Week 3 – Still Learning a New Rhythm

by Daren & Esterina Anderson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.