Learning the Rhythm of Italy

Posted on 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 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!

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

When You’re the Stranger

Posted on 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 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!

Expensive (caro) Tropean onions!

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
Koji getting to dip his paws in the Med

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.

Daren’s Perspective: Manifesting a Dream

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

I’ve had a lot of time recently to reflect on dreams. Not the kind you have while sleeping, but the things we wish for, hope for, and sometimes, if we are lucky, plan for. I’ve been struck by how many people, when they hear about our plans to move to Italy, say that we’re living their dream. It seems that lots of people—including us—have imagined living abroad, and particularly in Italy. And with good reason.

Italy is the land of La Dolce Vita. It’s a place of great food, famous landmarks, incomparable art, and fascinating history. Everyone has seen images of its stunning hillside towns and seaside villages perched on cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. These images seem to live in our collective consciousness.

Over the past two weeks our own dream became manifest as Esterina and I packed up our home, our dog, my bicycle, five boxes, and six suitcases and moved to Tuscany. We were excited to the point of giddiness as our plane lifted off. But as we arrived and drove into town toward our new home, I have to confess that I felt more than a little trepidation.

As I thought about where this feeling was coming from, I realized that when you act to realize a dream you are taking a big chance and putting yourself at risk. Now the dream has to deliver. What if it doesn’t? What if it’s not everything you imagined? Honestly, how could it be?

In the contemplative stage of creating and sustaining a dream, we build images in our mind’s eye of what that dream will be like. Often those images come from photographs, movies, and social media. Dreams contain the best vision of what we expect to see and experience, but they leave out the more mundane aspects of daily life.

So as we drove up the steep cobblestone street, turned into the driveway and began unpacking boxes, I experienced an odd blending of dream and reality. There was a gorgeous Tuscan vista from our pool, looking out over the hills. From our window we could see small hilltop towns and farms. Roosters crowed, sheep bleated, and everything was in bloom.

Superimposed on this, however, were the practical realities of daily life: learning about recycling and garbage collection; navigating a somewhat gritty town to find the grocery store; figuring out cell phone plans; and simply establishing a routine of sleeping, eating, and dog walking in a new—and very hilly—place.

None of this is to say that dreams don’t live up to their promise. They certainly can. So far, this one is doing pretty well.

A few days ago we took a day trip to San Gimignano, a truly spectacular medieval hilltop walled city. As we walked up the main street toward the piazza, I felt as if I were experiencing exactly the visions I’d imagined from my armchair back in Branford—almost to the point of déjà vu. The city was storybook beautiful and gave the strong impression of transporting us back in time.

This morning we took Koji for a walk down a hill and along a babbling stream in the woods. The air was fresh and the early morning was filled with birdsong.

But I do think that when we dream about something, we exclude the mundane in favor of the sublime. Part of making a dream real involves blending the best of what we’d hoped for with the humdrum elements of everyday life. So far, it’s a heady mix.

So what have we seen and done that has matched—or even exceeded—expectations?

First, Tuscany is truly spectacular in a way that photographs simply can’t capture. The hills are dotted with towns and farms and covered with olive groves and vineyards. The sun and clouds of early spring create an ever-changing play of light and color that transforms the landscape from moment to moment.

Tuscan buildings are colorful—hues of yellow, orange, and brown—highlighted by dark green or brown shutters and brick arches.

The towns themselves are gorgeous. Perched on hilltops and often enclosed by ancient stone walls, each one centers around a piazza with a church and a bell tower that rings out the hours. Everything feels ancient, but beautiful. There is even a slight shabbiness that adds character to the scene. Laundry hanging from windows reminds you that these are not tourist theme parks but real towns where real people live their lives.

And the food really is better.

Whether from the local farmers’ market or the grocery store, everything tastes fresher. I had assumed this might prove to be a cliché, but it’s absolutely true. Yesterday we shopped at a local market and bought fresh onions, artichokes, and tomatoes, along with cheese from a small cheese shop. Even the meat and produce from the grocery store are noticeably more flavorful than what we typically find back in the United States.

We’ve done a lot in two weeks. We are approaching each new day with excitement, grateful for the chance to watch this chapter unfold. We’ll walk the dog, exercise, and cook oatmeal. And we’ll take in the vistas, admire Renaissance art, and enjoy fresh pasta.  Perhaps that’s what it really means to live a dream—not escaping ordinary life but discovering that even the ordinary moments are part of it.

Settling into Italy – Week 2

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Saturday, March 14, 2026

Back in 2010, when Daren and I first got together, I remember my brother Mario talking about a theory he had about slowing down life. At the time I was only 34 and thought I was so old, and of course—like all of us—I thought slowing life down sounded important. I won’t go into Mario’s really cool theory here, but it does involve shaking things up and changing your baseline.

Why am I saying this? Because as I sit down this Saturday morning to write about our experience in Italy, I’m floored that it’s only been a week. It feels like so much longer—and that, my friends, is a good thing. It feels like a month has gone by in a week, and at least for this week my life has slowed down.

One truly amazing thing for me that began this week was my sleep. For nearly the past year—ever since I first started thinking early retirement might be possible—I’ve been waking in the middle of the night and struggling for at least an hour or two to fall back asleep. At first it was the possibility that early retirement could happen. Then it was waiting for the VA’s interpretation of early retirement rules. Then the paperwork finally came out. I applied. I was approved. I had two weeks left of work.

Then my father-in-law got into a bike accident. There were issues with one of the kids. My father had his last hospital visit and subsequently passed away. And then we realized that with my retirement, Daren could also retire—and we decided that we wanted to move to Italy so I could pursue Italian citizenship and we could experience at least a year living in another country.

Daren’s retirement. Kid issues. Turning 50. All the excitement, setbacks, and obstacles had me waking up around 2:30 every night.

Until this week.

It’s been at least five nights now that I’ve slept soundly. I cannot tell you how refreshing this is. I feel like a new person.

Slower time—and a good night’s sleep—will do that to you.

So what have we been up to?

Saturday, March 7

We last blogged last Saturday.

That afternoon, after sending the link to our blog out to friends, loved ones, and social media, we went for a hike. Daren had been exploring more on foot than I had, so we took the dog, donned the hiking boots, and set out to walk.

There are multiple hiking trails right off our property—some literally starting on the property and others just down the street. The day was absolutely gorgeous. Spring is blooming here: daffodils, flowering trees, and tons of tiny wildflowers everywhere—on the walls, alongside roads, in the grass. It’s so pretty. Everything feels new to us and new to the season. It almost feels like providence that we arrived just as the season is opening up for a new experience.

Side note: Last week we ended up shopping every single day. While still in the U.S. I made a really good list of what we’d need to purchase upon arrival (a lot more than you’d think). Right before we left I placed a large Amazon order for items we knew we needed immediately—dog food, a dog bed, vitamins—things for which we wouldn’t want to spend much time comparison-shopping.

After that, though, we wanted to shop locally as much as possible.

We both love to cook, and when you start from scratch with spices, ingredients, and kitchen implements—bowls, measuring cups, a hand mixer, rubber spatulas, just to name a few—you end up needing an obscene amount of things. Cooking, health, and baking are important to us, so it was worth the trips and expense, but it definitely took some doing.

Back to Saturday… after hiking and feeling refreshed, we (not surprisingly) needed to shop again. We left the dog at home this time and decided we’d like to go out for gelato for the first time before shopping.

It was about 2 p.m., and we hadn’t really explored our own town yet, so we headed toward the town square. What we’ve been repeatedly surprised by is how everything closes in the middle of the afternoon. This is no joke. Even the gelato shop was closed!

Everything opens again around 3:30 or 4, but there is truly almost nothing open in the middle of the day. There are certain assumptions in the U.S. about how Europeans—and Italians in particular—live. Some of them are absolutely true. This midday closure, at least outside tourist areas, is definitely one of them.

We ended up at a pasticceria instead and had coffee (mini coffees—the norm here) and pastries before heading to the grocery store.

And whoa—the grocery store was a madhouse. A true scene. This must be when all the locals who work during the day do their shopping. There was no parking where we had parked before, but we eventually found an underground parking area we didn’t know existed.

It was chaotic and kind of fun to be in the middle of the bustle of a Saturday early evening in Italy. By this point we’d been in enough stores to know the lay of the land, so we grabbed what we needed without too much fuss and headed home.

From Daren:

That evening we went out to dinner for the first time right up the street at a place that serves pizza just once a week, and by up the street we mean up a very steep hill. We had learned from our landlord that about a quarter of a mile from our home there is a small community hall or meeting room on the second floor above a small store. Apparently, many of the local “nonnas” (grandmothers), come together every Saturday to make and serve pizza in the community room. We were somewhat suspicious and uncertain how this might work. But after parking the lot across the street we found things exactly as described: a large community room filled with local Italian families, a squad of elderly men serving tables, and a large kitchen with a team of elderly women making pizza. There was a menu, a range of drink and pizza options, and after about a 30 minute wait after ordering, two tasty pizzas to eat. We are still sorting out what “pizza” means in Italy. It’s not clear how much regional variation there is, but so far “pizza” has meant something round with cheese, tomatoes and toppings. While this sounds a lot like home, the similarities end with the shape and the components. What has been strikingly different has been the width of the crust. This pizza, and others we’ve had since, are incredibly thin. More like flatbread. And no Italian pizza is ever cut into slices, so you tackle it with a knife and fork and later use your hands after working it down into smaller sections. Whether similar or not, the pizza is delicious. We most enjoyed being surrounded by local Italians talking, laughing, gesticulating, and clearly enjoying a shared meal in their community. Notably, there were very few phones visible. Conversation and camaraderie were preferred over scrolling!

Hiking

Sunday, March 8

Now that the house and shopping basics were set up, we were ready to venture outside of town and see what was around us.

I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.

We went to Greve in Chianti first, and then right down the road to a small hilltop town that was ridiculously picturesque. These two small towns in the heart of Chianti were packed with Tuscan/Medieval charm and we felt like we’d taken a trip back in time as we surveyed the city walls and walked through the central piazza.

March 8 was International Women’s Day, and it’s a much bigger deal here than in the U.S. Mimosa flowers were everywhere. There were free drinks for women and all kinds of celebrations happening wherever we went.

On the way home we (yet again) needed to grab a few things from the grocery store. We stopped at Lidl—the only store open past about 1 p.m. on Sundays. We had gone there the previous week and vowed never to shop there again, but this time we were pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to find things and how inexpensive everything was. It takes some time getting the lay of the land in a new grocery store and a new country!

We will be back. Both to Greve and Lidls that is!

Take a close look at Amazon box on the door, truly up a hill in the middle of no where! haha

Monday, March 9

We had so much fun visiting a new town on Sunday that we decided to do it again. This time the destination was Arezzo, by train.

Again, I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.

I was tired—just beat. I’m not sure if it was the Zyrtec I’m taking for allergies or if I’m finally unwinding now that we’re here and settled, but I was too tired to really enjoy the city. Because of that, I had no interest in exploring the art or churches. Daren enjoyed it very, very much.

I found the city a little “meh.” The lunch we had was terrible. It wasn’t my favorite day or my favorite place—but to be fair, I didn’t really give it a chance either. I was just spent.

And just like that – Womens Day is over…

Tuesday, March 10

We needed to be home Tuesday (blessedly) for our washer and dryer delivery and a conference call related to our new consulting LLC.

I headed out on my first solo run. I jogged and walked (lots of hills!) for 5.6 miles and oh my gosh it was exhilarating. I hadn’t exercised in well over a week and it felt amazing. And the scenery!

I was out for 75 minutes and honestly didn’t want to come back.

When I got home the washer and dryer had arrived—yay! Laundry again.

From past Airbnb experiences in Europe I remembered that laundry machines were not the same as in the U.S., so I was prepared for very low-functioning machines that would take forever, especially since we bought inexpensive models. But we were pleasantly surprised! Nowhere near as large or powerful as what we had back home, but much better than I expected. Daren was worried that without 220 voltage electricity as we have in the US for dryers, we’d never get the clothes dry. But much to our surprise, after about 1.5 hours, we had a fully dry load of laundry.

Overall—a great surprise.

Wednesday, March 11

This was a day of work and figuring out how we want our life here to look.

Since I stopped working last June, I’d developed a routine that loosely mirrored Daren’s workday—exercise, showering, and daily activities earlier in the day while he worked. He worked right up until the day before we left, so now that we’re here and somewhat settled, we needed to build a new kind of day where we’re both home.

At first we kind of assumed we’d each keep doing our same routines. But it quickly became clear that wasn’t really going to work.

So like the two weird geeks we are, we grabbed paper, pens, and a computer and headed to a little café with Wi-Fi to try to level-set our expectations about what a typical day might look like.

I’d love to tell you we figured it all out.

But instead we got very jazzed about traveling and spent most of the time talking about all the places we want to visit while we’re on this side of the pond. We started mapping out what times of year would be best to visit certain places when we suddenly realized the time.

Another conference call was coming up, so we headed home. We need to revisit the conversation about a daily routine and still figure out the travel. No rush, we have time! It’s hard to get used to the concept, I’m sure we will but for now the idea of “no rush” is still incredibly novel.

Thursday, March 12

Another day at home. No meetings. Lots of computer work.

And another long run for me.

I thought the first run might have been the magical one—the “first time back” effect—but this run was even better. I took a slightly different route and tried to dodge some inevitable rain. It wasn’t the sunniest day, but I was completely in the moment and in awe of the scenery.

I took a ton of photos.

Which inspired me to come home and start playing around with editing them. After a warm shower and the need to rest my legs from the hills, that’s exactly what I did.

Daren also went for a run, and in the mid-afternoon we both ended up parked on the couch doing our own things. He read and I edited photos. It felt so nice to just be and to be creative that we abandoned the swordfish we had defrosting on the counter and decided instead to stay right where we were, order a pizza, and watch a movie.

Our first pizza delivery in Italy using “Deliveroo”, a European version of Uber eats delivered by scooter—smooth process and really different, but delicious.

Friday, March 13

And then yesterday—oh my.

We woke up leisurely, had breakfast and coffee, and then packed a day bag, ushered the dog into the back seat of the car, and headed out to San Gimignano.

The day was perfectly sunny and warm—about 15–16°C (in the 60s°F)—and the town was adorable. The walled city was full of tourists, but as I texted my friends back home, there’s a reason some places are touristy.

Lunch was phenomenal—exactly how I remember food in Tuscany from our first trip here ten years ago.

Afterward we stopped at a nature preserve. It honestly wasn’t the prettiest hike and probably not somewhere I’d recommend, but it was exhilarating to be out in nature after the bustle of tourists, a great lunch, and browsing through shops full of seriously beautiful things.

San Gimignano is just over an hour away. The drive there and back was just as beautiful as being there. I drove there and Daren drove back. We took different routes and each got the experience of navigating the hills and simply looking out the window.

The ride home was magical. The sun was setting while spring showers came and went, so the lighting was gorgeous. We played an 80s music mix and sang along, jokingly trying to translate lyrics into Italy, while driving through the hills, just feeling alive.

Dinner was simple—some appetizers with delicious local cheeses we had picked up earlier. Then we collapsed onto the sofa for another movie before heading to bed, truly satisfied and grateful for the experiences we’re lucky enough to be having.

We miss everyone back home. Feel free to comment here. Feel free to text us. Keep in touch please!