Crossing Borders: Leaving Italy for the First Time in Seven and a Half Months

Lugano, Lucerne, and the strange feeling of missing a place while being excited to leave it.

For the first time in seven and a half months, we left Italy!

Until recently, we really couldn’t. I was advised not to leave the country while my Italian citizenship application was being processed, at least until I had my residence permit in hand. Three weeks ago tomorrow, I finally received my card. We were free to travel!

And wouldn’t you know it? After all that time waiting to leave, I found myself feeling a little nostalgic almost as soon as we crossed the border.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

An Anniversary and a Change of Plans

We had originally planned to leave on Sunday, heading north through Switzerland on our way to Belgium. But last Wednesday, we decided to leave three days early. Thursday was our 15th wedding anniversary, and what better way to celebrate than treating ourselves to a few nights at a beautiful spa hotel?

We chose Lugano, Switzerland, somewhat spontaneously. Daren had done an iFit cycling workout there and remembered the trainer riding around the lake, crossing between Switzerland and Italy. It had stuck with him, and Lugano happened to be right along our route.

So Thursday morning, we packed up the car, loaded Koji, and headed north.

We had all our paperwork ready. My American passport and brand-new Italian residence card, Daren’s Irish passport, Koji’s EU pet passport, and his rabies certificate. We were convinced that traveling with a large dog would guarantee some kind of inspection.

We approached the Swiss border, saw cars being pulled over for random checks, and prepared ourselves.

And then… Nothing. They waved us right through!

Seven and a half months of waiting, all that paperwork, and crossing the border took approximately three seconds.

Switzerland, But Not Quite Yet

Almost immediately, things began looking different.

The buildings seemed newer, more modern, more industrial. Although, to be fair, northern Italy had already started looking that way. We’d stopped in Modena for lunch, driven past Milan, and noticed how much the landscape and architecture had changed from our little corner of Tuscany.

It’s interesting because Italians are always telling us how incredibly different their regions are. And they are different, but perhaps not in the dramatic ways Italians themselves perceive them.

From an outsider’s perspective, Italy can feel remarkably uniform. The old stone and plaster buildings, the historic town centers/piazzas, the menus, even the trash along the roads. The differences are often subtle, gradually shifting as you travel north or south.

But here’s something we’ve been talking about as we drive today: having spent seven and a half uninterrupted months in Italy, we actually began to recognize those subtleties. We can now appreciate differences that we probably wouldn’t have noticed if we’d spent a few weeks in Tuscany, a few in France, and a few somewhere else.

Being required to stay put gave us something we hadn’t anticipated: a much better understanding of where we were.

And now, having finally left, we’re noticing things about other countries that might have escaped us entirely seven months ago.

Lugano was a perfect first stop because, in many ways, it was Switzerland Lite.

Everyone still spoke Italian. We could still use the language we’d been learning. There were familiar foods and customs, but the surroundings were distinctly different.

The buildings were tidier, the streets felt cleaner, and everything seemed a little more modern and larger. Daren immediately noticed how neat and well-maintained things looked compared with Italy, where even beautiful places can appear a bit worn down.

It felt exotic and strangely familiar at the same time. A little more like the United States, but definitely not American. Something in between.

Fifteen Years and a Little Luxury

We arrived early enough to enjoy the private spa at our hotel before settling in for anniversary aperitivos.

Not a bad way to celebrate fifteen years!

Dinner that night was just ok. We had a 3 course dinner package with our booking. We had curry, which was exciting simply because it wasn’t another Italian menu. But it wasn’t the quality we had grown a little used to. I like the pic below because you can see our reflection. I was texting my daughter Gabby and showing her how happy I was to be eating non Italian food.

First Full Day out of Italy

The next morning, we headed out to explore Lugano.

We took the funicular up Monte San Salvatore, enjoying spectacular views of the lake and surrounding mountains. The landscape felt different from Tuscany, with the mountains rising sharply around the water.

Then we headed into town with Koji, walking through the streets, browsing shops, and enjoying the atmosphere.

And the shops!

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed seeing certain stores and products. There were familiar brands, things we hadn’t seen in months, and even my Olaplex hair products! Swiss watches, chocolates, army knives, and all sorts of things we recognize from home.

But it wasn’t just American familiarity and accompanying Swiss brands. There was a wonderful mix of cultures and influences.

In Italy, food can be fiercely regional. Certain dishes belong to certain places, and menus often follow fairly predictable patterns. In Lugano, we found an Italian-Austrian-Swiss restaurant just off the main square where the menu seemed much more willing to mix things up.

I ordered risotto with purple cabbage and a Lugano cheese. It was delicious and unlike anything I’d eaten in Italy.

Daren had orecchiette with Swiss cheese and broccoli rabe. It was Italian food, but prepared more like the Italian food we’re accustomed to in the United States. Not quite so bound by tradition.

We loved it.

We walked, shopped, and explored. Daren found some really cool clothes that I can’t wait to see him wear. We stopped for gelato, which tasted suspiciously more like ice cream than the gelato we’d grown accustomed to in Italy.

Another little reminder that we’d crossed a border.

That evening, Daren had a work call, so we ate at the hotel’s bistro.

Meh.

We were beginning to discover that Switzerland had plenty to offer, but consistently wonderful food wasn’t necessarily one of those things.

A Saturday in Lugano

Saturday morning, we walked back down into town.

What a difference a day made! The streets were more bustling, there was a car show, and the park was full of people running, walking, relaxing, and enjoying the beautiful weather.

We found a cute craft shop, wandered around, and let Koji enjoy the lake. He even went for a swim and sampled the water.

He was having a pretty good vacation himself! 🐾

For lunch, we had pretzel sandwiches and a pretzel au chocolat.

Oh. My. God. So good!

There is something wonderful about discovering foods you haven’t had in months. A simple pretzel sandwich suddenly becomes a major culinary event.

We eventually made our way slowly back up the hill to the hotel. Koji had walked a tremendous amount over the past couple of days, so we took plenty of breaks, gave him water, and let him rest. Once we got back, all three of us enjoyed a long afternoon break.

That evening, Daren and I went out to dinner without him.

One funny thing about being in Italian Switzerland is that some things still operate on Italian time. We arrived at the restaurant around seven, and it was practically empty.

We found a steakhouse and ordered something we hadn’t eaten since crossing the Atlantic: regular sirloin steaks, broccoli, and mashed potatoes.

Nothing fancy. Nothing particularly Swiss. And it was fantastic.

We sat there for a long time, talking. We’ve had so many meaningful conversations during our time in Italy. We’ve read books together, talked about what we’ve learned, reflected on our lives, and spent more uninterrupted time together than we ever had before.

But this conversation was particularly memorable. We talked about our past, our present, things we’ve been through together, and how our understanding of ourselves and each other continues to change.

It was one of those evenings when you feel especially connected, when you realize how much there still is to discover about someone you’ve shared your life with for so long.

Fifteen years of marriage, and we’re still learning.

The Little Things That Make Anywhere Feel Like Home

One of the unexpected pleasures of this year has been the routines we’ve developed together.

We’ve read books and discussed them, sometimes watching a movie or series based on what we’d read. We’ve watched documentaries and shows connected to places we’ve visited or things we’ve been learning about, including Stanley Tucci’s travels, Pompeii, Herculaneum, and the Medici family.

We’ve watched some wonderful series, too.

And wherever we happen to be, whether at home in Figline or in a hotel somewhere along the road, we tend to keep the same evening routine.

We settle in, watch something together, talk about it, and I usually knit.

Most nights we laugh our butts off watching Jimmy Kimmel, Jon Stewart, or Bill Maher.

And then, to finish the evening, we watch an episode (or two) of Sex and the City.

Neither of us had ever seen it, and we decided it was time. An episode at a time, usually about twenty minutes, has become our little nighttime ritual.

Sometimes it’s the perfect lighthearted ending to a heavy documentary or an emotional drama. Sometimes it’s just a fun way to finish an ordinary day at home in Tuscany when we haven’t done much of anything.

Even when we’ve had guests, we’ve generally kept some version of this routine.

It’s funny how these little things become familiar anchors. We can be in an entirely different country, sleeping in a different bed, surrounded by a language we don’t understand, and still have our evening together.

The scenery changes, but our little world travels with us.

Of course Koji is by our side wherever we are on his bed or his travel blankie. 

A Whole New Switzerland

Sunday morning, we packed up and headed toward Lucerne.

The drive took us through the Gotthard Tunnel, one of the major routes through the Swiss Alps. The tunnel is a 12 mile/20 mile engineering marvel through the mountains. 

Getting there was another story. Traffic was backed up for miles because of the traffic lights that regulate access to the tunnel. We crawled along for what felt like forever, and by the time we finally got through the congestion, I was exhausted.

We stopped for gas and a break at a Swiss highway rest stop.

Another little cultural observation: Koji could come inside with us! Dogs are welcome in so many restaurants, cafés, and public places in Italy and Switzerland. It’s something we’ve grown accustomed to, and something we’re already realizing we’ll miss when we eventually return to the United States. 

After our break, we continued through the tunnel.

I fell fast asleep. Daren later described emerging on the other side as though he’d driven into an entirely different world.

Gone were the Italian-looking buildings and familiar landscape. Suddenly there were wooden chalets, Alpine houses, and architecture that looked distinctly Bavarian.

And the signs were in German!

I woke up about twenty minutes outside Lucerne and couldn’t believe how different everything looked.

The mountains were still there. We were still in Switzerland. But the language, buildings, and entire feel of the place had changed.

And that’s when something unexpected happened… I felt a little sad.

Not because I didn’t like what I was seeing. Quite the opposite! It was refreshing and exciting. But I realized how accustomed I’d become to Italian.

For seven and a half months, speaking to people has required effort. I have to think about what I want to say, search for words, try to understand responses, and sometimes (ok almost always) stumble through conversations.

And now, suddenly, I didn’t have to do any of that. We don’t speak German. We don’t even know how to say hello!

So we were back to speaking English everywhere, and everyone could understand us.

It should have felt like a relief. In some ways, it did. But it was also a little weird. I kind of missed the effort, the chance to practice and to really think about almost every word I say. Something that had been a daily challenge had subtlety become part of my life, was I missing it???

Lucerne: A Different Kind of Familiar

We arrived in Lucerne before our hotel room was ready, so we dropped off the car and bags and headed out on foot with Koji.

We had lunch at a supposedly traditional Swiss restaurant recommended by the hotel. It was terrible.

Fortunately, Lucerne itself was beautiful. Fairytale could be an overly exaggerated word to describe a beautiful place, but if there was a fairytale set in a medieval town, Lucerne would be what it looked like.

We walked around the old town, explored the streets, and eventually returned to the hotel to get Koji watered and situated with his blankie for some well needed rest. Daren and I headed back out.

We visited the medieval city walls, the famous Lion Monument, and more of the old town.

A Quiet Night in Lucerne

By evening, we weren’t particularly hungry, and after a full day of walking and large, latter lunch, we didn’t feel like another restaurant adventure.

So we went back to the hotel, fed and walked Koji, and headed out for Thai takeout. We brought it back to the room, got comfortable, and watched the final three episodes of season two of Broadchurch.

What a great series and the Thai takeout Was So Good!!

It was one of those perfectly ordinary evenings that has become such a special part of this year.

We’d spent the day exploring a beautiful Swiss city, seeing things we’d never seen before. And then we came back to our little temporary home, ate takeout, watched television, and enjoyed being together.

Sometimes that’s as good as it gets.

The Strange Comfort of a Flat Floor

There’s another little moment from our first night in Switzerland that I keep thinking about.

I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. For the first time in months, I wasn’t worried about where I was stepping.

Seriously! Haha! We’ve stayed in so many old Italian buildings, with uneven floors, unexpected steps, strange layouts, and all sorts of little quirks, that I’ve become accustomed to being extremely careful when getting up in the dark.

But here I was, in this modern Swiss hotel, and everything was flat, predictable, and exactly where it should be. I felt completely comfortable.

And then, almost immediately, I felt a tiny bit nostalgic for those quirky old Italian buildings. How ridiculous is that?

Something that had driven me crazy was suddenly something I missed. Even the hotel smelled different.

I found myself thinking about how our family and friends must have felt when they visited us in Italy. How unfamiliar everything probably seemed to them, even when we had already grown accustomed to it.

Now we were the ones experiencing that feeling. I am getting a sense of what I’m going to be missing and what going home is going to feel like.

Familiar Things in Unexpected Places

This morning, we left Lucerne and are headed toward Belgium. 

Along the way, we stopped at a highway service area, an Autogrill stop close to the border of France. These have become a regular part of our road trips in Italy.

For anyone unfamiliar with them, Italian Autogrills are highway rest stops where you can get coffee, pastries, sandwiches, meals, and all sorts of things. They’re a whole different experience from the gas station convenience stores we’re used to in the United States.

We’ve come to love them. But this one was different. There was a BP gas station! I hadn’t seen one since leaving the United States.

There were larger coffees, pumpkin spice lattes, pretzel sandwiches, and eggs cooked to order. Breakfast? An actual selection of breakfast foods!

After seven and a half months of Italian breakfasts, where a cornetto and a small coffee are the norm, this was a delightful surprise.

And yet, what did we order?Chocolate cornetti (with our sandwich  & eggs). Of course.

They weren’t filled with Nutella, though. The chocolate had a little crunch to it, almost like a Nestlé Crunch bar. Swiss chocolate, perhaps?

And then Daren pointed at something he thought I’d like. A Dolce & Gabbana panettone.

Suddenly, I was thinking about last year. Around this time last fall, we were getting ready for our move to Italy, visiting places in Italy to look for a place to live. Panettone was beginning to appear everywhere, and I became completely obsessed with it. My dad had recently passed and it was a staple around my house growing up around the holidays. New Year’s Eve it was always the tradition at midnight to dip a piece in champagne. I never liked it, but my dad’s passing and seeing it in his home country (soon to be mine too)… it felt special. 

I went home and made a ton of it. Everyone I knew got some of my homemade panetone last year. I even made gluten free versions for my gluten free peeps! 

Now here it is again, coming out for the holidays like it did last year, when we were so excited about the idea of living in Italy, learning about its food and traditions, and experiencing everyday life there.

I also fell in love with the Dolce & Gabbana Bialetti moka pots (stove top espresso maker). I thought about buying one for months before finally taking the plunge in May.

I chose the blue one, knowing that someday we’d bring it home to Branford, where it would fit right in with our beachy décor.

And now, here we are. Last year, we were dreaming about moving to Italy. This year, we are living there. And in a little over four months, we’ll be leaving. It’s a strange feeling that is border crossing is bringing out in me.

Missing Two Places at Once

As we’ve traveled these past few days, I’ve been happily enjoying many things I’ve missed from home. The variety of food. Familiar stores. Modern buildings. Larger coffees. Different breakfast choices. A little less rigidity about how things are supposed to be done.

In some ways, Switzerland reminded me of the United States, where you can find all sorts of cultures, foods, and influences living side by side. You can be in New England, Virginia, or Texas and experience very different regional identities, while still recognizing that you’re in the same country.

Switzerland has its own unmistakable identity, but there seems to be more room for different influences to coexist.

And I love that!!

I love seeing new things. I love the differences. I love the feeling of crossing a border and finding an entirely new way of doing things.

However I’m a little surprised by how much Italy has become familiar too.

The language. The food. The buildings. The daily routines. Even the things that annoy me. For seven and a half months, Italy has been our world.

We’ve had the opportunity to settle into it rather than simply visit. We’ve experienced its quirks, frustrations, beauty, and ordinary daily life.

And because we couldn’t leave, we were forced to pay attention in a way we might not otherwise have done.

Now, every time we see something different, we’re comparing it to Italy. And of course to home in Connecticut, too.

I find myself missing things about the United States while I’m in Italy, and now missing things about Italy while I’m traveling elsewhere in Europe.

I suppose that’s what happens when more than one place begins to feel like home.

This morning, we crossed into France near Basel.

Another border. Another country. Again, nothing. The border crossing was practically closed up. We just drove through.

We’re now making our way toward Bruges, Belgium, excited to explore another new place. The further we get from Italy, the more I find myself missing(?) it, at exactly the same time, the more excited I am to keep going.

It’s an odd combination of nostalgia, familiarity, curiosity, and anticipation.

Four months from now, we’ll be preparing to leave Italy for good and return to our life in Connecticut. I’m excited about that, too. But after these first few days away, I’m beginning to realize that returning home may feel just as strange as leaving Italy does now.

For the moment, though, we’re in France.

Koji is sleeping in the back seat, Daren is driving, and there’s a whole lot more of Europe ahead of us.

And I’m enjoying every bit of this strange feeling of missing where we’ve been while looking forward to where we’re going.

The Downtime

By Esterina Anderson

When Daren and I first got here to Italy five months ago, and Daren got the blogging bug (I’ve been blogging for over 10 years), we reframed my WordPress site around our Italy experience and created three areas on that page: My Experience/Posts, Daren’s Experience/Posts, and Our Travelogue.

If you haven’t seen it because you get the blog in your email, it’s EsterinaAnderson.com.

At first we did post separate things, but for a long time now we’ve pretty much only used the joint Travelogue section.

Why am I saying all this? Because this post is from me (Esterina) and belongs completely under the Esterina’s Posts button. This isn’t one of the posts we both edited together, so I don’t want to rope him into this.

We came to Italy to take a break from life and see how other people live.

When we first started tossing around the idea we are now living, the main goal was to step away after retirement, work on my citizenship, and see what happened. And that break is happening.

Our mornings are slow to start. Yoga, then coffee and the New York Times games together. Then often some exercise and computer work. We talk—a lot. Most of the day. We talk during meals, during errands, and on our many long car rides as we travel. This was the goal. To connect, ponder, and explore.

The conversation has shifted and changed since we got here. Initially we thought we might want to do NGO work, maybe in Africa or the EU. Citizenship certainly would open more doors for us to do those things. We also initially considered really ramping up and expanding our small consulting company. Those talks have now evolved into different conversations.

We talk about deep and spiritual things. We talk about how we want to spend the rest of our lives, who we want to be, and how much, if any, work we want to do for profit. We are doing a lot of reading for fun, but also a lot of reading about Life Part II and spirituality. The books we both read, whether novels or not, we talk about often for hours—how the characters behave, who or what they remind us of, and things the other person might not have considered. We talk about experiences we’ve had, both together and separately, and what we’d do differently now. We talk about the similarities and differences between the U.S. and Italy, what we like about each, and what we don’t like about each. We fuss over Koji. We talk about how we want to show up for the people we love.

These conversations have become really important and might just be a keystone of how, in years to come (assuming I’m lucky enough to have years to live), I look back on this time here.

I know from our blogs it probably looks like all fun, games, traveling, and bliss. But there is another side to what we’re doing. It’s not as glamorous, it’s hard to explain, and it has nothing to do with frescoes, churches, or sightseeing. It’s what happens in between, while we are shopping and going to the comune and to the veterinarian.

While I love traveling, the glitz and writing about it have fallen to the back burner for me. We’re mostly going to tourist cities, and for the most part they are very similar. Walled cities with souvenir shops, gelato, and churches. These places are indisputably beautiful, but they’re honestly starting to feel like a lot of the same. Luckily, our next few planned trips are a little more off the beaten path, and the places that aren’t will be with friends who are coming to visit.

In case I haven’t said it before (if you’ve talked to me, you’ve heard it!), I am really tired of Italian food, and it’s almost all we can get while traveling. Daren keeps writing that we eat different things whenever we go to cities, but we don’t go to cities very often. We used to eat Indian food at least once a week, and I think we’ve had it four times since we’ve been here. We can cook different things at home, but even that’s limited. The grocery stores are very large, but not as diverse as I expected.

I’m also really struggling with the cadence of life. The riposo is a bit of whiplash for me. From a non-Italian or non-Spanish perspective, it initially sounds cozy, romantic, relaxing, and family-oriented. Riposo (like a Spanish siesta) is the afternoon break when many businesses close for a few hours. It wasn’t created to inconvenience anyone. It grew out of a culture that values a long midday meal with family, stepping away during the hottest part of the day, and then returning to work later into the evening. It’s a rhythm that made a lot of sense long before air conditioning, supermarkets, and 24-hour convenience became normal in the U.S. and other European countries. But I’m finding it a little depressing. The streets are empty. Stores look like they’ve been closed since the Dark Ages, with metal gates over the doors. The piazzas empty out. It feels like a deserted ghost town.

The riposo and lack of air conditioning go hand in hand. The buildings are made of heavy stone with small windows, so many places are naturally dark. The shutters stay closed to keep the heat out, which means even less natural light. I’m used to bright, open, airy spaces with lots of sunshine, so this doesn’t fit with my natural circadian rhythm, and I find it difficult. I know what I need to do, and I do it. But I haven’t gotten used to it, and I’m struggling a bit.

I’ve been feeling a little off. We were up until 2:00 in the morning Friday night at the opera, and I slept terribly that night. Then I slept poorly again last night because I was overtired. After a mid-afternoon nap, I had a nice break to reflect on how I’d like to say this (which I am doing now).

When I woke up, I just lay there and thought about nothing… in the heat, with the sound of a fan blowing. It reminded me of when I was a kid in Brooklyn and later on Long Island, before we had air conditioning, or when we would only turn it on for a little while during the day. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go. The days felt so long. It felt free. Someone else took care of dinner and the bills. The day would be ahead of me. I’d wake up, lie in bed, and just think about nothing in particular while I listened to the fan blowing.

Today was like that. I need this in my life. Everyone should be fortunate enough to take a (what Daren is calling) sabbatical in their mid-life at some point.

I wanted time to reflect, to think, to decide what to keep and what to let go of—in what I think, what I own, what I do, and what I want to do. While riposo isn’t my cup of tea, it is helping me not “go, go, go” all day and instead take an afternoon break.

Retirement adjustment is a real thing. I knew it wouldn’t be some kind of amazing transition. I wasn’t sure what to expect and this is all part of it.

I’m not sure exactly what I’m trying to say, except that there is much more going on here than what shows up in our Travelogue. While this kind of sounds like a Seinfeld show (in that it’s about nothing), there is so much more than the eye can see in the nothing. There’s been a lot of soul-searching, a lot of downtime, and a lot of adjusting to a different way of life. Some parts of it I think I’ll carry home with me. Other parts I’ll happily leave behind. I don’t think the grass is greener anywhere else, but I do think it’s worth seeing that there are other ways to do things, even in two first world kind of similar countries. I feel blessed to have this experience even though most days do not look like the blogs you read! And I have to say I’m gladder than you would think that the actual experience is not exactly as it may seem in our posts. The nothingness is really where the treasure is for me. And that is something I will always carry with me no matter where I am standing in the world.

Namaste,

Esterina

Piedmont Region of Italy

By Esterina Anderson

Following directly after our last blog in Valle d’Aosta https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/06/21/italy-has-more-to-offer-than-hilltop-towns-and-great-cities/

After the rugged beauty of Valle d’Aosta, our next stretch through northern Italy brought an entirely different rhythm—lake life, elegant city streets, and rolling wine country.

This leg of the trip felt softer. Less dramatic mountains, more charm and leisure. More time by the water, slower mornings, and places that surprised us in ways we didn’t expect.

As we left the Alps of Valle d’Aosta behind us, the flat fertile plains of Piedmont spread out before us. This is a land of serious agriculture. It felt more like Kansas than Italy with the miles and miles of cornfields. Only here there were also sunflowers, rice and lots of hay. This is one of the areas where risotto and polenta come from. 

As we turned North into the Lake region, the farmland gave way to foothills- the Alps towering in the distance once again. 

Once in Lake Orta it felt like we landed in a tiny vacation paradise where people were clearly there simply to enjoy the lake, slow, swim, rest, and soak it all in.

Our hotel had an incredible infinity pool overlooking the water, and from there it was also possible to step right into the lake itself. As ocean people, swimming in truly fresh water felt both strange and exciting.

Orta San Giulio felt like something out of a storybook. Narrow winding streets lined with charming little shops opened into the main piazza right on the water.

We wandered through the streets & shops and ended up purchasing a small original painting from an artist who works exclusively with palette knives instead of brushes. He was running the small shop so we had the chance to meet him, which always makes a piece of art feel more special. 

The town is also home to the Sacro Monte di Orta, a UNESCO World Heritage Site dedicated to St. Francis of Assisi. The sacred mount consists of 20 chapels built between the 16th and 18th centuries, each filled with frescoes and life-sized sculptures depicting moments from the life of St. Francis.

We spent a leisurely few hours exploring all 20 chapels with Koji. It was obscenely hot, and about halfway through we found the perfect open-air café where we cooled off and rested before finishing the walk.

https://youtu.be/-oHBP8MpHoE?feature=shared

Another day, we took the short ferry ride from the piazza to Isola San Giulio, the tiny island that sits in the center of the lake.

The island is home to a basilica, a Benedictine abbey, and a small community of cloistered nuns. Cars are not allowed, and the atmosphere is meant to be quiet and contemplative.

One of the most special parts of visiting the island was walking the “Path of Silence and Meditation,” a peaceful path that circles the island. Along the route are signs with reflections on silence, stillness, and contemplation.

The walk itself is short. It was also so meaningful that we walked it three times.

The first time, we just took in the stillness. The second time, we slowed down even more. After that second lap, Daren noticed there were additional reflections written on the backs of each sign. So naturally, we walked it a third time to take those in too. Koji cooled himself in the water while we mostly just honored the quiet.

https://youtu.be/SSD9uz_iTsQ?feature=shared

Our next stop was Turin. But before heading there, we made a small detour to Sacro Monte della Santissima Trinità near Lake Maggiore. After loving Sacro Monte in Orta, we thought another sacred mount would be worth exploring.

Unfortunately, this one felt entirely different. It felt isolated, neglected, and depressing. Still beautiful in its own way, but we didn’t stay long. 

Instead, we headed to Cannobio near the Swiss border in search of lunch. It ended up being more of a functional stop than a memorable one. The town was pleasant enough, with colorful flags stretching along the waterfront and hints of its international location near Switzerland.

From there, we made our way to Turin. My cousin Vinny and his wife Katia live there, and we had made plans to meet up. They were waiting for us at our hotel when we arrived.

Turin was nothing like we expected. I had heard it described as “Little Paris,” but I really couldn’t picture just how elegant and charming it would feel. The city center is massive, beautifully maintained, and at times it barely felt like Italy.

There are dozens of piazzas, grand tree-lined boulevards, statues, fountains, and endless porticos that stretch for miles across the city. Turin was the first capital of unified Italy, and you can feel that history in its grandeur and architecture. It feels sophisticated, and refined.

One thing Turin is especially known for is Bicerin, a traditional drink dating back to the 18th century made with espresso, drinking chocolate, and cream served in layers in a small glass. The name means “little glass” in the local dialect. Of course, we had to try it.

As a funny side note, I happened to be reading the The Italian Daughter on my Kindle during this part of the trip. It wasn’t my favorite book, but I enjoyed it enough to keep going—and it turned out to be a strange little coincidence because part of the story touches on the history of Nutella and Piedmont’s chocolate traditions.

When we found a cozy café to try bicerin, sitting there was a pastry called a pain au chocolat—essentially the French cousin of a chocolate croissant.

I wasn’t expecting much. My entire life, Italian pastries around family gatherings were everywhere, and truthfully I never loved most of them. I also wasn’t expecting to be blown away by something that looked like a simple chocolate pastry. 

I was wrong and it was incredible. Warm, buttery, flaky, and filled with just the right amount of chocolate—so good! 

The bicerin was equally delicious. Rich, and indulgent. It was so special, unique & interesting. If you find yourself in Turin and are curious it’s one of those things that lives up to its hype. 

Turin is filled with beautiful buildings, fascinating sites, and so much history. Vinny and Katia gave us a wonderful overview of the city. Unfortunately, the day we planned to explore more of the major sites, the weather had other plans. Those porticos ended up being a game changer!

Instead, we ended up back at their home for a lovely meal and even more meaningful conversation. Vinny is a little older than me, and although I saw him often when we were kids, age differences feel much bigger when you’re young. 

It was really special to discover how much we had in common—how our family experiences shaped us in similar ways, how much we understood without needing to explain, and simply how much Daren & I genuinely enjoyed being with them. I only wish we lived closer.

Turin quickly became one of our highest recommendations—and one we still feel we haven’t fully explored. I suspect we’ll be back.

The final stop on this two-week trip was the Langhe Valley in Piedmont. The Langhe is known for rolling vineyard-covered hills, prestigious wines like Barolo and Barbaresco, and world-famous hazelnuts. The landscape is stunning—gentler and softer than Tuscany’s rugged beauty, but beautiful in its own way.

Vineyards and hazelnut orchards stretch as far as the eye can see. It’s also the birthplace of Nutella, something I only learned because of the book I was reading. Naturally, we expected to find some sort of Nutella celebration in the area. Truly surprisingly there is nothing, not even a fridge magnet.

From what I read, Ferrero has historically been very private and protective of both its brand and its famously secret recipe. They don’t really get into tourism or public spectacle around Nutella the way you might expect.

There were hiking opportunities everywhere, with trails weaving through vineyards and rolling hills. But it was too hot to enjoy them – not that we didn’t try! We did and gave up. 

Instead, we spent much of our time enjoying the hotel, the pool, and the surrounding views.

Not every stop becomes a favorite. Some places we immediately loved and others can end of being a place to rest. 

Lake Orta gave us peace and the lake vibe. 
Turin gave us a city vibe and family connection. 
The Langhe gave us beauty and rest.

This was a great exploration of the Piedmont region. As long as it was and as happy as I am to be headed back home to Tuscany, I kind of wish it was just a little longer. 

Ciao Amici!

The Italy Situation: A Dog’s Perspective

By Koji Anderson

After yet another terrifying, then exhilarating experience yesterday, I believe it’s finally time I tell you what this whole Italy thing has been like from my point of view.

First of all — this is Koji.

Most of you probably know me already, but if not, my mommy and daddy are Esterina and Daren. Mommy is helping me write this because, despite my many talents, typing is apparently beyond my skill set.

It all started with the crate.

I hadn’t seen a crate since I was a tiny puppy. Back then I actually liked it. One day it disappeared, which I assumed meant I had proven myself trustworthy enough not to destroy the house while nobody was home.

Then suddenly, eleven years later, a giant crate appeared in the living room.

This one was sturdier. More serious.

Naturally, I climbed right in because I remembered the assignment. Also, every time I went inside, treats appeared. Sometimes daddy closed the door and left me in there for a while. Honestly? Not bad. Cozy enough. The crate sat next to my dog bed for weeks, so eventually I stopped questioning it.

Then one day the house became chaos.

Suitcases.
Humans moving quickly.
Doors opening and closing.
Stress smells.

And then somehow the crate came too.

I knew we were going on an adventure because suitcases always mean somebody disappears for a while. The trick is figuring out whether I’m included. I watch carefully for clues:

  • Is my food being packed?
  • Is my travel bed involved?
  • Has someone picked up my leash?

The leash is the final confirmation. Once the leash appears, I allow myself to emotionally commit.

That day, I knew I was coming.

But something felt… suspiciously large-scale.

We all got into a huge car with a driver. Me, mommy, daddy, bags, and somehow the crate too. I sat between them while the world rushed by outside the windows.

Then we arrived somewhere unlike anywhere I had ever smelled before.

Let me tell you something about airports:
Outstanding smells.
Absolutely incredible.

Thousands of humans.
Thousands of shoes.
Old crumbs.
Fear.
Coffee.
Perfume.
Mild panic.
One abandoned french fry.

A sensory masterpiece.

At one point, some men took my crate away while mommy and daddy walked beside me telling me I was a good boy in the tone humans use when they are pretending not to worry.

That’s when I realized:
Something weird was about to happen.

Eventually they guided me into the crate and suddenly we were separating.

I squeaked a little. Not dramatically. Just enough to register concern.

Then came many loud noises, strange movements, rolling, lifting, waiting, more rolling, more noises, and an extremely long period of time where absolutely nothing made sense.

At some point the whole world tilted upward.
Later downward.
Then loud again.

Frankly, I decided the best strategy was acceptance.

Eventually the crate started moving again and suddenly — THERE THEY WERE.

Mommy and daddy.

I cannot adequately explain the relief.

I exploded out of that crate emotionally and physically although I tried to remain composed.

They tried to get me to eat and drink and use the potty, but I was simply too overwhelmed to focus on bodily functions.

Then we got into another car — this one just for us — and after a long ride we arrived somewhere quieter.

There were two ladies there.
And another dog.

His name was Rhum.

We sniffed each other thoroughly and professionally. He informed me I was welcome to drink from his water bowl, which I appreciated because suddenly I realized I was incredibly thirsty.

That was the moment I understood:
We were staying here.

Soon I was introduced to what appears to be my new life.

Honestly?
I like it very much.

There are hills everywhere, which is admittedly a little tough on my hips, but the tradeoff is excellent smells.

I have now smelled:

  • olive groves
  • vineyards
  • medieval streets
  • beach air
  • outdoor markets
  • approximately twelve thousand years of accumulated Italian dog pee

Daddy likes to say I am smelling “medieval urine.”

I don’t fully understand what medieval means, but I respect the depth of the scent.

The most shocking part of Italy is this:
I AM ALLOWED EVERYWHERE.

Stores.
Restaurants.
Outdoor cafés.
Little shops with meats and cheeses hanging everywhere like some kind of fever dream.

The humans speak in different words now, although honestly I never understood English either, so this has not been a difficult transition for me.

People here love dogs.

Sometimes they bring me water.
Sometimes treats.
Sometimes they bend down and call me “bravo cane,” which apparently means I am an excellent citizen.

I already knew this.

One of my favorite things is going to restaurants with mommy and daddy. They sit for very long periods of time while I rest under the table like a furry security detail.

The only issue is other dogs.

When another dog walks by, I do feel it is important to announce myself loudly so everyone remains aware of the situation.

This has not always been appreciated.

Still, overall I believe my public behavior has been excellent.

We also visit many piazzas, which seem to be giant outdoor human gathering zones filled with conversations, footsteps, pigeons, espresso, and confusion.

They are exhausting.

I often collapse directly in the middle of traffic flow to recover.

Yesterday, however, was the strangest experience yet.

We arrived somewhere with an alarming number of stairs.

An unreasonable number.
A hostile number.

I was already emotionally preparing myself for the climb when I noticed something horrifying:

The stairs were moving.

I immediately lay down on the ground because clearly this was a terrible idea.

But mommy and daddy reassured me with pets and encouraging voices, which usually means they are about to force me into personal growth.

Daddy gently dragged me onto the moving stairs.

At first I trembled.

Then suddenly I realized something incredible:

THE STAIRS WERE DOING THE WALKING FOR ME.

Honestly?
Revolutionary.

By the second escalator I was uncertain but cooperative.

By the third one I trotted right on like an experienced commuter.

I have changed as a dog.

Mommy later told people this story and her friend Sarah — Chester’s mom — apparently said, “You can teach an old dog new things.”

I was very proud to hear that.

Anyway, I thought it was time I explained what this whole Italy experience has been like from my perspective.

Terrifying.
Confusing.
Beautiful.
Exhausting.
Delicious-smelling.

And honestly?

I’d do it all again tomorrow.

Ok — this is Esterina now.

I want to pause for a moment and say how incredibly lucky we are to be able to bring Koji along on this adventure. And honestly, he’s pretty lucky too.

Koji is a rescue dog from a high-kill shelter in Tennessee. On Friday, May 15th, he turned 12 years old. As a larger dog, we’re starting to see signs of age creeping in a bit, but he is still unbelievably happy, curious, loving, and as healthy as we could hope for.

Because Daren, Koji, and I were fortunate enough to find one another — thanks to my son Tom, who originally petitioned for us to adopt him — I’ve been thinking a lot lately about giving back to other dogs and to the organizations that make stories like this possible.

That bumper sticker that says “Who rescued who?” really is true.

I recently created a small section on my website (Digital Downloads) where I’m sharing collections of digital iPhone wallpapers. Some are favorite older photos from the U.S., and others will be small collections inspired by our time here in Italy.

They’re simple instant downloads that cost just a few dollars, and all proceeds will be donated to the Cosgrove Animal Shelter in Branford, Connecticut.

If you’d like to support the joy, comfort, companionship, and second chances that rescue animals give so freely, feel free to download a photo you love.

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

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

10 Weeks and Some Newfound Spontaneity

A bright yellow lemon placed on a wooden table, with a view of greenery and a double door in the background.

Yesterday morning I woke up and decided to make lemon ricotta pancakes using the second-to-last lemon my family from Calabria had sent home with us. Saturday or Sunday morning pancakes have become a nice little ritual for us. There was still a thick fog hanging over the hills outside our patio doors, that was just beginning to burn off under a warm, bright Tuscan sun.

As I was fiddling around in the kitchen, Daren was on his phone telling me about an art festival that had just started in Venice. I asked him to put Venice into the map to see how far from us it was.

“Two hours and fifty minutes,” he replied.

Two hours and fifty minutes?

We both just kind of looked at each other — a little awed, a little excited. We knew we lived close to a lot of great places, and of course we’d looked at the map before, but I don’t think we’d really internalized how close and accessible to us these places were. Venice, one of the most iconic travel destinations in the world was less than a 3 hour drive! Rome is just 2 and a half hours away, and Florence just a half hour. In fact, we realized that nearly all the major destinations in Italy, places that people come from all over the world to see, were a day trip away. Suddenly it felt like we should get out there and see some new things.

So after sitting down to eat these delicious pancakes (a new favorite) we decided to take an impromptu trip toward the Bologna area, only about an hour and a half away by car.

We finished breakfast and hopped in the car: windows down, music up, dog nose out the window. We both felt exhilarated, like we were breaking free of self-imposed constraints. As we were driving down the hill out of our neighborhood we stopped and Daren took this photo. Even as he was taking it he said “the camera doesn’t do it justice”

A panoramic view of lush green hills and valleys under a clear blue sky with scattered clouds.

One of us said something to the effect of, “We really didn’t do much this week,” and then we mentally walked back through the week. What had we done? Do we still need to “do things” in order to feel satisfied? What’s wrong with a slow week focused on more mundane things? Well, here is what a “mundane” week in Italy looked like for us:

Sunday we spent HOURS by the pool talking about how we want to spend the rest of our lives. We don’t have an exact plan yet, and this consulting business feels like a small stepping stone toward something, though we aren’t fully sure what yet.

Monday I went grocery shopping. Before leaving, I typed “art supplies Figline Italy” into Google to see where I might buy a canvas or two. That turned into a much longer outing and a lot more than just a canvas.

The rest of the week disappeared into work, dog walks, a lot of art starts and art projects, and me finally finishing the WordPress site that has basically been an online messy closet since its inception in 2015. I’ll paste the link below. While I did this Daren put in some serious hours on the consultancy work.

We also ordered and received a new coffee foamer this week, along with a Bialetti espresso maker I’ve been thinking about for the past seven months. It was more expensive than I normally like to spend, but its beauty kept calling to me. Doppio macchiatos as a midday break are now a new ritual.

We planned a trip to Umbria to visit friends from our neighborhood. We found a new pizzeria to order from for our Friday night pizza ritural that was ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY the yummiest pizza we’ve had here for our tastes so far.

But somehow, despite all of that, it still felt like we hadn’t really “done” anything this week.

So we were both got excited and decided to do something spontaneous. Armed with our new realization that all of Italy was laid out before us and not far away, we were on our way out on the road towards Bologna without a clear plan. Not our usual way of doing things, but it felt new, fun, and a bit daring. We had a good laugh as Daren, much more of a structured planner when it comes to travel, struggled to wrap his mind around being spontaneous. Where will we park? What will we see? Do we need reservations for dinner? This time, let’s just see where we end up and figure it out along the way.

We initially started driving toward Parma, but somewhere around the city of Modena I was really thirsty and wanted to stop, so we shifted plans a bit and ended up there instead.

And we proceeded to have the best day!

First Glances at Modena

We stopped for a little bite. We were going to look up “things to do” but it was so pretty and such a lovely day, having a destination seemed crazy. We decided to wander. No Trip Advisor, no Michelin Guide, no ChatGPT travel recommendations. Just a new, unknown city where, it turns out, balsamic vinegar comes from.

We stopped in this gorgeous church. We had to go in one at a time because we had Koji with us. Italy is SOOOO dog friendly, but I think they’d probably draw the line if we brought him inside.

Next we found ourselves at Piazza Grande. It was the International Red Cross Day and there was a large event celebrating in the piazza. The “Croce Rossa Italiana” employees made a fuss over Koji as we walked around. He was only too happy for the attention. In this square we also found a company store featuring balsamic vinegar that had been in production since 1604. We went in for a vinegar tasting. Who knew that vinegar was such “a thing”. I cannot (cannot) believe how delicious these vinegars were. One of them had been aged for 25 years! We left with a large bag and one too many ideas of how to use it!

Some more shopping and browsing. We stumbled upon an excellent food market. We bought some cheeses and tortellini (what the region of Emilia Romano is known for).

Our unplanned wandering found us strolling down cobblestoned streets and under countless porticos (for which this region is known. As we continued along Daren stopped and pointed out the cutest coffee shop. We stopped in for a quick espresso at the counter. We were feeling very Italian. As we’ve come to learn, Italians stop into to cafes like these throughout the day and order espressos which they down quickly while standing at the counter. While there, we met and chatted (in Italian) with one of the Red Cross staff who was taking a break. Check out the year of this coffee shop on the little espresso cup! We love how old and full of history everything is.

The day concluded with a bit more meandering and a stop at the Pavarotti statue. Pavarotti, among the greatest opera tenors ever, is from Modena. Koji was starting to get tired. I think we all were, so we heading back home where we had a lovely sunset appetizer dinner with the cheese we bought, our favorite bread (from Lidl of all places), the vinegars we purchased and the very last of the olives that we brought back from my family’s olive grove in Calabria.

A final dog walk, some showers and a little TV/couch time closed out the evening and the week. Today marks 10 weeks that we have been here.

Meanwhile – check out the cleaned up wordpress site where this and all the other Italy blogs live, along with a lot more stuff. A brief explanation is below.


esterinaanderson.com

Take a look around by clicking the link above that says esterinaanderson.

The site now opens directly to our Italy page, where we’ve organized the writing into our individual perspectives along with our shared travelogue (including posts like this one).

If you explore the other tabs at the top — Reflections, All the Flavor, and the Digital Shop — there’s a lot more tucked in there too.

Here’s a little mock-up below – which isn’t clickable, but shows what you will see when you open the site and what each tab is. Or feel free to wander through the site yourself. It’s finally starting to feel connected, organized, and a little more like home.

Website navigation menu with options for Italy travel experiences, blog reflections, recipes, and a digital shop for smartphone wallpapers.

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

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

Not Everything Is a Postcard

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.


A winding path through a lush garden lined with trees bearing yellow fruit, leading to a green wooden gate in the background.

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.


A train station platform with tracks, featuring a sign for 'Pompei Scavi Villa Misteri', surrounding greenery, and a tall tree under a clear blue sky.

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.


A scenic view of Positano, Italy, showcasing colorful hillside buildings, a beach area, and the Mediterranean Sea under a blue sky.

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.


Historic red brick church with a tall white steeple and clock, surrounded by bare trees and greenery.

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.



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.

A close-up view of an ancient stone wall with a large archway, featuring vibrant yellow wildflowers growing from the top.
A large crowd of tourists gathered at the entrance of ancient stone ruins under a clear blue sky.

The City Pattern

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)

Updates from Esterina https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/04/06/on-easter/

Updates from Daren https://esterinaanderson.com/2026/04/06/beauty-in-the-large-and-the-small/

On the Perfectly Curated Scene

This morning I sit in a beam of sun with a light breeze and the sound of water lazily lapping against the boat. Blue water and gentle waves surround me everywhere, rocking the boat to & fro. The slightest poofs of wind pop against the dark navy blue Bimini every so often, adding a different sound to the nautical melody that plays upon my ears.

Finally, I am relaxed for a few minutes and enjoying a cup of freshly pressed coffee while it’s still warm enough to enjoy—but not so warm that it is creating more heat than I want so early in the morning.

It’s not too cold or too hot today, but the constant rocking in Vineyard Haven harbor woke me up at 6am. It is actually dry this morning, so I didn’t mind coming up top into the cockpit with some blankets to temper my body just right. It’s already 7am, which means I have an hour before we dash off to the next place, in which I will sleep about 90% of the trip—and my life away.

It’s already 7am, which means I should start to hurry. Start putting away things that will move during the passage, and take a truly nasty, rocking and slamming dinghy ride to some of the sketchiest streets Martha’s Vineyard has to offer—just to walk the dog.

What at home takes less than a minute to get the dog outside for a walk (or even faster when we open the back door) turns into a 3x-a-day, at least 10 minutes each way (60 minutes total) event involving a dinghy that I still can’t figure out how to use. Add walking past dozens of warning signs about not allowing a dog in the made-up looking “pristine” spots amongst ship garages, the smell of diesel on a hot summer day, and tools strewn about. Dog pee on that small grass bed would of course ruin the whole scene.

So it is at least another 10 minutes per trip—or longer, since I actually like moving my body more than a few steps at a time. This makes walking the dog eat, at the bare minimum, 2 hours a day.

When I crash (and I mean crash) into bed every night, I wonder what the heck I did all day. I brought pastels to do art with. Yarn to knit with. A yoga mat. Books to read. But somehow day after day passes, and I’m happy if I just walked on land for more than a few minutes.

Yes, I am happy. It really is nice to appreciate small things like stretching your limbs by taking full steps on solid land. Or the feeling of a cool breeze (or any breeze really) when you are hot.

Or the art of doing nothing.

No—I lied there.

There is no doing nothing. Just living is all we do. Preparing something to eat, washing the dishes from it, cleaning up, changing my clothes. Even washing my face and brushing my teeth seems like a lot of work—and a lot of time. So much time that these things kind of take the whole day.

Some people refuse to boat with dogs—too much hair, too much pressure to get them on a walk. And they are absolutely right that it does consume your time. But I love my dog that much. His excitement makes bringing him so much more worth it. But he is a time suck.

Yesterday is what Daren called maintenance day. We got fuel and water. We did laundry and grocery shopped. It was Saturday. Seems like a good day to do those things. But other than sailing from Cuttyhunk to Martha’s Vineyard (which, for someone who doesn’t know how or like to sail, is sort of like throwing hours of your life into the sea) and having dinner with our friends (and dog walking, which I slept through the first iteration of), we did nothing else.

What would take maybe an hour or two for chores at home consisted of at least 6 hours of what shouldn’t be (especially on a “vacation”) labor-intensive work. The level of exertion in doing the smallest of things, combined with the lack of exercise, leaves my body feeling like a total pile of mush.

No lounging, no reading, no art, no exercise, no catching up on shows, no knitting—just keeping ourselves and the dog alive and fed.

We have and will see some absolutely stunning places. I’ve been vlogging the trip. These do not take a lot of work. I take short clips all day, and in my years of work experience with technology and multitasking, I can whip these together throughout the day rather efficiently.

Look at this perfect photo! These are not hard to capture—they are everywhere. I picked those flowers from wild areas by the fire tower while on a run in Cuttyhunk. Cool, huh?

But the vlogs and photos only show the beautiful stuff. I crop—or if I can, never capture—the many unsightly things right out of the crafted, curated scene. You don’t see the dumpsters everywhere. Us taking out our stinky trash or figuring out how to get pumped out. Recycling is an issue that we are temporarily choosing to ignore.

The surroundings of boating areas are often filled with broken lines and lobster traps, utterly despicable bathrooms, sparse maritime stores that look like a sad mini version of Home Depot, and slimy barnacles growing on everything you might need to touch during the day.

I like this, but I also dislike it. I miss being able to freely use water or taking a real shower. I miss not worrying about how and when to charge my devices. This is all very nice, even without modern conveniences—but not for a “vacation.” I don’t want to work so hard during my time off.

If we were retired and this was our life, I would be all in for a month or two a year.

Being on a slip vs. a mooring or anchor is better in that at the very least I could go for a run without being charioted to land on a dinghy. I ran a total of one time. I had 45 minutes before I had to meet Daren and ran with the flowers that are in that great picture most of the way.

At a slip on the dock, we can use water and electricity without conservation. But it’s still cramped and hard to cook and shower. It’s still a hike past the “no dogs” signs. The marinas and boatyards are often still very sparse, smelly, and ugly places. Not to mention the heart-stopping average rate of $8–10/ft per night during the summer.

I do love seeing places by boat. I truly do. I love Koji’s excitement when we get in the dinghy and he has no idea where we are going, but he is excitedly up for anything because he is with his owners. I love being with my dog and husband, and when we get to—friends—doing a little of nothing but existing.

However, it’s not just the curated shots and video clips it looks to be.

I have worries too aside from this pretty great trip. I feel guilt sharing them because my problems seem small in a world where stable food, shelter, and clothing are not a given. But I refuse to be another number out there using social media to only highlight the good stuff in my life too, adding to the fluff of it all.

I don’t want to feel guilty for telling the world it’s not all perfect here either. I am real, and I do not have a great day every day. More than that, I don’t want to be a part of the social media problem. I don’t mind sharing the not-so-great parts of my life because I’m a real person with real feelings, and most of my life is not the perfect pictures posted.

This is the first time in 9 days I’ve had 45 minutes to just sit and think and write. It was quite lovely. The scene was perfect. But my coffee is now cold, and it’s time to get up and do all those ugly things. Time to charge my phone again, which mysteriously uses battery power 4x faster about 10 feet from the shore.

Maybe I’ll have time like this again before I go back to work in 8 days. Or maybe I won’t. What I do know is that while I do enjoy this and I am having a lot of fun—this really is, for me personally, a far cry from a vacation.

It’s a beautiful, perfectly curated scene in which you can choose to ignore the ugly, focus only on the ugly, or find a medium in between.

I’m toeing the in-between line—but I haven’t been swayed to ignore it.

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

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

On the Sun, Moon & Tides

Over the past few weeks, due to two different workshops I have attended, I’ve been very interested in learning a little more about the moon and its cycles. Coincidentally, and unrelated to the workshops, an organization I volunteer for is having a retreat in the Catskills one weekend to learn more about the moon.

The moon affects our tides and the sea. They are predictable, as predictable as the sun rising and setting. We can look up the sunrise, moon phases, and tide tables for the next hundred years and be sure that is what is going to happen.

For my birthday this year, Daren booked a trip a few months ahead to one of our favorite destinations in the world—York, ME. We are here now. We left yesterday afternoon and drove up in the pouring rain. As we pulled into the Airbnb he rented on the water, the rain stopped and the sun began an attempt to peek through the grey clouds.

Situated at the end of a small street extension, the quaint New England house from the outside was adorable. As we opened the lockbox to get the key, I was already sad we only had three nights here.

We opened the door to the house and were instantly in awe of the view of the ocean from inside. The inside was even more special. We went upstairs to drop off our bags, and the view from the master bedroom was even more amazing. I felt my heart slow down, my blood pressure decrease, and an overall sense of peace. I love coming to Maine. We have vacationed here with the kids and alone for at least six years now. It’s like coming home.

There is something about being near the ocean that calms me and feels like home. The smell of marine life, the sound of waves crashing against the shore, the mystery and vastness… how it can look so different at any time of the day or year. Between the tide changes, sun position, and weather, it never gets old.

We only live about 45 minutes from the Long Island Sound, but it’s the furthest I’ve lived from the water in my life. It’s probably no coincidence that at this time in life I suffer from anxiety. There are definable other factors too—the second half of life, blended family woes, being more spiritual—but I can’t discount the lack of water in my life.

In a workshop I attended last week, I learned that water absorbs our heavy energies and carries it away. I can almost feel this. It might be why I feel like a completely different person when we spend time in the house that we have on the Airbnb market in Branford, CT.

I feel that being near the water and being more directly, physically affected by the tides also helps to put us more in touch with nature. For example, here in Maine and in Branford, certain beaches don’t even exist at high tide. At our home in Branford, during low tide you can actually walk down the steps in our yard to the cove and over to the Sound or across to another house, or during high tide you can use those same steps to kayak away from the house. Fishermen, seaside towns, and many maritime cultures alike live and plan their day by the tides. When you accept that you can only do certain things as nature provides them to you, I feel it can help you accept that we can’t always manipulate life and that it’s important to live with the elements. Overall, we become more adaptable, well-adjusted people who can steer a sailboat (figuratively) using the elements of life rather than trying to fight them.

At our home in Branford, I provide our renters with a sunrise and sunset schedule so they can decide if they would like to watch it. I let them know where the best places are, whether it be in our yard or down the street, to catch either. I also provide a little chart with the tides and phases of the moon. The full moon at the beach 100 steps from our front door is not a sight to be missed on a clear night. The tides in our area will dictate when you can sit on the beach or kayak.

I don’t think many folks know why, but in many comments in the guest book or on the sites where the vacation rental is listed, our guests have commented on how calm they feel and that they felt so connected to nature there.

Living in, around, and with nature helps us feel connected to it. In our modern lives, we almost never feel that connection. Somehow the trees’ leaves just appeared, or it was daytime. Sensing the change and being witness to the artistic beauty the universe provides helps me to feel connected to the universe itself. Being connected gives me clarity about the role of my small, selfish thoughts in the big picture, helps me feel the divine connection I have to everyone and everything, and helps me want to just be a better person.

Below, in order, is the view as I write this blog this morning, the sunrise that woke us up from the master bedroom window, and some lobster traps left for the season at Perkins Cove last night

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tide/

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

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

 

On the Mysterious Secret of Slowing Down

Last Sunday evening after dinner I was washing a pot. I was washing it very mindfully. I was noticing the feel of the warm, soapy water on my hands. I thought about how the pot was made and how I infused the homemade vegan chili in this large, heavy blue pot with love. Most importantly I was slowly and methodically removing the food that was stuck to the bottom of the pan. I thought back to a lesson I just cannot seem to always remember – “To go faster you must slow down”.

 

I led a fast-paced adult life until about 2 years ago. So fast that I hardly had time to think. Washing a pot with food stuck to the bottom has always reminded me of this paradox; thanks to a visit from my mother a few years before she passed away. When my children were young and I was first married, we had little money, but I kept a really good home. I felt very on top of things. But I was rushed back then too. I was so rushed that I never really had time to deal with pots that ended up with years’ worth of stains on them. In late 2001 my mother came to visit with her new husband Boris. I had only just met him, and I know he made my mother very happy. He was from Venezuela. My mom talked so much about how laid back he was and how he got her to slow down, grow out her hair, and stop fussing so much with makeup and keeping up the house. I made a big dinner when they came to visit, and afterward there were many pots and pans that needed cleaning. My mother and Boris came into the kitchen to help and stationed themselves at the sink; she on dish duty, he on drying duty. What seemed like only moments later, while I was putting the leftover food into containers, I noticed Boris drying off one of the pots. What caught my eye about a particular pot that usually had brown and black soot on the bottom was that it was so shiny and clean. Years’ worth of food and cooking buildup was gone! I asked my mother how she did that and so fast… she only smiled with a glint in her eye and said “Boris showed me how”. She never told me with words, but with her eyes she told me to slow down and go easy. The next time I had to clean a pot, and ever since, I’ve taken my time, used far less pressure than I ever would have, and they have always come clean. Working in a rush and with too much pressure used more time and never yielded the same results. I never understood how; it’s just the way it works.
I learned this 17 years ago, but I still don’t always remember or practice this principle. Two years ago I slowed down immensely, truly savoring the small, day-to-day moments, and oddly enough I found myself to be happier, more at peace, and with more time than I ever had. It’s not only time, but also about “less”. Doing less, trying less, having less… all equal less stress and more joy.
Last week I had the luxury of traveling with my husband and a group of amazing individuals from my yoga studio to a jungle sanctuary in Costa Rica. Getting to this sanctuary required two commercial flights, a puddle jumper plane, a 45-minute car ride, and then a 20-minute hike crossing a river four times. It was hot and humid; the type of humidity where you never dry off, even after a shower.
The only way on and off the sanctuary is a 20-minute-plus hike. On the last full day of the trip, my husband Daren and I ventured off the property to the sanctuary’s closest neighbor, Nena, in pursuit of pure organic extra virgin coconut oil. It was a short walk over a bridge that overlooks the ocean to Nena’s house. For the previous two days, Daren & I opted to take some excursions off the property with our group. Both days were a little hectic and obscenely hot at times. I felt ambivalent all morning about whether or not we should take the walk down the hill to get this coconut oil, mainly because it was hot. For some reason I said I’d like to go, but I wanted to walk slowly. So off we went to Nena’s house for coconut oil.


Daren and I really took our time. We stopped and looked at monkeys. We watched little birds. We passed our friend, the white cow. When we left the property and crossed the street, we stopped on the bridge. Actually, Daren stopped on the bridge and called out to me, “Babe, look at this view!”. Slightly annoyed, I stopped to look. I was initially feeling rushed, looked at my watch, and started calculating how much time it would take to get to Nena’s, buy this coconut oil, trek back, “relax” at the pool, and then dash off to the next yoga class. However, when I turned my head to the left and saw the scene, my heart rate actually slowed down a bit. I couldn’t believe I was about to just walk by and miss this scene! I took it in. While standing there, I couldn’t help but notice this insane, harried American thought pattern, and I pushed it completely away. When I stopped and didn’t worry about the time, I was able to remember that I was here in this beautiful place, at this beautiful moment, with my beautiful husband and a group of beautiful, well-lit individuals. I stopped my physical, then mental body from the rush of insanity and fleeting thoughts to appreciate the view and the view of my husband appreciating the view.


We stood there a while in silence. I took a few pictures and resisted the urge to snap more. More is not better. More pictures, more talk, more activity… more, more, more… No, no, no… I know this, but I live in a world that tells me the opposite, so it’s easy to forget.


It was I who broke the silence after a long while. I had the profound realization that because we walked slowly, we weren’t as hot as we were the rest of the trip. I intellectually knew that before we walked and even made that suggestion, but it was even more profound to experience that it worked. It dawned on me that every time I go anywhere where the weather is warm all the time, the locals move slowly. I heard other Americans and Canadians joking about how the natives live on “Costa Rican time”. I’ve heard the same joke in other places. All these Americans and Europeans thinking it’s so funny to crack jokes about how slow everyone moves, when really the joke is on us. What is wrong with us? We are the dummies sweating in the sun because we are rushing around like lunatics. It’s our culture that is uptight, wound up, and stressed. What are we in a rush to do anyway? At that moment on the bridge, I decided to put my watch in my pocket and let the day pass as it may. Strangely, there seemed to be just the right amount of time for everything once I stopped worrying at all about it.

IMG_E1457.jpg

Daren with our friend the pretty white cow who was often on the path onto and off the sanctuary.

 

IMG_E1458.jpg

The view I nearly just didn’t notice

When we move too quickly, we often miss things that are right in front of us. This applies to work, our lives with our families and friends, and even how we move toward our goals. It’s not just about what we need to see, but what actually enriches our daily experience.


In the midst of this jungle last week, we were surrounded by wildlife. It was beautiful, simple, exotic, intoxicating, and natural. This was a yoga group at a yogic sanctuary. Yogis might be more aware than most about the beauty of being conscious, but are no less human and subject to falling prey to being unconscious in a world that keeps dangling shiny temptations all around. One of my teachers deliberately did not go on one of the daily excursions on a day that every other single person in the group did. She said she did not want to feel rushed, and she sat watching monkeys for several hours that day instead. The message she took away is that the monkeys were there all along, providing the same level of awe and entertainment, but had one not taken the time to stop and observe, it would have been missed.


The evening we returned to Connecticut from Costa Rica, Daren and I found ourselves in line at a McDonald’s drive-through on the way home from the airport at 11:45 at night. By that point in the day, we had been up and en route home since 5:15am. We had only one real meal. We were tired, dirty, and stressed. Hurry up and wait. We almost missed a connecting flight because Passport Control was a hot mess when we got back into the U.S. We were waiting in a very long car line at 11:45pm for an absolutely nutritionally poor meal (well, Daren was waiting, I was looking forward to some soup at home). We were stressed. Daren was tapping at the wheel. I was mentally trying hard not to fall into the trap of ordering something greasy or feeling upset over the slow-moving line, all while trying to stay cheerful so my husband could stay positive too. In my mind, I was doing math again about the number of things I needed to do the next day to get ready for the week, wondering how I could fit them in. How much mail was there? Who is taking the dog to the vet Thursday? What should I pull out for dinner tomorrow? Should I go shopping? I needed to inventory the food situation at home first, right? With every thought, I felt my blood pressure rising. And every time I noticed my breath becoming rapid and shallow or my heart racing, I made the conscious decision to breathe deeply and live in the moment. That only lasts a few moments out here in the “real world” until the thoughts and heart start to race again. How could you explain this feeling to someone in the third world?


We may have been in the middle of the jungle, but the concrete jungle creates artificial stressors that make living life to the fullest nearly impossible. It’s impossible because living life to the fullest was taught to me as fitting in as much “fun”, work, and activity as possible. This means learning as much as you can, moving quickly, multitasking, making lots of money to do these amazing things (because they aren’t free), and providing these experiences to our children. Making money means more rushing and more stress. For most, it means long commutes and doing work you rarely feel connected to. Then rushing home to activities and often hurried, unhealthy meals—if you are lucky, with loved ones. Weekends are spent putting your living space back together, cleaning, doing laundry, shopping, shuffling people around, and squeezing in “quality” time. Somewhere in between, you are supposed to exercise, meditate, perform self-care, attend appointments, cook healthy meals, and sleep enough—just so you don’t get stressed or exhausted. You know… so you can be happy and experience life to the fullest. It sounds insane when you really look at it.


I’ve also noticed that when we take the time to do things more carefully instead of rushing through them, we tend to get better results and feel less stressed in the process.


Physics teaches us that time is relative. Slowing down seems to expand our experience of time. I can’t explain why; it just is. Another interesting paradox is that it allows us to appreciate more. Life becomes less expensive, less material, and far less stressful.


The overall message for me is that slowing down equals living life more fully. I keep forgetting, but the time between which I do is growing larger and larger. I hope that others who haven’t given it a whirl do. There’s nothing to lose but old, tired ideas of what it means to live our lives to the fullest.

IMG_E1435.jpg
Sunrise one morning from the Tower at the Sanctuary
IMG_E1455.jpg
Sunset one evening on the beach of Santa Theresa Costa Rica

 

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

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