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.
