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.
The gorgeous sounds of the opera Tosca filled the lakeside amphitheater as we took in the spectacle of an open-air opera in Italy. The leading tenor, Cavaradossi, pours out his love of life and his love for Tosca as he prepares for his imminent execution. No one writes soaring, sumptuous melodies quite like Puccini. And no one writes opera with such passion, tenderness, and heartbreak. The haunting theme of E lucevan le stelle is passed from a clarinet, to violin, before being taken up by the tenor, and finally returning back to the orchestra. These are melodies that stay with you long after the opera has ended.
Puccini wrote some of the world’s most beloved operas. He composed many of them from his home on the lake in Torre del Lago, where we found ourselves on Friday evening watching Tosca in an open-air amphitheater. From our seats we watched a full moon rising over the stage while catching glimpses of the lake beyond. Onstage there was torture, passion, betrayal, stabbings, suicides, and of course magnificent music. It was the full Italian opera experience.
We were lucky enough to have heard about the Puccini festival back in the spring, an annual summer-time event in which his operas are performed at Torre del Lago Puccini, where Puccini did much of his composing. To make a weekend out of it, we booked a hotel in the nearby city of Lucca for two nights. Lucca is one of our favorite cities. We first came to Lucca last December on a very quick trip to make a final decision on our apartment. While the rental near Lucca did not work out, we loved the very brief time we spent in the city and vowed to come back when we had more time to explore.
Lucca, like many Italian cities, is surrounded by thick walls. Unlike other towns, Lucca’s Renaissance walls are still completely intact, having never been breached or destroyed. They are impressive to look upon. It is difficult to imagine how many bricks were made and laid, how many workers labored, and over how many years such a massive structure, stretching nearly three miles around the city, was built. It is equally difficult to imagine living in a world where every city needed walls to protect itself from neighboring powers such as Pisa or Florence. But this was the reality of 15th century Italy which explains the fact that so many cities are walled in and, whenever possible, built on top of hills! Defense was critical in the dangerous world of Medieval and Renaissance Italy.
While the walls were interesting, the best part about them now is that they have been transformed into a kind of outdoor park. The top of the wall is planted with grass and stately trees and there is a paved trail on which one can walk, jog, or cycle completely around the city without interruption. One morning, before the heat settled in, we enjoyed one of our favorite runs since moving to Italy. Koji sniffed a good portion of the walls as well, and even got to spend a bit of time off leash.
Inside the walls, Lucca offers many of the things we have grown accustomed to in Italian cities: ancient churches, lovely piazzas, excellent gelato, Italian restaurants, and centuries of history. Yet the city has an energy all its own. It feels clean, beautifully preserved, and less encumbered by the overwhelming crowds found in nearby Florence.
For me, one of the highlights was a small museum dedicated to Puccini, housed in his ancestral home. The museum had original scores, libretti, some of his clothes and my favorite thing, the Steinway piano on which he composed his works.
Much of our time here felt similar to time in other Italian cities: We had good pizza, good gelato, did some window shopping, and appreciated some historical buildings. And we are starting to feel a bit of “been there, done that” as we continue to explore Italy. But this city still captured me and found a place in my heart.
I am adding it to my list of top places to visit in Italy. I am even thinking about putting together a few sample “itineraries” for those interested in an experience in Italy beyond (or even avoiding) the usual Rome, Venice, Florence circuit. Send me a note if you’d be interested.
We also managed to squeeze in a short trip over to Pisa to see whether the tower still leans. Pisa is only about 30 minutes from Lucca, so after breakfast on our first morning we headed over, hoping to beat both the crowds and the heat. We learned two things. First, the tower does indeed lean—a lot. Second, it is part of an extraordinary complex that includes a magnificent cathedral and baptistry, all set within the Piazza dei Miracoli just inside Pisa’s ancient walls. The cathedral, with its blend of Romanesque, Byzantine, and Islamic influences, is one of the most remarkable I’ve seen in Italy. We also learned that this is one of the most tourist-heavy destinations in the country. By late morning it was packed with tourists, buses, influencers, selfie-snappers, and the heat was becoming intense. We made a quick, surgical strike, admired the tower and cathedral, and retreated before Koji completely melted in the building heat.
Now we are back in Gaville to catch up on projects, get some work done, and implement a new strategy for dealing with the heat. Heat is a new reality that has taken center stage recently. Our apartment has no air conditioning, relying instead on its thick stone walls and high ceilings to stay comfortable. This strategy has worked well for hundreds of years, but this week, with temperatures are hovering daily around 100, it is becoming a bit more of a challenge.
We are learning to adapt. We have standing fans upstairs and downstairs. One blows on us all night. We are also reorganizing our days, taking advantage of the morning hours before the heat sets in. We try to get our exercise and dog walks in early. By 1pm it is simply too hot to run or bike, or even to walk around. During the afternoon we try to move less, drink a lot of fluids, and avoid going out whenever possible.
The extreme heat has added a whole new and unwelcome element to our experience, turning summer, which has always been the best time of year for outdoor activity and travel, into more of a grim slog requiring strategizing and sapping the enjoyment out of many experiences. Fortunately, autumn is not far away.
We continue to find ways to adapt to life in Italy. Learning to live with the heat is simply the latest chapter in a year of discovering new places, embracing unfamiliar routines, and, along the way, learning more about ourselves. That was, after all, the point of this entire adventure. I have no doubt that we will return home with a renewed appreciation for much of what we left behind, but also changed by an experience that was as much about looking inward as looking outward.
It’s been a few weeks since we last blogged. Mostly because we’ve been traveling, but also because it’s been so hot that it’s harder to be motivated to do much more than sit in front of a fan (yes, a fan, because A/C is a lot less common here than in the US)!
Before I write about our recent trip, I want to step back and tell you about the regions of Italy.
Italy is divided into 20 regions which are, in some ways, like our states. Many of these regions you’ve probably heard about, like Tuscany, Campagna, Piedmont, or Sicily. Five of the regions have a sort of special status. They are fully part of the country of Italy, but they are considered “autonomous regions”. Unlike Italy’s other regions, these five have a little more control over their own affairs because of their geography, history, or cultural identity. Some have strong French, German, or Slovene influences. Others are islands with strong local traditions and culture. The reasons for this special status are historical and cultural.
I was excited to learn about these regions. I am not technically able to travel outside of Italy without risking my residency in Italy. I’ve been here more than the 90 days that are allowed in the Schengen countries of Europe. Because I have a pending citizenship application, I am allowed to stay in Italy past the 90 days. But other countries like France or Germany might not see it that way. So we’ve essentially made peace with the idea of staying put in Italy until things are “official”. Poor us. But in truth, I have been getting a bit tired of Italian food. Hard to believe. And much of what we’ve seen is starting to look a bit familiar; piazza, Roman ruins, hilltop castle. It’s all incredibly beautiful, but I was starting to crave something just a little different. Perhaps these autonomous regions would do the trick. Maybe a visit to one of them would be like leaving the country without actually leaving the country.
Two of the five are a little harder for us to get to—Sicily and Sardinia. We may make it to Sicily this winter when it’s cooler, but Sardinia, while I’d love to go, just might not be in the cards. The other three are close enough to make easy road trips.
So we started out with a trip to Valle d’Aosta a few weeks ago. We wrote about the trip itself, but we not much about the culture. I was genuinely excited as we crossed into this special region. I was hoping to see something a little different and, even more importantly, eat something a little different. The architecture changed almost immediately. The towns we visited looked more like Swiss Alpine villages—which makes perfect sense since it borders Switzerland.
I couldn’t wait for dinner.
Unfortunately, we arrived at our hotel in Courmayeur a little late and many places were already closed. We ended up at a small restaurant that mostly served pizza and the usual Italian staples. It did have fondue on the menu. Fondue and polenta were about the only things that felt new (and honestly, polenta isn’t exactly that “new”). And the fondue came with the standard cured meats for dipping, and the rest of the menu followed the familiar antipasti, primi, secondi, and contorni format. The other restaurants we looked at were much the same—maybe one or two dishes that weren’t on menus elsewhere in Italy, but not much beyond that. The homes and building definitely looked different, and the mountain scenery was a major change, but the food was solidly “Italian”.
So last week we set out for the regions of Veneto and Friuli Venezia Giulia. The latter is one is another of Italy’s five special autonomous regions.
Below is a photo of the Italian regions. The pins are where we have pin and the blue circles highlight the 5 special regions.
VERONA
When we got to Verona, I was seriously surprised at how much international stuff there was. There was an international pharmacy that specializes in helping foreigners. There was food other than Italian! Of course Italian food still dominated the scene, but there were more options than we’d found in Florence. It wasn’t always obvious, either. What looked like a typical Italian restaurant often had burgers, wings, salmon, potatoes… no Thai or deli sandwiches, but things… options. Exciting! You can tell from my writing that I really am craving some non-Italian food!
Verona itself was just… pretty. I get why Shakespeare set Romeo and Juliet there. We used an app for a self-guided walking tour and were quite impressed with the history that was visible and beautifully preserved. When strolling through Verona you move seamlessly amongst well preserved Roman ruins, including a large coliseum, Medieval buildings, elegant palazzos, and lots of lovely piazzas. The town felt vibrant and well preserved without feeling run down.The squares were probably the coziest and most inviting we’ve seen yet. Other cities have squares that are more architecturally impressive, but Verona had a warmth to it that we just loved!
One medieval square had an ancient fountain from which Koji was delighted to take a drink, and a host of buildings colorfully decorated wiht frescos from the 1400’s. It contained a market, just as it had 600 years ago, although todays “market” featured refrigerator magnets, hand held fans, and granitas, rather than mutton or grain.
My favorite evening was one when we left Koji behind in the hotel to recover from the heat, and just wander the city as dusk fell. We stumbled onto Castelvecchio just as the sun was setting and slowly walked across an ancient medieval bridge that connected the castle to the other side of the river. It was truly magical. Unlike some of the other castles we’ve visited, this one felt like a place people had actually lived in—the kind of castle you imagine in fairy tales. It even had a moat and a drawbridge. We didn’t rush back. Instead, we meandered along the river, enjoying in the fading light and watching people enjoy the cooler evening air. Magical!
We thought two nights might be too much for Verona. Instead, we left wishing we’d stayed longer and are already hoping to come back.
TREVISO
Next we went on to try out our first stay at an agriturismo. Think of it as somewhere between a bed & breakfast, an AirBnB, and a farm stay. There are agriturismos all over Italy. Many are working farms that have converted part of their property into guest accommodations, often serving food made from ingredients they grow or produce themselves. They’re scattered throughout the Italian countryside and are a great way to experience a quieter side of Italy.
I was not expecting air conditioning, a large space, or almost anything really—and whoa what a surprise! It was hands down one of the nicest places we’ve stayed. This agriturismo was part of a working family winery making Proseco, along with a few red and white wine varietals. We literally walked out of our room and into a vineyard. And it was inexpensive as heck! It wasn’t close to much, so driving was a must, but it was absolutely perfect as a stop between cities.
Our main objective in coming to this part of Veneto was to check out Treviso and, of course, to try tiramisu. What we didn’t realize is that we would discover unexpectedly, one of the most beautiful regions we’ve seen in Italy. But first, Treviso.
Treviso is sometimes called “Little Venice” because it has canals that wind through parts of the historic center, although on a much smaller scale than its famous neighbor. More importantly, from our perspective was that it is widely credited as the birthplace of tiramisu, with several cafés claiming to have created the dessert in the 1970s. Whether that’s completely true or not, it was reason enough to visit.
Well, a mini Venice is a S-T-R-E-T-C-H, but I can see how one might say that. The canals were scenic and beautiful in their own right, but had little in common with those in Venice. I actually think Treviso would be wise to drop the comparison to Venice and instead just promote itself as a beautiful town on a river with many lovely little canals running through the historic town center. Think swans and weeping willows rather than gondolas and serenades.
We did our research ahead of time on the place where tiramisu was supposedly “invented”: Le Becchieria, an old and respected restaurant that now, with its tiramisu fame, has added a bakery café for those seeking this famed dessert.
I had a twinge of missing my dad here. For some unknown reason, when he met Daren back in 2010 over breakfast one morning at my brother’s house, he was already talking about what we’d have for dinner. Like many Italians, food was never very far from his mind. He didn’t know Daren from Adam, but somehow decided Daren liked Fra Diavolo. Later that evening, when we picked up Italian takeout, there was the Fra Diavolo for Daren and tiramisu because, apparently, “Daren & Gabby like it.”
This was quite funny to all of us at the time—my dad deciding who liked what. The funny part was that Daren had never even had Fra Diavolo before that night, although he did end up really liking it. Gabby, on the other hand, never liked tiramisu, and while Daren certainly wouldn’t turn up his nose at it, he’d never have called it a favorite. Well now, after nearly five months in Italy, Daren claims that tiramisu is in fact one of his favorite deserts, and the one at this little restaurant in the small town of Treviso, is the best!
So here we were in the birthplace of tiramisu… and I thought of Pops. As I said, I’m not a fan, but this was truly the best tiramisu I’d ever had. We usually share desserts, but we each got our own piece, and it was 100% worth the calories—and getting completely full.
Later that day we took a drive and discovered the unexpected highlight of the trip: The Proseco Hills, the place where the famous Italian bubbly is made.
The hills between Asolo and Valdobbiadene are a UNESCO World Heritage Site, recognized for their centuries-old vineyards and the unique landscape shaped by generations of winemakers. This is the heart of Prosecco country. While wines labeled “Prosecco” can be grown and produced from a wide range of places across north-eastern Italy, only Prosecco from two small regions, Valdobbiadene and Asolo, can be designated “DOCG”, indicating the highest quality and strict adherence to the ancient methods of growth and production.
We drove through several of the towns. Each one we came to was more beautiful than the last. The views were drop-dead amazing. Rolling hills covered with vines. Proseco grape clusters hanging down from the vines. The Alps themselves looming in the north. Farms, churches, and houses dotting the hilly landscape. We had the windows down, Koji had his head out the window, it was the golden hour, and it will forever be one of the more memorable drives I’ve taken in my life. Daren mapped out the entire route, and I’m so thankful he did.
TRIESTE
Our last stop was the autonomous region of Friuli Venezia Giulia where we hopefully would find some hearty Eastern European food. On the way, we stopped in Aquileia, another UNESCO World Heritage Site. Once one of the biggest and wealthiest cities of the Roman Empire, Aquileia is home to remarkably preserved Roman ruins, one of the world’s first Christian churches, and among the largest and best-preserved mosaic floors in the world. It’s considered one of Italy’s most important archaeological sites.
And yet… it was here, walking down the street in the burning sun on our way to another church, and I thought, I don’t think I can walk into one more dimly lit church, crane my neck to look at another fresco, and pretend to care why or how it got there. I had officially hit historical site overload.
So I sat outside with Koji in the shade and urged Daren to go geek out on this stuff. According to Daren, the mosaic floor was truly spectacular. The basilica was first built in 313 AD, but the current structure dates from the 11th century. However, the floor is the thing that visitors come to see. You enter the church on a raised plexiglass floor and look down on an enormous expanse of mosaic floor perfectly preserved from the 300’s, showing scenes from the bible as well as animals and fish and complex Roman designs. It’s amazing to learn that some of the original structure was destroyed by the Huns, yes the Huns, but the floor remained intact.
After Daren finished viewing the church, we were getting hot, hungry and cranky, so after an unremarkable (truly terrible) lunch, we hopped back in the car and headed for Trieste.
Trieste has an interesting historical and cultural background. It only became part of Italy after WWI. Prior to that, it was a major port city in the Austro-Hungarian empire where goulash, schnitzel, and beer were more likely to be found than pasta, pizza, and red wine. It’s history, culture, buildings, and traditions share more in common with Vienna and the Balkans than with Italy.
We arrived smack in the middle of a Sunday afternoon in July, not far from the famous Miramare Castle. Right on the water at a cute(ish) hotel on the Adriatic where it looked like Spring Break: Trieste Edition.
There was no beach to speak of—just a few miles of stone and concrete waterfront where hundreds of people were stretched out in the sun or under the trees. There were stairways leading down to the water and the whole city was swimming, or so it seemed. It was a scene! I wasn’t sure I was going to like this place. Too crazy? Too busy?
So we headed into the city and left Koji back at the hotel enjoying what turned out to be the best thing about it—the air conditioning. Naturally, we started with gelato and coffee. We went straight to the recommended gelato shop, but the line was so long you had to take a number, so we skipped it and found another place in the main square where we could sit in the shade.
The gelato was more like ice cream, and my Americano (I think) tasted like classic drip coffee. I don’t know for sure, but it smelled and tasted unlike any coffee I’ve had so far in Italy. I loved every drop of it. Maybe things were different in Trieste. Afterward we wandered through the canal area and walked up to Castello di San Giusto for views over the city.
When we got back, the crowds had thinned enough to allow us to walk along the waterfront with a dog, so we took Koji for a walk. For dinner we stopped at one of the permanent food kiosks along the way. I wasn’t expecting much, but my sandwich was one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in a long time. Daren got a burger that he said was great, and we finished with Nutella crêpes.
By evening the crowds had thinned further, the air had cooled, and suddenly Trieste felt completely different. The place started to grow on me.
The next morning I went for one of the most pleasant runs. Monday morning was a completely different world; sun, cooler temperatures, and no crowds. Later we grabbed Koji and walked down to Miramare Castle. That ended up being my favorite place in all of Trieste. With my historical site overload still in full force, I insisted Daren tour the castle while Koji and I enjoyed the shade and people-watching. I went back by myself the next day and wandered the grounds for a long time.
We went back into the city one more time before heading home, but I think we’re officially “citied” out for a while. Instead, we spent most of the afternoon reading and talking along the waterfront before ending the day at an American restaurant that looked like something straight out of the Old West.
You’ll likely sense a bit of travel exhaustion if you read between the lines above. We are incredibly lucky to be able to have these experiences, and we have seen and done so much. But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and I think we may have hit that point during this trip. It’s not black and white. We loved so many of the things we saw and did, but some of the little annoyances that you either don’t perceive, or don’t assign much weight to on a brief vacation, can start to grate a bit more after many months. It’s also very apparent that the heat is has a major negative impact on our enjoyment. It’s just very hard to escape the hot sun and the air conditioning that we are so accustomed to in the U.S is not as ubiquitous over here. That is where we are. We are taking a bit of time off back “home” in Gaville to rest up. But we’ll be back on the road next month with a trip down south to see the family and spend some time on the beach.
A few weeks ago when we were in Chiavari, we walked the promenade there over and over. Drinks for aperitivo were advertised all over the place, and next to the usual Aperol Spritz I kept seeing something called a Hugo Spritz.
Last night I finally decided to look up what it was and make a non-alcoholic version at home. We happened to have the right ingredients, and Oh My Gosh, it was delicious – Light, refreshing, and perfect for sitting outside on a hot summer evening!
We were out on our back balcony enjoying the drinks and the view when I noticed my glass was halfway gone. My immediate thought was that I should go inside and make another.
But I caught myself. That thought felt very familiar. For a long time, I thought this was just part of my drinking problem. But I’ve come to realize it’s bigger than alcohol. The deeper issue is scarcity.
If I love the taste of something, the moment I notice it’s running out my mind shifts. Instead of enjoying what is still there, I start thinking about how it’s going to be gone and how I can replace it. If it’s replaceable, half full becomes a signal to refill.
What’s interesting is that this didn’t disappear when I stopped drinking alcohol. I noticed the same pattern with seltzer, soda, and other NA drinks. The object changes, but the thought pattern stays the same.
As I sat there looking at my glass, I thought about the saying: glass half full or glass half empty.
I’ve always kind of thought of myself as a glass-half-empty person, though that never fully made sense. People who know me often describe me as optimistic, sunny, and positive. So why have I always identified more with half empty? I think I finally understand.
This isn’t really about optimism or pessimism. It’s about how quickly my mind shifts from enjoyment to scarcity. The moment something reaches halfway, I stop experiencing what’s still there and start focusing on what’s disappearing. And that mindset can insidiously steal joy.
Way back in 1992, someone told me something that left a deep impression on me. Her grandfather always said to think of the gas tank as empty once it hits halfway. If you fill it before it drops below half, and you’ll never risk running out. That idea embedded itself in me.
I developed this strong need to prevent depletion. Refill early. Stay ahead. Don’t run out. In many ways, that mindset has served me well. I’m organized and prepared. I rarely get caught off guard. But it doesn’t work everywhere. Especially not with life.
When it comes to personal consumption—food, drink, time, energy, even joy—constantly trying to refill or stay topped off can actually rob me of the experience itself. Instead of enjoying what’s here, I’m focused on what’s going to be gone.
Turning 50 and moving to Italy has shown me how much my thought patterns are changing. I know I retired young. And if I live to be 100, I still have half of my life left. That feels very different from thinking half is gone.
I am seeing this now a lot in the recovery community or in conversations with younger people who feel like they’ve messed everything up. They get stuck in thoughts like: I wasted so much time. I’m behind. I ruined things. That’s half-empty thinking.
But the shift happens when you start looking at what remains instead of what’s gone. You still have time. You can still change direction. You can still create something meaningful with what is ahead of you, whether you are 30, 60, or 90. Why not live the remaining years with purpose and be proud of every minute of it?
I’ve spent much of my life focused on avoiding depletion—refilling before things run low, staying ahead, making sure nothing runs out. That mindset can be useful in some areas, but it has also robbed me of presence and joy because I was hyper-focused on what was disappearing instead of appreciating what remains.
The Hugo Spritz ended up being a reminder. Half empty doesn’t always mean lacking. It can also mean there is still plenty left.
Maybe the better question isn’t what’s gone. Maybe the better question is what remains, and whether we can appreciate it before reaching for more or mourning what was lost.
So I sat there and enjoyed the remainder of this Hugo Spritz slowly, savoring it and reminding myself that I still had half left. And when I reached the end, I didn’t want more. It was just right. It was enough.
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.
Duomo in FlorenceDipping paw for first time in the MedMarketsAn actual china shop!GelatoMore gelato (dog specific!)What dog heaven is like
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.
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.
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”
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!
Only in Italy – a vending machine for cafeOur first glance (and sniff) of Modena Just arriving
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.
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.
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.
I can’t believe it, but today marks 7 weeks in Italy. It feels longer than that, but also shorter than that!
There’s something that has been building for a long time, but being here has finally brought it into focus.
When choosing destinations or lodging, we’ve been fooled by photos more times than I can count. Places that look beautiful online—carefully staged, thoughtfully cropped, filtered just right—often don’t match the experience of being there. Once you’re at a location, you can picture where the photographer stood and what was intentionally left out, and even why.
The reviews have been just as confusing. I’ve struggled to understand how so many places end up with five stars when my experience would be nowhere near that. It’s made travel harder than I expected. At least one in every three places has been a real disappointment, and it’s not just accommodations—it’s entire locations. People we know and trust say a place is beautiful, blogs rave about it, and then we arrive and it just doesn’t land the same way.
Daren and I have been traveling together as a couple for 16 years now, since crowd-sourced reviews first became popular. We were early adopters, but over time it’s become clear that something doesn’t quite translate.
Italy has brought this into even sharper focus for me. Before we started looking seriously for a place to live here, my experience of Italy was limited to places like Milan, Venice, Lake Como, and Siena. In my mind, everything was beautiful, everyone spoke English, and the food was always incredible.
Last fall, when we came back to explore more deeply, that image started to shift. Italy isn’t a postcard. It’s where people live. It’s normal in the way any place is normal. There are stores, trash, things that are broken. Some people take care of their surroundings beautifully, others don’t. There are pockets that are stunning, and long stretches that are just average. It felt surprisingly familiar.
We chose Tuscany for practical reasons, mainly access to Florence and Rome if we needed to get home quickly. And it has been wonderful. When we visit places like San Gimignano, Lucca, Portofino, Chianti, or Pienza, they are every bit as beautiful as the photos suggest.
But they are also just one version of reality.
Right now, we’re staying outside of Sorrento, and it’s been a very different experience. Sorrento itself is a step up, but only slightly. Pompeii felt chaotic and overwhelming. Even parts of the Amalfi Coast, which people rave about, felt more worn than I expected.
And yet, I can still take a beautiful photo almost anywhere. I might be able to find the right angle, the right light, the right frame. I can create something that looks magical, even when the broader surroundings aren’t.
Someone commented on Facebook recently that they never thought Italy was beautiful until they saw my pictures, and that really stayed with me.
It made me realize that beauty isn’t just about what’s there—it’s also about what we notice and how we frame it. That’s where crowd-sourcing starts to fall apart. We all have different baselines. Where we live, what we’re used to, and what we value shape how we experience a place.
Back home, we live in a shoreline town with both beautiful and less appealing areas. Our neighborhood happens to be one of the nicer ones, and we take pride in keeping our home clean and comfortable. So when I see a five-star rating, that’s what I’m expecting. But I can see now that not everyone is measuring against the same standard.
Lately, I’ve started taking different kinds of photos. Not just the beautiful ones, but the honest ones too—the train stations, the trash, the lemon groves covered in worn green mesh along the highway. Not to be negative, but to capture a fuller picture of what we’re actually seeing.
TrafficBored ppl on their phones in crowdsConstruction everywhereWhat 9 out of 10 Pasticceria’s really look likeLook close – a baby drinking beer & this “sailor” always at the door here
Where I’ve landed with all of this is pretty simple. The world is beautiful, but not always in the way we expect. It isn’t constant, and it isn’t evenly distributed, but it is there. Sometimes it’s obvious, and sometimes you have to look a little harder for it.
This experience hasn’t made me appreciate Italy any less. If anything, it’s made me appreciate it more. Seeing it as a real place—not just an ideal—has made it feel more honest and more human.
And maybe that’s the point. Not to chase perfect beauty, but to learn how to recognize it wherever you are.
There is beauty everywhere in Italy. But the truth is, there is beauty everywhere when you look for it—even in a flowering weed growing up through the rubble.
Last summer, one Saturday morning when we first started talking about coming to Italy for a year, we were very keen on the idea of moving to a city. Esterina grew up in Brooklyn and Daren had lived in New York City and Boston for several years. We both have fond memories of city living—the energy, the walkability, the simplicity of not needing a car.
We were excited about it for a few days, until one rainy afternoon when we were stuck inside. Esterina asked, “What would we do in a city on a day like today in a small apartment?” That question planted the first seed of doubt.
Later in the fall, while looking for a place to live, we still explored the idea. Our first stop was Bologna—everyone we knew, in and outside of Italy, loved it. It felt like the perfect fit. But after just a few hours of walking around, doubts crept in.
Then came Rome. For a few days, we were convinced that was it. But not long after arriving, something shifted. We found ourselves paying a small fortune just to sit in a park for a bit of greenery. The loud clashing of church bells at noon and the constant sirens made it feel like there was no escape from the noise. Once again, the doubts surfaced—this time more clearly.
We don’t know why we don’t recognize the pattern sooner. We live in Connecticut and love going to New York City. Every time we go, we’re excited and start imagining what it would be like to live there. But after a day or two, something changes. It starts to feel like too much. And when we get home, the birds, the trees, the open space—it all feels exactly right.
Luckily, we gave ourselves enough time in these Italian cities to notice that same shift. It led us to choosing a home in the hills of Tuscany—just 10–15 minutes from town, with everything we need nearby, including a train that gets us to Florence in under half an hour.
This week, we had to go into Florence to swap out our car (a long story), and decided to stay a few days.
And just like that, the draw of the city pulled us in again.
Florence is stunning. Walkable, charming, full of life. We parked the car once and didn’t need it again. That alone felt like such a relief. We started imagining—what if we lived here long-term? Everything felt easy and beautiful.
And the options. After weeks of mostly Italian cuisine (which is incredible, no question), we were suddenly surrounded by variety again. Different foods, big grocery stores, clothing shops, markets, art—everything right there.
It felt exciting. Full.
And then…
The dog had nowhere to go. No grass. Nowhere to sniff. We walked and walked, searching for even a small patch, and came up empty. Eventually, he just went in the middle of the street.
And when we got tired—from all the walking—and wanted a break, the options were shops or our small hotel room. I had that same thought again: where do you go to actually relax?
On our last day, we planned to go to Mercato Centrale—the big open market—before everything closed for Easter. We left the dog at the hotel and headed out, ready to stock up.
We walked in and it was beautiful. The smells, the colors, the energy—it felt magical. The kind of place you imagine having at your fingertips all the time.
And within minutes, we were done.
Too many people. Too many options. Too much navigating, deciding, sampling. We looked at each other and walked out.
We headed back toward the hotel—and toward our poor dog—and realized we’d much rather just go to the local Coop and get what we needed.
We love cities. We really do. But we love leaving them just as much. And coming home—where it’s quiet, green, and enough.
And we will be back. Again & again & again. Here is why! (photos below)
One of the many ancient wine windows in FlorenceDid you know David’s Eyes are Hearts? Koji’s first trip into a book storeIn front of the first Gucci Store!a Yarn Store!! Replica of David
This past week we spent three days in Florence. It is a gorgeous city steeped in art and history. The Medici, who ruled the city for 300 years, placed enormous value on art—particularly painting, architecture, and sculpture. They used their vast wealth to bring the greatest artists from around Italy to Florence, where they could create masterpieces and experiment with new techniques. It’s not an overstatement to say that the Medici were the founders—or perhaps the midwives—of the Renaissance.
Everything about Florence is big. The statue of David is 17 feet tall and weighs 12,000 pounds. The Duomo, Florence’s famed cathedral, can hold 30,000 people and is one of the largest in the world. Its dome, designed and built by Brunelleschi, remains the largest masonry dome ever constructed. And the crowds in Florence are enormous as well. We were there during the first week in April—not even high season—but the crowds were impressive.
I’d call this phenomenon “big crowds to see big things.” Everyone has heard about the great sights in Florence, and they come in droves to experience them. The line to get into the Duomo stretched halfway around the building (we took a pass). Crowds on the Ponte Vecchio were so dense it was hard to get across. We waited in line for 20–30 minutes to enter the Boboli Gardens. Despite the crowds, we thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated the beauty of this magnificent city—great works, great sights, great food, great city.
I’ve been reading about the life and teachings of St. Francis. Although I’m only at the beginning of what I hope will be an ongoing exploration, I’ve learned enough to know that he would not have thought much of these big, beautiful things. St. Francis found beauty in the small things and preached the importance of simplicity, nature, and faith through action. He didn’t like big churches, big titles, or showy deeds. He cautioned against the dangers of pursuing the “three P’s”: power, prestige, and persona.
I was thinking about him a few days ago while walking Koji first thing in the morning. In the past, I would have been in a bit of a rush. I always walked Koji early, right after getting up, which meant his walk was a chore to complete before breakfast, coffee, and getting to work. While I tried to use these walks to clear my mind and appreciate my surroundings, my thoughts were often elsewhere—focused on “big things” like an upcoming presentation, a meeting, or a deadline.
Big Sights & Scenes from Florence
My walks here in Italy have been different. There is no rush. There are few big things to worry about.
On this particular morning, Koji was very into sniffing. In the past this would have annoyed me. This time, I let him sniff to his heart’s content, which gave me time to appreciate the beautiful views from our hilltop property. This time of year there are wildflowers everywhere—yellow, orange, purple, and white. Whole fields are dotted with them, but they’re so small you miss them unless you stop and look closely.
Then, in the distance, I heard the faint tinkling of what sounded like cowbells. I would not have noticed them had I not paused in silence while Koji sniffed. As I searched for the source, I saw a flock of sheep grazing in the valley below. The bells were sheep bells, not cowbells. Mountains in the distance were snowcapped, and a layer of fog covered the valleys below. In the past, I would have missed this entire scene.
It was as much a masterpiece as any painting in a Florentine gallery. But unlike those in Florence, this one was mine to enjoy without the crowds. Its components were small, everyday things: flowers, fog, and sheep.
Scenes from Morning Walks with Koji
I loved Florence and will absolutely go back to see more. But there are two messages for me in these contrasting experiences. The first is that if we spend our time only seeking out the “big things”—great domes, statues, and famous paintings—we will miss the great works of art that exist everywhere in nature. They are not celebrated or recorded, but they are there for the taking if we only stop and look.
And therein lies the second message: these natural masterpieces are easily missed. We likely overlook hundreds of them every day when we are preoccupied with other things. Slowing down, even for a few moments, opens us up to appreciating the masterworks in our own backyard.
Happy Easter – Buona Pasqua (in Italian, if you couldn’t deduce that ☺)
We are in Italy and alone. I feel like I should feel sad or lonely, but I don’t. And that in itself has me reflecting, because Easter hasn’t felt like much of a holiday to me for a long time.
And yet here I am, in the hills of Tuscany on Easter morning.
When I was a kid, I went to Catholic school—St. Brendan’s in Brooklyn, New York. I loved Holy Week, beginning with Palm Sunday all the way through Easter and the vacation week that followed.
It wasn’t because of Jesus, exactly, or even religion. I loved the tradition, the pomp, the feeling that spring was on its way, the dressing up.
Being in Catholic school made it all feel special. The church was right next to the school, and for religion class we were often inside—looking around, practicing music, getting familiar with it. I knew what it looked like during Mass and in between. I loved how, in preparation for Easter, everything got cleaned and polished. The priests, who lived in the rectory on the block and were always kind and involved, would bring out their special robes. I had a crush on one of the younger priests—Father Michael.
Starting on Palm Sunday, the church was all dolled up. There were special Masses all week that were different and, to me, kind of fun—even if the topic was somber. For the short time I was in the youth choir, there were lots of practices and lots of reasons to go to church and hang out with my friends. By Wednesday of Holy Week we had a half day, and then were off for the next week and a half. As a kid, that felt magical.
Easter itself was always a little anticlimactic. The build-up was over. But there were egg hunts around the apartment, Easter baskets, and those gigantic Italian chocolate eggs my dad always found for my brothers and me—each with a toy inside. The toy was never anything special, but as a kid, any toy lit up my heart.
When we moved from Brooklyn to Long Island in middle school, Easter and Holy Week were never quite the same. I went to public school and didn’t spend time around church anymore. We still went to Mass on Easter, but we became the kind of Catholics who mostly showed up on Christmas and Easter. Going to church now required a car instead of a three-block walk, and we didn’t know anyone there.
Still, Easter was fun. We colored eggs, got baskets, received those chocolate eggs from my dad, gathered with extended family, and had a special meal that included rabbit—yes, rabbit, like the Easter bunny.
Years went by. I grew up and had children young. Until then, I hadn’t really experienced Easter without kids involved—either being one or having them. It was always about eggs, bread, a great meal, and extended family. Holy Week still carried that feeling of something special, even though I was no longer part of church festivities and rarely attended them.
And even though I no longer got those giant, mostly hollow chocolate eggs, my father always made sure my kids and their cousins did. I’m not even sure if the toy was still inside—my kids might know. What I do remember is trying to get the egg home intact and usually finding it cracked from the car ride. It always felt like too much chocolate, so I’d break it into smaller pieces, freeze it, and use it later for cookies or some other dessert in the spring.
It wasn’t until I got divorced and the family split up that Easter really started to lose its shape. Different traditions. Not always having the kids. The standard divorce agreement doesn’t even count Easter as a holiday.
And as I got older, I started to notice that Easter isn’t really considered a holiday at all. It falls on a Sunday, so there’s no time off from work. Even people who work that day don’t get special pay like they do on actual holidays. In the United States, Easter comes with plenty of fun—egg hunts, baskets, the Easter bunny—but the day itself doesn’t carry the same weight. It feels more like Mother’s Day or Father’s Day.
Over time, it started to feel less special. Holy Week stopped registering, the kids never really loved it, and somewhere along the way it became just another Sunday—one where I might text people, but didn’t make plans or go to church. Not because I didn’t want to, exactly, but because I’d feel like a total hypocrite showing up.
My father, who passed away last August, always loved Easter. Being here now, in his mother country, I can see it from his perspective. It feels like a bigger deal here—no Easter bunny, no egg hunts—but the bakeries are full, and those giant hollow eggs he always brought us are everywhere.
I can’t help but look at them and tear up a bit. He wasn’t always my favorite person, but once he was just a young boy excited about chocolate and toys like the rest of us. That’s what he passed on.
Those eggs feel different to me now.
And yet this morning, I sit far from family in the hills of Tuscany. An Italian sauce simmers on the stove. I hear birds outside. Soon we’ll pack up lunch and head down to the pool to celebrate Pasqua with other expats who also have no family here.
Today—between the sauce simmering, the quiet hills, and sharing pranzo with others who are also far from home—I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time.
Not the old version of Easter. But something just as real.
