I Came to Italy Looking for the Mediterranean Diet

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Nearly 7 months later, I’ve not found it. Not because vegetables, beans, olive oil and whole foods don’t exist here, I mean of course they do. But what Americans call “the Mediterranean diet” and what I’ve encountered while actually living and traveling in Italy are two completely different things.

So how exactly did Americans like me come to believe that Italians eat the way American nutritionists tell us to eat “Mediterranean”?

Where is the Mediterranean diet?

I’m standing in yet another Italian breakfast bar. The case is filled with cornetti (croissants): plain, cream, chocolate, pistachio, Nutella. I watch person after person order one with an espresso, eat it standing at the counter lickety-split, gulp down two euros’ worth of teeny-tiny espresso and take off like their pants are on fire.

Me? I’m still looking around for something to eat and wondering: Where are the whole grains? The fruit? The protein? For Pete’s sake, where is the fiber?

I came here believing I was moving to the homeland of one of the world’s healthiest diets. After six and a half months, I’m starting to wonder whether the Mediterranean diet is something Americans think they should eat because Italians supposedly eat it and are, supposedly, healthier for it.

First surprise: This is breakfast?

Breakfast is not really a thing here in Italy. At least not the kind of breakfast I know. In fact, it’s pretty much the antithesis of everything I was taught about a good start to the day.

For “food,” there’s a cornetto, pastry, dry (and I mean dusty kind of dry) cookies or biscuits, Nutella, white bread or rusks, and maybe some jam. This is washed down with a sip of teeny-tiny espresso, even smaller than the shot (or two, or three) we ask to be added to our drip coffee at the coffee shop when we need and extra boost. Sweet thing in one hand, coffee in the other, eaten standing up.

Unless I eat at home or stay in a hotel that offers a full breakfast buffet, finding breakfast as an actual meal is mostly not possible. We’ve taken to bringing our own fruit, oatmeal and yogurt when we travel. Even in tourist areas, there may be one or two places with something resembling pancakes. And the closest thing to pancakes by-the-way, may be crêpes – with Nutella, of course.

To be fair, Italians aren’t trying to make breakfast a balanced meal. It’s small by design. Dinner tends to be much, much later, and maybe people just aren’t that hungry first thing in the morning. It’s culturally different from the American expectation of what breakfast should be.

But I still can’t help wondering: If breakfast isn’t where the fiber, fruit, vegetables or protein are coming from, where are they coming from?

Seriously. Where is the fiber?

There is a lot of bread in Italy, as you might imagine. A LOT. But so much of what I see is white bread, white pasta, pizza, focaccia and cornetti. Refined flour everywhere. I continue to be surprised by how difficult it can be to find whole-grain choices, especially when we’re traveling.

I’ve heard about the Mediterranean diet for years. I was imagining beans, lentils, chickpeas, vegetables, whole grains and nuts. Weren’t you?

And I’m not just talking about restaurant food. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time with my family in Calabria, in the south of Italy – the very part of the country that figures so prominently in the Mediterranean-diet story. I can’t remember ever being served legumes. I ate fish with them once. Their staples are cheese, salami, cured meats, beef, pork and pasta. When I told them I’m mostly vegetarian, they were unsure what to say.

Being mostly vegetarian in the land of the Mediterranean diet

“Whata? You don’ta eata the meata? Butta why? I don’ta undastanda!”

And then sausage appears anyway. There is genuine bewilderment. Head pulled back. Confused look. Sometimes I think they assume something has been lost in translation, because I’ll turn my head and when I look back there are meatballs, pork, salami or cured meats on my plate, food I am certain I didn’t put there.

I’ve tried explaining that I limit meat for my health, that too much bothers my stomach, that I love animals and prefer not to eat very much of it. This mostly seems to make me more of an alien.

And that got me thinking about something I hadn’t considered before coming here. Nutritionists have turned the Mediterranean diet into a health practice. I haven’t encountered many Italians who necessarily think of their food as an avenue to health. Food is family, region, pleasure, identity and tradition. Health has little to do with it.

The Mediterranean Diet™ vs. the Italian diet

The “Mediterranean diet” described in American health literature really does exist. It’s a defined way of eating built around vegetables, fruit, legumes, whole grains, nuts and olive oil, with relatively little red and processed meat.

Where I went wrong was assuming that meant: This is what people living in Italy eat today. It doesn’t.

The idea of the Mediterranean diet grew out of research beginning in the 1950s, when American physiologist Ancel Keys studied populations in places including Southern Italy. The people he observed ate lots of vegetables, beans, grains, bread and olive oil, with relatively little meat, dairy or sugar.

But there was another piece of the story I had never really considered: they were eating this way partly because of the realities of the time. Meat was expensive, most people were relatively poor and they were far more physically active. Food was local and seasonal. What we now romanticize as cucina povera was quite literally the food of people who didn’t have much money.

Over time, researchers took the healthiest parts of that way of eating and developed them into the dietary pattern we now call the Mediterranean diet. Meanwhile, Italy changed. Economic prosperity made meat, cheese, sweets and other once-limited foods much more available. Lifestyles changed too. Researchers even returned to Nicotera, Calabria—one of the communities involved in the early Mediterranean-diet research—and found that by the 1990s the people living there had moved substantially away from the eating pattern observed decades earlier. Suddenly my experience in my homeland region of Calabria started making a lot more sense.

The Mediterranean diet is a dietary pattern inspired by how certain Mediterranean populations ate at a particular point in history. It isn’t a promise that this is how people living around the Mediterranean eat today. Apparently I arrived looking for a diet whose heyday I missed by about 70 years.

Wait—Italy has an obesity problem?

In my mind’s eye, I pictured this glowing, healthy, slightly tanned population with shiny hair and beautiful skin, nourished by olive oil, fresh produce and lots of legumes. Then I got here and looked around. Eventually I started looking at the numbers (my old data analyst job in my bones).

In 2023, 19% of Italian children ages eight and nine were overweight and another 9.8 percent had obesity. More surprising to me was where those numbers were highest. Italy’s national health institute reports a clear geographic divide, with childhood excess weight more common in the south.

Campania is particularly striking. In 2023, 24.6% of children were overweight, 12.6% had obesity and another 6% had severe obesity. That’s more than four in ten kids. Sicily was also above the national average, with 33.9% of children carrying excess weight.

These are some of the very places we picture when we talk about traditional Mediterranean eating. Adults have a similar story. National surveillance data from 2020–2021 found that about 43% of Italian adults ages 18–69 were either overweight or obese, again with excess weight more common in Southern Italy and Campania recording the highest prevalence.

There is an important caveat: Italy isn’t simply getting fatter every year. Childhood overweight has actually fallen since national monitoring began in 2008–2009, and childhood obesity declined from 12% to 9.8%, although that decline has mostly leveled off since 2014.

So this isn’t a story about Italians abandoning the Mediterranean diet and suddenly becoming obese. It’s more complicated than that. None-the-less, I still find the contradiction fascinating. Some of the places most closely associated in our imagination with the famously healthy Mediterranean way of eating are now the same places struggling the most with excess weight.

Fresh doesn’t automatically mean healthy

Americans romanticize the idea of fresh food in Italy: locally made sausage, fresh mozzarella, handmade white pasta, bread baked just this morning, local wine, prosciutto from the guy down the road….

While all of these things are indeed fresh, traditional, local and absolutely delicious; none of those adjectives automatically makes something healthy. I think as Americans we may have bundled local + handmade + European + traditional together and somehow arrived at healthy. Apparently, if the pig lived within a 20-kilometer radius and someone’s nonno personally turned it into sausage, the saturated fat no longer counts.

We do the same thing with bread. At home we know that for better health, white bread should be replaced with whole grain. But white bread made this morning by a fourth-generation baker in a tiny Tuscan village? Suddenly we’re discussing the craftsmanship. The flour hasn’t magically acquired fiber because I can see a bell tower from the bakery.

And then there’s cheese. Fresh mozzarella may be worlds apart in taste and processing from an individually wrapped slice of American cheese, but that doesn’t transform cheese into broccoli. Local wine doesn’t become water because the grapes grew on the hill behind the restaurant. Prosciutto is still processed meat even when you know the name of the farmer—and possibly the pig.

None of this means these foods are bad or that we shouldn’t enjoy them. I certainly have. It just means fresh, local, traditional, artisan are not synonyms for healthy. Sometimes a beautiful loaf of bread is simply a beautiful loaf of white bread, and a locally produced sausage is still… well a sausage.

And then there is the wine

For decades, wine, particularly red wine- somehow earned a supporting role in the Mediterranean health story. Many of us grew up hearing that a glass of red wine with dinner was actually good for us. And some of us (my hand in the air) assumed that if one glass is good, more is even better and developed a problem.

It was part of the image: fresh vegetables, olive oil, a little fish, a leisurely meal and, naturally, a glass of local red wine. Very civilized, very European, and practically medicinal! Except the health conversation around alcohol has changed. The supposed protective benefits of any kind of drinking have come under increasing scrutiny, and major health organizations now emphasize that alcohol carries health risks even at relatively low levels of consumption.

That doesn’t mean no one should enjoy a glass of Chianti. It means that being local, traditional and served beside a bowl of olives doesn’t turn alcohol into a health food. Wine is also part of the culture here in a way that’s difficult to appreciate until you’re living in it. It appears at lunches, dinners, celebrations, tastings and family gatherings, and declining it can sometimes generate considerably more interest than I ever expected.

Somehow, I’m the nutritional oddball

One thing I didn’t expect was how often my food choices would become a topic of conversation.

Saying I don’t eat much meat can be met with genuine bewilderment, often followed by another attempt to feed me meat. Looking for whole grains or asking about vegetarian options can make me feel like I’ve announced some complicated dietary disorder when really I’d just like to eat some greens sometimes.

I’ve had people seem almost concerned about what I eat while I’m standing there wondering how I’m the nutritional oddball in this situation. To be fair, this isn’t everyone. I’ve met Italians who eat very differently but it’s not the norm and it still has surprised me.

Before coming to Italy, I assumed that being interested in vegetables, legumes and whole grains and eating less meat would make me fit naturally into Mediterranean food culture. Instead, at times, I’ve felt remarkably American for wanting to eat the very foods Americans have been told are Mediterranean.

My unlikely Italian health-food store

After all my romantic expectations of shopping in tiny Italian markets, one of the places where I’ve most reliably found hummus, vegan products, whole grains and other foods that work for me is… Drum roll, please…

Lidl. Yes. Lidl.

Oddly enough something interesting I notice at Lidl is that the shoppers seem much more internationally diverse than what I encounter in many traditional Italian grocery stores. I hear different languages and see people from many different backgrounds. And the store itself feels remarkably like Lidl in the U.S., right down to the coin for the cart and the warehouse look.

But here’s the thing: I can consistently find whole-grain fresh bread, hummus, tofu, vegan products, smoked salmon and other staples that are either nonexistent or require way too much hunting in some traditional Italian grocery stores.

I moved to Italy and apparently found my health-food haven in a German discount supermarket. I did not see that coming.

So was the Mediterranean diet a lie?

Not at all, but I did misunderstood what the name meant.

There is good evidence behind the dietary pattern we call the Mediterranean diet. Its historical roots in Mediterranean communities are real. Those diets really did feature olive oil, vegetables, legumes, nuts, fruit and whole grains. What isn’t true is the assumption I brought with me: that modern Italians necessarily eat this way simply because they live by the Mediterranean Sea.

And I don’t think I was completely crazy for expecting to find it here. Americans constantly hear “Mediterranean diet” accompanied by photographs of Tuscan farmhouses, Italian grandmothers, baskets of tomatoes, bottles of olive oil and beautiful rustic tables. Of course we connect the health benefits with the people living here now.

After actually living here, I’ve realized that Italy’s food culture and “the Mediterranean diet” are related, but they aren’t synonymous. And now, after all the research, traveling, family meals and restaurant menus, I walk into an Italian bar in the morning and see the same familiar lineup. Cornetti. Nutella. Espresso.

I’m no longer wondering where they’re hiding the Mediterranean diet. This is the Italian diet. The Mediterranean diet is something else.

If you enjoyed this blog – comment, like or share it with others who may be interested.

Namaste!

A Two-Week Tour of Southern Italy

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

By Daren & Esterina Anderson

We’ve just returned from a two-week swing through southern Italy and have plenty of reflections to share. Our itinerary included some of the country’s most iconic destinations—Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast—as well as lesser-known areas in Calabria, including Tropea and the region around Crotone.

We knew there was a North/South divide in Italy before this trip—but only because we had started looking into it when we were planning our move. Before that, it really wasn’t something we understood or thought much about, despite having been here, watching movies about Italy, and knowing plenty of people with Italian roots. What we didn’t realize is that it’s not exactly something people talk about openly here.

It seems to fall into that category of topics that carry some weight. Not necessarily hidden, but not casually discussed either. And that makes sense, given how much history—and reality—is tied up in it. At the same time, if we didn’t really understand it until recently, we’re guessing a lot of our family and friends don’t either. So we’re going to share what we’re learning!

Part of the reason this divide isn’t widely understood—especially from an American perspective—is because, from the outside, Italy is presented as one cohesive, romantic place. And if you’re just visiting, that’s how it feels. Most trips hit the same highlights—Rome, Florence, Venice, the Amalfi Coast. They’re all beautiful, welcoming, and very used to tourists. It ends up feeling like one seamless experience rather than a collection of very different regions. The deeper differences—economic, cultural, even linguistic—aren’t obvious on a short trip.

Then there’s the version of “Italian culture” many of us grew up with in the U.S., which was largely shaped by Southern Italian immigrants. Over time, that became its own blended identity—food, language, energy, traditions—and it’s easy to assume that’s what all of Italy feels like.

But it’s not that simple. The divide here isn’t dramatic or immediately visible. You can be in both the north and the south and still see stunning towns, have incredible food, and enjoy everyday Italian life. The differences show up more subtly—in how things function, in opportunities, in infrastructure, and in the pace and tone of daily life.

A lot of this traces back to history that most of us were never really taught. Italy only became a unified country in 1861. Before that, it was a collection of separate regions, and they didn’t all develop in the same way. The north industrialized more quickly, while the south faced longer-term economic challenges.

We also tend to generalize countries a bit. We’re used to thinking in big terms. But Italy is incredibly regional—it’s almost like visiting very different parts of the U.S. and calling it all the same experience.

Before we made the move to Italy, we watched a documentary on Italian immigration patterns. It wasn’t until then that we realized that almost all the Italians we knew in the U.S. just happened to have roots from the Naples area, Sicily, and Calabria. It always felt like a coincidence—one of those things you hardly notice so never question. But it’s not a coincidence at all.

We learned the earliest large waves of Italian emigration began in the late 1800s—roughly the 1870s through the early 1900s. At that time, many of the immigrants leaving Italy were from the northern regions, like Piedmont, Veneto, and Lombardy. Many went to South America, particularly Argentina and Brazil, where there was a strong demand for labor and a culture that, in many ways, felt more familiar. But over time the trend changed.

Northern Italy started to industrialize and become more economically stable, while the southern regions—areas like Campania (Naples), Calabria, and Sicily—faced deeper, more systemic poverty and fewer opportunities.

By the late 1800s into the early 1900s, it was southern Italians who began leaving in large numbers. Many still went to South America—again to places like Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay—but by then those regions were becoming saturated with immigrants. Again the migration patterns changed.

This is when large numbers of Italians began immigrating to North America, particularly between about 1880 and 1920. They came to cities like New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Chicago, settling into tight-knit communities that many of us still recognize today.

However, unlike earlier migrations, they weren’t always welcomed. Southern Italians, in particular, faced significant discrimination and had to work incredibly hard, often in difficult conditions, to build a life here. Over time, though, they did what immigrants always do—built communities, held onto their traditions, adapted where they needed to, and slowly became part of the fabric of the country.

And so, somewhere along the way, that became the version of “Italian” that many of us grew up with. The food, the energy, the family dynamics—the pizza, the pasta, the loud kitchens and big tables. It’s such a strong and beautiful culture. But it’s also just one part of a much bigger, more complex story.

When you step back and look at Italy overall, you can start to see how all of this may have shaped the divide that still exists today. Entire generations left the south in search of opportunity, while the north continued to industrialize and build wealth. Over time, that created two very different realities within the same country—something that doesn’t just disappear, even after more than a century.

This divide is rooted in history, geography, and economics. Exploring it could easily fill its own blog post, but it’s worth noting that southern Italy is generally less affluent, less developed, and less urbanized than the north, with distinct cultural differences.

What it may lack in infrastructure, however, it more than makes up for—with dramatic scenery, stunning coastlines, rugged mountains, exceptional food, and deep historical roots… most of which we’re only just beginning to explore.

An artistic arrangement featuring a wooden map of Italy, surrounded by traditional Italian dishes such as pasta, risotto, pesto, and fresh tomatoes, set against a backdrop of red, white, and green wooden planks, symbolizing the Italian flag.

So enough on this history lesson & let us tell you about our trip!

Southern Italy

Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast

Our trip began in Sorrento, often considered the gateway to the Amalfi Coast. Perched on a peninsula just south of Naples, Sorrento sits in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, whose looming presence feels especially ominous if you’re familiar with the story of Pompeii.

Reaching Sorrento involves driving through Naples and then through a series of long tunnels cut through the mountains. Our first impression wasn’t especially favorable: heavy traffic, tight roads, and a seemingly endless swarm of scooters operating by their own unwritten rules. They zipped past us on both sides—even crossing into oncoming traffic on narrow two-lane roads—creating a constant, buzzing chaos that made the drive more stressful than scenic.

After one night in a disappointing rental, we relocated to a comfortable hotel just outside of town. Over the next few days, our impressions improved. We found spots to take in the stunning clifftop views over the Bay of Naples and toward the island of Ischia, enjoyed a few excellent meals, and spent time relaxing by the pool.

Sorrento itself is undeniably touristy. Even in mid-April, the streets were crowded with tour groups, and the narrow shopping lanes were often packed.

One unmistakable theme of the region is lemons. They are everywhere—growing in groves tucked into backyards and terraced along steep hillsides. Many trees are covered with wooden frames and green netting to protect them from the elements. In town, lemon motifs appear on everything from clothing to ceramics to linens. And Esterina just had to buy a pair of lemon pants that she is wearing every few days now.

We took two successive day trips to the Amalfi coast starting with Positano, the first major town on the Amalfi Coast when traveling west to east. The drive alone was unforgettable: narrow, winding roads climbing over mountains before descending toward the sea, with breathtaking views at every turn.

Positano itself is a nearly vertical town cascading down toward the water. It’s undeniably beautiful, though heavily touristed. Still, it charmed us. We had one of the best meals of the trip there—gnocchi and fresh local fish—while Koji rested contentedly under the table. Linen clothing is practically a uniform in the Amalfi towns, and I (Daren) couldn’t resist adding a few pieces to my summer wardrobe.

The beaches here are dark and rocky, shaped by the region’s volcanic origins. Even in April, people were sunbathing and swimming. Koji braved a quick dip; we, lacking swimsuits, did not.

On a second day we came back to see the town of Amalfi itself. While undeniably picturesque from a distance, we found the town smaller, more crowded, and less appealing than Positano. Its narrow spaces felt more congested and shaded, and the density of tourists diminished its charm. In contrast, the journey along the coast—with its dramatic cliffs and buildings perched impossibly above the sea—was the true highlight.

On the way back, we stopped in Maiori, just a few miles away but worlds apart in atmosphere. With a long beach, a relaxed promenade, and far fewer tourists, it felt more authentic. After a leisurely seafood lunch, we spent an hour simply lying on the beach, listening to the waves.

Overall, we left the Amalfi region with mixed feelings. The scenery is undeniably spectacular, but even in shoulder season, the crowds, traffic, and overtourism detract from the experience. It’s hard to imagine what peak summer must be like.

A highlight of our trip was a guided visit to Pompeii which sits between Naples and Sorrento and was easily reached by a ½ hour ride on the regional commuter rail line. With an archaeologist as our guide, the ancient city came vividly to life. Though roofs have largely collapsed under volcanic debris, the layout of streets, buildings, and public spaces remains remarkably intact. We were especially fascinated by the bathhouses, with their distinct hot, warm, and cold rooms, as well as the preserved mosaics and roadways. Our guide’s insights into language—particularly the connection between Latin and modern languages—added an extra layer of interest.

Calabria: Tropea and Beyond

After five days in Sorrento, we headed south to Calabria. The drive itself was a highlight, passing through rolling farmland, green hills, and fields dotted with wildflowers. As we moved farther south, the landscape became more rugged and developed.

Our destination was Tropea, often called the “jewel of Calabria.” Perched atop cliffs overlooking a striking white sand beach, it’s easy to see why. There, we met Esterina’s brother Frank and his girlfriend Mary, who joined us after spending several days in Rome.

Tropea is small but charming, with lots of nice restaurants and a relaxed pace. While still a tourist destination, it felt far more local, with relatively few international visitors. It was beautiful, but a bit rough around the edges. We spent our time enjoying seafood, relaxing on the beach, staying active, and learning about the region’s famous red onions—renowned across Italy for their sweetness and featured prominently in local cuisine.

Family in Crotone

Our final stop was with family in and around Rocca di Neto, near Crotone. As on previous visits, we were welcomed warmly and treated to incredible food and conversation. It was also our best opportunity yet to practice Italian, as few family members speak English.

This visit held special significance: Esterina and Frank brought their father’s remains to be placed in the family mausoleum alongside previous generations.

We spent a day exploring Crotone’s old town and its quiet seaside promenade before gathering for one last family dinner. Crotone, like Tropea, was a mix of historic charm and grittiness. The next morning, we began the long drive back north to Tuscany.

Esterina wrote a lot more about this section of the trip a few days back. You can read about it here: https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/04/26/home-can-be-more-than-a-place/

Final Reflections
Each place we visited had something to offer—and something that didn’t quite land. Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast are undeniably stunning, but also incredibly crowded. Tropea’s beaches are beautiful, but the town itself felt a bit worn, with visible garbage and public spaces that seem overlooked.

But what stayed with us most was the time we spent with family. It was a simple reminder that keeps coming back to us—where you are matters, but who you’re with matters more. And in the end, that’s the part we’ll remember.

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

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Home Can Be More Than a Place

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

This week was all about family.

Long before our move to Italy, we had planned a trip to Rocca di Neto for April of 2026. I turned 50 in February and wanted to go to Italy to see where my father grew up and connect with my relatives. At the time, I was even hoping my father would be able to come too.

My father hadn’t been back to Italy in about 20 years. For his 70th birthday, my brother Mario and I helped him renew his green card so he could get his passport and travel again. This April would have been the perfect time.

Running in the background of all of this since 2018 was my effort to obtain Italian citizenship.

I had worked with a lawyer for a few years who suggested that the fastest path might be to move to Italy temporarily and apply from here. At the time, that didn’t feel realistic. We had kids still in school and jobs that wouldn’t allow for that kind of move. Who has the luxury of just packing up and heading to Italy “for a while”?

So I gathered all the paperwork and began the process through the Italian consulate in the United States. Because we live in Connecticut, that meant going through the New York City consulate. The wait time for an appointment there is several years long. After years of gathering and translating the correct documents, I added my name to the list in June of 2022 and still haven’t received an appointment.

Then last year, everything shifted in ways we couldn’t imagine.

I unexpectedly retired. Not long after, my father passed away in August. The months surrounding that were a whirlwind of family chaos and change. Daren was still working full time, but we started talking about what we really wanted next.

We both wanted to keep working—but in a way that allowed for more flexibility, less stress, and more control over our time.

And suddenly, moving to Italy for a year didn’t feel unrealistic anymore. It felt right.

After my father passed, the three of us—his children—made the decision that Pops would still go to Rocca in April. We cleared it with the family in Italy, who thought it was a great idea. This week, we carried that plan out.

Before moving to Italy, we had even considered settling in Calabria to be closer to family. We visited the area last October. I had met many of my relatives before in the United States when they visited.

When we arrived last fall, we were welcomed at the small airport in Crotone by my uncle and two aunts. The airport is so small they were practically at the gate. Even though it had been many years since we had seen one another, we all recognized each other right away.

And then came the welcome.

It was like the movies—one long table, full of food, constant conversation, introductions, laughter. We spent a few days with them, fully immersed in it all.

For me, it truly felt like home.

I lost my mom when she was 49, and my dad last summer. For the past 15 years or so, my father didn’t really have a place of his own, so “going home” meant going to newer places that were fine, but didn’t have a deep connection to me.

But in Italy—even having not been there since I was very little—it felt familiar.

My relatives’ homes were decorated the same way my parents decorated. The same types of frames, candy dishes, the same overall feel and aesthetic.

My uncle Joe and his wife even had the same dishes my parents had. My aunt said it was because she and my mom bought them at the same time.

My aunt Sarah’s food tastes just like my mom’s did. It’s uncanny—especially the rabbit sauce. When I told her this, she said it was because her mom (my grandmother, and my mom’s mother-in-law) taught them both how to make it.

We don’t know each other well, but my cousins—especially the men—have the same mannerisms as my father and brothers. The same humor, the same playful energy. They laugh and carry on with the same joy we had when my father was alive.

The language barrier was there, but it was also strangely fun to navigate. We made it work.

When we visited last fall, we seriously considered moving closer to them.

There are real benefits. It’s much easier to practice Italian when people are patient and willing to wait while you find the words or look them up. Learning feels more natural that way.

But Calabria is far south and not close to major international travel routes. With four adult children and family back home, we felt more at ease staying connected and accessible. Being that far away made us feel just a little too vulnerable.

And even though we didn’t move here, we are driving away, having carried out the plan to bring Pops back to his hometown on Rocca.

Thursday we packed into few cars and made the short trip up the road to local town cemetery where the family has a mausoleum. We placed my father’s ashes amongst the other relatives that have passed alongside his parents (my grandparents). 

My brother Frankie and his partner Mary were with us this time, and Daren and I took immense joy in seeing how quickly they were welcomed and made to feel at home—that they were with family.

It was special to see the experience we had before through their eyes, and to be back in it ourselves—this time understanding just a little bit more of the rhythm and the sounds around us.

Calabria feels like home. Not because I had been there before—but because so much of it already lived in me. The way people gather, the way meals are shared, the way homes are filled with the same small details I grew up with.

It made me realize that home isn’t always a place you return to. Sometimes it’s something that travels quietly through generations—carried in traditions, in mannerisms, in the way people connect with each other.

Being with people I barely know, in a place I had never lived, somehow—and truly—feels like home. It All Clicks.

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

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