I Came to Italy Looking for the Mediterranean Diet

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

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

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

Where is the Mediterranean diet?

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

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

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

First surprise: This is breakfast?

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously. Where is the fiber?

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

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

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

Being mostly vegetarian in the land of the Mediterranean diet

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

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

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

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

The Mediterranean Diet™ vs. the Italian diet

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait—Italy has an obesity problem?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fresh doesn’t automatically mean healthy

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

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

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

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

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

And then there is the wine

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

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

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

Somehow, I’m the nutritional oddball

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

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

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

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

My unlikely Italian health-food store

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

Lidl. Yes. Lidl.

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

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

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

So was the Mediterranean diet a lie?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste!

Two Days in Matera

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

We are sitting at breakfast this morning at a great hotel in the Sassi of Matera, Basilicata, getting ready to leave after two nights here.

Matera was one of the places I really wanted to visit while we were living in Italy. We’ve heard so many good things about it. It’s one of those places where, when you mention you’re thinking of going, someone inevitably says, “Oh my gosh, you HAVE to go!”

But I’ve been hearing that about so many places in Italy that I’ve learned not to go anywhere with particularly high expectations. Matera, though, lived up to the hype.

A Little About Matera

Matera is in Basilicata, the region tucked between Campania, Puglia and Calabria in southern Italy. What makes it so unusual are the Sassi, the ancient neighborhoods built into and around the rock along the side of a ravine.

People have lived in this area for an incredibly long time. There is evidence of human occupation going all the way back to the Paleolithic period, making Matera one of the oldest continuously inhabited settlements in the world. Over thousands of years, people took the natural caves here and expanded them, carving homes, churches, storage areas and cisterns directly into the soft stone. Eventually buildings were constructed in front of and on top of those caves, creating the maze of stone houses, stairways, alleys and terraces that you see today.

The result is hard to describe until you see it. A street can be the roof of the house below it. A doorway may lead into a room carved deep into the hillside. Churches disappear into the rock. Today, those same spaces hold hotels, restaurants, shops, homes and spas. The Sassi and the surrounding rupestrian churches have been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1993.

But Matera’s history isn’t entirely romantic. By the first half of the 20th century, many families in the Sassi were living in terrible conditions, often sharing their cave homes with livestock and without adequate sanitation or running water. In 1952, the Italian government passed legislation to relocate residents into newly built housing, and much of the Sassi was emptied during the 1950s. The ancient neighborhoods sat largely abandoned for decades before restoration efforts began bringing people back in the 1980s.

Today, the Sassi feel almost like a giant open-air museum that has come back to life. You can wander for hours through the old streets, but this isn’t a reconstructed historical attraction. You are walking through the actual caves, homes and passageways people used for centuries.

And you really can’t drive around the old part of the town. Access to the historic center is restricted, and even if you were allowed to drive here, I can’t imagine navigate these tiny stone streets in a car.

Arriving at the Busiest Time of the Year

We booked this trip about two and a half months ago, deciding Matera would make a great two-night stop on our way to see my family in Calabria. It wasn’t that far out of our way, so why not?

I was a little shocked — though I probably shouldn’t have been — by how difficult it was to find a place to stay both here and in Calabria. Then we remembered/learned when we were going: Ferragosto.

Ferragosto is officially August 15, the Feast of the Assumption and a national holiday in Italy, but the word also describes something much bigger culturally. August, and especially the weeks around Ferragosto, is when huge numbers of Italians take their summer vacations. Cities get quieter, businesses close, and people head to the beaches, mountains and holiday towns with their families. The stories about Italy shutting down in August aren’t exaggerated. So yes, of course hotels were booked!

The only hotel we could find in Matera that would also take a dog Koji’s size was the five-star Vetera Matera. Vetera is part of Gruppo Bellevue and is also a member of Relais & Châteaux, a collection of independent luxury hotels and restaurants around the world. We stayed at another Relais & Châteaux property in Norcia a couple of months ago and I fell in love.

I fear these experiences may have ruined me. Five-star hotels are very nice. Who knew?

Vetera itself fits perfectly into Matera because much of the property is incorporated into the old stone buildings and caves of the Sassi. Even the spa is carved into the rock.

The Drive South

We left our home in Tuscany around 6 a.m. Monday and drove south, making two stops along the way. We’ve come to love the Autogrill stops on Italian highways. The coffee is reliably good, and we really like the pastries and meals they serve.

With the August crowds I just described, the first Autogrill was out of our beloved Nutella cornetti — basically croissants stuffed with Nutella. Instead (poor us) we had to settle for pain au chocolat with our doppio macchiato. Holy cow, I love those stinking things too and am now fantasizing and hoping that there is an Autogrill on the way from here to Crotone today.

I griped early on about Italian coffee culture and the tiny sip of espresso. I still cannot embrace this tradition first thing in the morning. I need a big ol’ American cup of coffee. But I’ve come to really enjoy and sometimes (sometimes) look forward to an afternoon macchiato.And in the  evening, a little espresso after dinner is divine.

Lunch was another Autogrill stop — just as busy and lots of fun.

Our First Look at Matera

When we arrived, we had to park outside the Sassi and call the hotel about 20 minutes ahead so they could send a car for us. The hotel car picked us up, and by the time we drove into the Sassi we were tired and hot, sitting in a car full of stuff with an excited giant dog squeezing his way around everything.

Check-in was leisurely, with someone showing us around the property and then our cave room (where our bags miraculously appeared). Most importantly, the room was blessedly air-conditioned and cool. The three of us — me, Daren and Koji — seemed to take one proverbial sigh before lying down for a while to cool off and adjust.

Koji was not too keen on going back outside anytime soon, so Daren and I slipped our shoes on and went exploring without him. We took the hotel elevator up to a terrace the receptionist had told us about, and there we got our first real look over the Sassi.

Wow. This was one of those rare times when the view actually was as good as everyone said it would be. And it was the first of many. We thought this one was good!

Next we set out to see the town. About three minutes after walking out the hotel door, I turned around and went back for sneakers with better grip.

Matera is built primarily from local calcarenite, a relatively soft limestone that could be excavated to create the caves and building blocks that form the Sassi. After centuries of wear, those stone streets and stairs are smooth in places — and a smidge slippery.

Take two. We were off.

Wandering the Sassi

It was about 4:30 in the afternoon, a time when we’ve learned that not many self-respecting Italians are out wandering around in August heat. There were enough other tourists that it didn’t feel like a ghost town, though. And the views!

Every corner seemed to open onto another cluster of stone buildings, caves, churches, staircases and terraces. You’d walk down one narrow alley, turn a corner and suddenly be looking across the ravine at the entire city.

That evening we had dinner at 7 — absurdly early by Italian standards — and then wandered through the city after dark. Matera was totally charged! The streets filled with people eating, walking and shopping. Lights came on throughout the Sassi, illuminating all those layers of stone houses across the hillside. The whole place had great energy. There was a string quartet playing at an open air bar high above the ravine, and the music filled the entire section of the city with heavenly music, adding another layer to a magical scene.

Day Two

The rest of our visit was equally slow and beautiful. Yesterday morning, after I did yoga and Daren walked Koji, we put on our sneakers and took a power walk around the ridge of the city before the sun made it too hot.

We came back, showered, had breakfast and then headed out again with Koji to explore the area with more of the shops. Yesterday was basically a repeat of the first with some more shop visits, plus one of the “see how the people lived in the caves” tourist museums; and Daren went to check out the cistern area. There isn’t a giant checklist of things we felt we needed to accomplish here. Matera itself is the thing to see.

Last night at dinner we met an American couple about our age who were here on their honeymoon. They were both on their second marriages, like us, and between them they have five adult children.

It was nice just to sit and speak English with other Americans for a while. It was also interesting listening to their impressions of Italy after being here for only a short time. I could hear in their observations some of the same assumptions we made when we first arrived, and it made me realize how much our own perspective has changed over the past several months. I think we all agreed that two days in Matera feels about right.

So this morning I’m sitting here at breakfast, looking out at this strange and beautiful stone city one last time, and I feel completely happy and satisfied with this stop.

We came. We wandered. We ate. We slept in a cave.

And now… off to Calabria.

Up before the sun today – then watching it come up this morning-

A Two-Week Tour of Southern Italy

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

By Daren & Esterina Anderson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Southern Italy

Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Calabria: Tropea and Beyond

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

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

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

Family in Crotone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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