I can’t believe it, but today marks 7 weeks in Italy. It feels longer than that, but also shorter than that!
There’s something that has been building for a long time, but being here has finally brought it into focus.
When choosing destinations or lodging, we’ve been fooled by photos more times than I can count. Places that look beautiful online—carefully staged, thoughtfully cropped, filtered just right—often don’t match the experience of being there. Once you’re at a location, you can picture where the photographer stood and what was intentionally left out, and even why.
The reviews have been just as confusing. I’ve struggled to understand how so many places end up with five stars when my experience would be nowhere near that. It’s made travel harder than I expected. At least one in every three places has been a real disappointment, and it’s not just accommodations—it’s entire locations. People we know and trust say a place is beautiful, blogs rave about it, and then we arrive and it just doesn’t land the same way.
Daren and I have been traveling together as a couple for 16 years now, since crowd-sourced reviews first became popular. We were early adopters, but over time it’s become clear that something doesn’t quite translate.
Italy has brought this into even sharper focus for me. Before we started looking seriously for a place to live here, my experience of Italy was limited to places like Milan, Venice, Lake Como, and Siena. In my mind, everything was beautiful, everyone spoke English, and the food was always incredible.
Last fall, when we came back to explore more deeply, that image started to shift. Italy isn’t a postcard. It’s where people live. It’s normal in the way any place is normal. There are stores, trash, things that are broken. Some people take care of their surroundings beautifully, others don’t. There are pockets that are stunning, and long stretches that are just average. It felt surprisingly familiar.
We chose Tuscany for practical reasons, mainly access to Florence and Rome if we needed to get home quickly. And it has been wonderful. When we visit places like San Gimignano, Lucca, Portofino, Chianti, or Pienza, they are every bit as beautiful as the photos suggest.
But they are also just one version of reality.
Right now, we’re staying outside of Sorrento, and it’s been a very different experience. Sorrento itself is a step up, but only slightly. Pompeii felt chaotic and overwhelming. Even parts of the Amalfi Coast, which people rave about, felt more worn than I expected.
And yet, I can still take a beautiful photo almost anywhere. I might be able to find the right angle, the right light, the right frame. I can create something that looks magical, even when the broader surroundings aren’t.
Someone commented on Facebook recently that they never thought Italy was beautiful until they saw my pictures, and that really stayed with me.
It made me realize that beauty isn’t just about what’s there—it’s also about what we notice and how we frame it. That’s where crowd-sourcing starts to fall apart. We all have different baselines. Where we live, what we’re used to, and what we value shape how we experience a place.
Back home, we live in a shoreline town with both beautiful and less appealing areas. Our neighborhood happens to be one of the nicer ones, and we take pride in keeping our home clean and comfortable. So when I see a five-star rating, that’s what I’m expecting. But I can see now that not everyone is measuring against the same standard.
Lately, I’ve started taking different kinds of photos. Not just the beautiful ones, but the honest ones too—the train stations, the trash, the lemon groves covered in worn green mesh along the highway. Not to be negative, but to capture a fuller picture of what we’re actually seeing.
TrafficBored ppl on their phones in crowdsConstruction everywhereWhat 9 out of 10 Pasticceria’s really look likeLook close – a baby drinking beer & this “sailor” always at the door here
Where I’ve landed with all of this is pretty simple. The world is beautiful, but not always in the way we expect. It isn’t constant, and it isn’t evenly distributed, but it is there. Sometimes it’s obvious, and sometimes you have to look a little harder for it.
This experience hasn’t made me appreciate Italy any less. If anything, it’s made me appreciate it more. Seeing it as a real place—not just an ideal—has made it feel more honest and more human.
And maybe that’s the point. Not to chase perfect beauty, but to learn how to recognize it wherever you are.
There is beauty everywhere in Italy. But the truth is, there is beauty everywhere when you look for it—even in a flowering weed growing up through the rubble.
Last summer, one Saturday morning when we first started talking about coming to Italy for a year, we were very keen on the idea of moving to a city. Esterina grew up in Brooklyn and Daren had lived in New York City and Boston for several years. We both have fond memories of city living—the energy, the walkability, the simplicity of not needing a car.
We were excited about it for a few days, until one rainy afternoon when we were stuck inside. Esterina asked, “What would we do in a city on a day like today in a small apartment?” That question planted the first seed of doubt.
Later in the fall, while looking for a place to live, we still explored the idea. Our first stop was Bologna—everyone we knew, in and outside of Italy, loved it. It felt like the perfect fit. But after just a few hours of walking around, doubts crept in.
Then came Rome. For a few days, we were convinced that was it. But not long after arriving, something shifted. We found ourselves paying a small fortune just to sit in a park for a bit of greenery. The loud clashing of church bells at noon and the constant sirens made it feel like there was no escape from the noise. Once again, the doubts surfaced—this time more clearly.
We don’t know why we don’t recognize the pattern sooner. We live in Connecticut and love going to New York City. Every time we go, we’re excited and start imagining what it would be like to live there. But after a day or two, something changes. It starts to feel like too much. And when we get home, the birds, the trees, the open space—it all feels exactly right.
Luckily, we gave ourselves enough time in these Italian cities to notice that same shift. It led us to choosing a home in the hills of Tuscany—just 10–15 minutes from town, with everything we need nearby, including a train that gets us to Florence in under half an hour.
This week, we had to go into Florence to swap out our car (a long story), and decided to stay a few days.
And just like that, the draw of the city pulled us in again.
Florence is stunning. Walkable, charming, full of life. We parked the car once and didn’t need it again. That alone felt like such a relief. We started imagining—what if we lived here long-term? Everything felt easy and beautiful.
And the options. After weeks of mostly Italian cuisine (which is incredible, no question), we were suddenly surrounded by variety again. Different foods, big grocery stores, clothing shops, markets, art—everything right there.
It felt exciting. Full.
And then…
The dog had nowhere to go. No grass. Nowhere to sniff. We walked and walked, searching for even a small patch, and came up empty. Eventually, he just went in the middle of the street.
And when we got tired—from all the walking—and wanted a break, the options were shops or our small hotel room. I had that same thought again: where do you go to actually relax?
On our last day, we planned to go to Mercato Centrale—the big open market—before everything closed for Easter. We left the dog at the hotel and headed out, ready to stock up.
We walked in and it was beautiful. The smells, the colors, the energy—it felt magical. The kind of place you imagine having at your fingertips all the time.
And within minutes, we were done.
Too many people. Too many options. Too much navigating, deciding, sampling. We looked at each other and walked out.
We headed back toward the hotel—and toward our poor dog—and realized we’d much rather just go to the local Coop and get what we needed.
We love cities. We really do. But we love leaving them just as much. And coming home—where it’s quiet, green, and enough.
And we will be back. Again & again & again. Here is why! (photos below)
One of the many ancient wine windows in FlorenceDid you know David’s Eyes are Hearts? Koji’s first trip into a book storeIn front of the first Gucci Store!a Yarn Store!! Replica of David
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.
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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