages. The main language the employees speak, of course, is Italian with very little English. Like in the U.S., the staff feel like if you will be in Italy you should try speaking Italian (who can blame them?). It was overwhelming and humbling to be there amongst all these other people trying to keep their paperwork in order.
I heard 3 women about my age speaking English with one another, each with different foreign accents. They were talking about how to cleanse from the negative energy of the Questura and the city. This was a conversation right up my alley! I went over to them and said I couldn’t help but overhear their exchange. They welcomed me, we exchanged names and countries of origin, and talked non-stop for the next hour or so. They all lived in Florence and were there for different reasons. All of them love yoga, one was even a yoga teacher. She and I exchanged contact information through WhatsApp. That was lovely. I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again, but it was nice to just speak English and meet new people.
This trip Beat Me Up. I was ready to call it a day by noon when I was done at the Questura but we pushed through it. We had lunch at an Indian place that allowed Koji to come inside – yes INSIDE! They gave him water (which he was very grateful for) and we enjoyed our first Indian meal (so good!).
We walked around a bit worried about how Koji would behave in a city. He is a well-traveled dog. He boated with us and visited our kids in college with us. He’s been up and down the East Coast and even to Canada, but he has spent very little time in cities. He surprised us by trotting alongside us like he’s been doing this his whole life! So we made our way from the car rental at the train station to the Duomo. Neither Daren nor I were wearing comfortable shoes. And the dog was kind of beat so we stopped there. But we felt victorious for making it to a monument, getting a car, and checking off this annoying task I had to do at the Questura.
Coffee and other things we are getting used to
Everyone knows that Europeans, Italians in particular, love strong black coffee. Small cups. When my father (from Italy) used to come to my house and see the cups of coffee we drank he would be annoyed. Every single time he had something to say about it. (Weirdly I remember my mother loving coffee just as much and making the same normal-size American cups and him not saying a word about it… but that is besides the point.) I know this intellectually. I’ve seen it. The rest stops have coffee counters with miniature cups. They look like something a child would play with in a tea set. The natives order their coffee, scoot to this counter, and drink this mini cup in record time and move on. I’m not sure what the purpose is except to caffeinate.
When our rental came with an American coffee maker I was quite happy. Daren does like the small strong black coffee and kind of said something to the effect of when in Rome, but I insisted that for me we keep this American coffee maker. The first day we were here we went to the only open grocery store (Lidl – yes, the same chain as in the U.S.) and bought a small super vacuum-packed bag of coffee, which was the only kind of coffee sold. We were jet-lagged, came back to our new home, and made coffee. It was delicious. The cups provided at the rental were quite small, and even though the coffee maker said 10 cups, it was about a cup and a half each.
To make a long story short…. After purchasing, then returning, mini coffee scoops…. And then buying a nice (I LOVE it) American coffee maker…. 10 cups in these European models do not mean what 10 cups in American models mean. There is no other size coffee scoop than the one we bought (and returned, thinking we bought too small a size). It is what it is. Even “American” coffee here is smaller. So we will either adjust to having about ½ the amount of coffee we enjoy in the morning or make 2 pots. Either way it was a week-long learning curve.
That is just one of the many silly things that tripped us up.
• How to navigate through a toll booth • Opening plastic tops from bottles • The necessity of weighing produce and putting a sticker on it to purchase it • Driving in downtown cities with secret zones where you need a pass (Daren will say more about) • 2 size plugs, the smaller type not being the converter size sold at airports and other places outside the EU zone
Daren’s take on Driving in Italy
Of all the adjustments an American needs to make while settling into life in Italy, I suspect that none are more challenging than learning how to handle a car and navigate in this new country. At first pass things seem very similar to home: cars drive on the right. Stop signs and traffic lights look the same, and cities are connected by an efficient system of highways with rest stops, overhead signs, construction alerts, and traffic updates. True, there are a lot more traffic circle and fewer traffic lights, but these are easy to handle and actually make driving smoother and more efficient. But after just a few days of driving, this comforting sense of similarity soon dissipates and the real differences become apparent. First, the roads: they are narrow, winding, and hilly. Even the highways, while extensive and well-marked, are much narrower with minimal shoulders and lots of curves and hills. While one gets used to this rather quickly, it requires a higher level of vigilance, especially since highway speeds tend to be faster than in the US, often 130km/hr (80 mph).
Getting gas is another learning experience. Where is the gas cap? How does it open? In our first vehicle the front door needed to be open to expose and open the cap. How do you activate the pump and pay? In one gas station you had to go to a pay station first and tap or insert your card. In others, you pump first and then pay inside. Not so difficult to handle, but just slightly different than our pay-at-the-pump simplicity in the US. And – these differences while nicely marked are in a foreign language so knowing what to do at each one presents a little more of a challenge.
Highway tolls are similar to the US and are easy to manage once you figure out the different lanes. You take a ticket when entering and, when exiting, either insert it into a machine and pay by tapping a credit card, or hand it to an attendant and pay them, depending on which toll booth lane you choose. Like the US, Italy has an “Easy Pass” that allows you to avoid cards and cash. Be careful not to accidentally drive through the “Easy Pass” lane as we did on our first sojourn. In so doing on entering the highway, we had no ticket with which to pay when we exited, requiring us to sneak through the gap in the toll gate! I am sure that the police are looking for us as it was added to a growing list of unintended infractions that we’ve been accumulating.
The other major violations we’ve committed occurred while driving in cities and entering zones where we weren’t allowed. Frustratingly, Apple or Google Maps knows nothing about this and simply maps out the best route to get to your destination, infraction zones be damned! We drove on streets indented only for buses and taxis. We nearly drove onto a tram track. Then we innocently drove on several streets that can only be accessed with “special permission”. These zones are indicated by a digital sign reading “ZTL” for Zona a Traffico Limitato. If it says “ ZTL Attivo”, that means it’s active and you need a special pass to enter. There is a sensor and a traffic camera capturing the identity of each car passing into the Zona. If you don’t have a digital sensor, like and Easy Pass, which you’ve paid for to enable you to pass into these zones, your plate is recorded and fines will be forthcoming. Add to this the fact that city streets are incredibly narrow. Motorcycles and souped up Vespas are flying all around you, trucks are double parking in front of Medieval walls and ancient stone buildings, all while clueless pedestrians (Americans no doubt), are swarming all around with little regard for cross walks.
Then suddenly a road becomes a market and you have to squeeze past food and vegetable stalls, cafes, and throngs of shoppers. Chairs and tables may need to be moved to enable your errant car to pass. And then suddenly a paved road changes to cobblestones and our dental fillings are all jarred out onto the floor mats.
After surviving a drive into Florence to address some bureaucratic residency paperwork and exchange rental cars, we vowed never to drive into an Italian city again, assuming we are not already banned from driving at all by the Italian police. There is a reason why Italy has an excellent system of trains and trams. They are there to help people avoid driving modern vehicles on streets designed for mules, horses, and maybe an occasional oxcart.
For now
This morning it’s Saturday (3/7/26 or as in Italy would be writting 7/3/26), and we finally feel a bit settled. We put together this blog and spent the morning over coffee, writing, and reminiscing about the week we just had. We wanted to capture it all before it’s a distant memory! Onto the next.
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