Traveling

January 27, 2026

🇺🇸: Easton, PA

Every so often, someone’s phone betrays them.

They mean Eastonians—the people who live in Easton, PA—but autocorrect insists on Estonians. Different country. Different language. Different story. You’ll see it on social media, in group texts, and I’ve even spotted it on a local political ad. It’s become a quiet inside joke around here. 

Easton still flies a little under the radar. Probably not for much longer.

Which is funny, because once you actually see this place, it’s hard to understand how anyone ever overlooked it.

I moved to Easton in 2020. I’m from the lower southeastern edge of Pennsylvania, and for most of my life, anything north of New Hope barely registered. Before moving here, I knew Easton mostly by reputation — a former industrial town with a rough past. That was about it.

Like a lot of small industrial cities, Easton hit a hard stretch in the 1970s and ’80s. Manufacturing faded. Jobs disappeared. Downtown thinned out. Poverty increased, and crime followed. Some buildings were neglected. Some neighborhoods were written off entirely.

But Easton never vanished.
It held on. And over time, it found its way back.

What I didn’t expect was how quickly it would start to feel like home.

Easton sits where the Delaware and Lehigh Rivers meet, a border town in the most literal sense, with Pennsylvania on one side and New Jersey on the other. It’s one of the older cities in PA, and it played a real role in early American history. One of the first public readings of the Declaration of Independence happened right in Centre Square.

That history is still visible if you know where to look. You can see the history in the architecture, in the street layout, and in the way the city feels older than it looks.

Like nearby Bethlehem, Easton suffered when industry left. The economic backbone disappeared almost overnight, and downtown paid the price. But it didn’t stay that way. Through local effort, stubbornness, and time, the city slowly stitched itself back together.

Now that Easton is back, let’s talk about why I love it — and why I don’t.

First and foremost, it’s how livable it is. Especially compared to the suburban world I grew up in. Easton is walkable in a way that’s becoming rare in the U.S. I can get almost everywhere I need on foot. A few cafés I rotate between. A park by the river. Immediate access to genuinely great biking and walking trails. And a sandwich that will absolutely ruin your expectations of lunch elsewhere.

It doesn’t overwhelm you the way New York does. But it doesn’t bore you either.

My routine is anchored by places that feel personal now. Three Birds Coffee House is one of them. It’s more than just a coffee shop. It’s a community space that shows up. For neighbors, for hard conversations, for moments that call for a little solidarity. It feels rooted in the idea that a city works best when people look out for each other.

Then there’s Luca & Sons.

Somehow, I ended up becoming friendly with Luca Manfè—yes, the winner of Season 4 of MasterChef. He opened his sandwich shop right here in Easton, and it’s exactly the kind of place you hope a chef like that would open: affordable, creative, and absurdly good.

I was even around during their rebrand, watching the place evolve without losing what made it special in the first place — the chef. The sandwiches are unreal, and the weekly specials are dangerous if you’re as indecisive as me. But what sticks with me more is Luca himself. He remembers people. He experiments. He cares. He’ll always see you off with a “ciao.” That kind of presence matters in a small city like this.

These are two of my favorite places, but if I listed them all, this post would talk months to write. If you want a short list, Daddy’s Place, Giacomo’s, Albanesi, Colonial Pizza, care for me to go on?

Now, it’s not all roses. Easton likes to party—whether you’re ready for it or not.

The Garlic Festival and Bacon Fest are perfect examples. I have a love-hate relationship with both. They’re chaotic, crowded (sometimes dangerously so), excessively loud, and occasionally overwhelming. They also bring the entire city together and draw people in from across the region and sometimes farther. For a weekend, Easton becomes the center of someone else’s map. You can roll your eyes at the madness and still feel proud it’s happening in your back yard.

And then there’s parking.

With the city courting new residents from New York and New Jersey, the already-bad parking situation has only gotten worse. Just google “parking in Easton” and you’ll find years of frustration laid out in plain sight. It’s a problem the city seems content to ignore, surviving administration after administration. You learn to live with it, even if you shouldn’t have to. 

When it all gets to be a bit much, there’s an easy escape.

One of the most underrated parts of living in Easton is the instant access to quality bike trails. The D&L Trail opens the city outward, following old industrial paths along the river. Within minutes, you can be riding through quiet stretches that feel far removed from the business of downtown. I can even squeeze in a short ride on my lunch break, just because I’m close enough.

Easton isn’t flashy. It doesn’t try to sell you a perfect version of itself.

It’s a city that grows on you through daily rituals — familiar faces, small routines, unplanned conversations. I didn’t grow up here. I chose Easton. And Easton chose me back.

So yes, we are Eastonians.

And for those of us who’ve made a life here, there’s no autocorrect needed.