Dear friends (and curious strangers),

An old friend reached out to me the other day and asked how we handled the culture shock of moving to Italy.

To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it before.

Our life here has had its ups and downs—and everything in between—but I never stopped to name what we were going through.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized…

No one really prepares you for culture shock…it just happens.

When you first come to Italy, you fall in love with the beautiful scenery, the amazing food, the slower pace of life. What you don’t expect, though, is how the small, everyday differences can slowly begin to wear on you.

In the beginning, everything felt magical. It felt like a vacation that never ended. We were going out every single day…exploring, eating, sampling wines, and meeting new people from all over the world.

Our social calendar was full…dinner parties, lunches, day trips, weekend getaways, olive picking, wine making, concerts, hiking. We were never without something to do, and we were completely in love with our new lifestyle.

I later learned this is called the “honeymoon” stage of culture shock…where everything feels exciting, new, and you want to pinch yourself and ask, “Can you believe this is our life now?”

But after a while, it all caught up with us.

We were mentally and physically exhausted. We needed to take a break.

So we did…we stayed home more, worked on house projects, and tried to get a better feel for what daily life here was really like.

I think that’s the point when we began noticing the day-to-day differences between what we were used to and what life was like here…what I later came to understand as the “frustration” stage.

It wasn’t just one thing…it was an accumulation of small things. The way things were handled. The pace at which things moved. What, at times, felt like disorganization, confusion…even a bit of chaos.

Everything we tried to do didn’t always go as expected. Simple, everyday tasks weren’t so simple…calling a utility company, checking on a delivery, making a doctor’s appointment, a hair appointment, or even a restaurant reservation.

They definitely took more time, more patience, and often more effort than we were used to.

And little by little, those small, frustrating moments built up…

There were times we looked at each other and thought…

What have we done?

Of course, the language barrier made everything more complicated.

More than once, someone hung up on me because I couldn’t communicate clearly enough. Phone menus were impossible to navigate.

I remember buying a refrigerator from an appliance store and arranging for delivery. I received an email saying it had been turned over to the courier and that they would contact me to schedule the delivery.

No one ever did.

Each time I called, I tried using my very best Italian to figure out what was going on…each time I was hung up on.

I finally asked my sweet Italian neighbor to call for me. That’s when we learned the problem. I only had an American phone number at the time, so the delivery company wouldn’t call an international number to arrange the delivery…which meant nothing happened.

No call. No message. No email. No explanation.

I’ve learned now that when someone says they’ll be there on a certain day and time, it doesn’t always mean they will be. Delivery drivers, plumbers, electricians, service people…they arrive when they arrive, if at all.

On several occasions, we waited all day for deliveries that never showed up, only to receive a notice later saying delivery had been attempted…when clearly, it hadn’t.

Even the scheduled date and time of our house closing apparently didn’t mean anything.

I’ll never forget it.

We were scheduled to close on Friday, December 3rd at the notary’s office in Abruzzo, and we had planned our flights, hotel, and car rental around that date.

At one point, we even considered flying into Milan and slowly making our way down the coast by train, arriving the day before the closing…but something told us not to.

Instead, we flew into Rome and arrived a few days early, just to be safe.

The next morning, while we were still asleep in our hotel, our phones started buzzing…again and again.

We had multiple missed calls and urgent messages from our realtor.

It was Wednesday, December 1st…two days before our scheduled closing.

They wanted to confirm we were coming to the appointment at 10:00…that morning.

We were completely confused.

“No…our closing is Friday,” we said. “We have the emails.”

“No,” they replied. “It’s today.”

We jumped out of bed, threw on clothes, and rushed to the office.

To this day, we’ve never received an explanation. Everyone else knew…except us. Even the sellers had flown in that morning from Milan.

If we had taken that slow train trip down the coast like we originally planned, we would have missed our closing entirely.

It’s funny now…and a story we tell often…but it absolutely was not then.

Moments like that had a way of building up…

And each time the frustration became too much to handle, we would go back to the U.S. for a reset. Familiar food. Familiar places. Family and friends.

And each time we returned to Italy, we noticed something within us had shifted…what I later came to understand as the “adjustment” stage.

Our confidence grew. The language became a little easier. We began to understand that things here weren’t necessarily wrong…

just different.

And slowly, our frustration softened.

Our patience grew.

We stopped trying to make Italy work the way we were used to…and started learning how to live the way things are done here.

They say culture shock can last weeks, months, even up to a year.

It’s been three years for us.

And I finally feel like we’re over the hump.

We’ve made it through the hardest parts…buying a car, navigating insurance, residency appointments, getting our Italian driver’s license, paying taxes. Things that once felt overwhelming now feel manageable.

And somewhere along the way, something else changed too.

We stopped fighting it.

We started settling into it.

And that brings us to the final phase, “acceptance,” where I feel we are now.

Looking back, I wish I had known what I know now. You can ask all the questions, read all the advice, and talk to people who have come before… but the experience is yours alone.

Everyone’s journey looks a little different.

If I had to do it all over again…

Yes.

Absolutely.

Until next time —

With love from Italy,

Jamie

I usually write every other week — and sometimes more when there’s a good story to tell.