Siena to Calabria (or my great big Italian family and adventure)
Oct 17th, 2022, 09:31 AM
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I know family is important all over Italy but this seems perhaps even more so in the South. There is constantly a sister, brother, cousin calling on the cell phone. I honestly wondered how anyone got anything done? The cell phone use made it difficult at times to sustain a conversation. They had to slow down their Italian for me, not speak in dialect, or use Google Translate and by then the phone would be ringing again. From the train station in Rosanna, we headed through the mountains for an hour's drive to their town—kind of a sad little run-down frontier-looking town on the beach about 1 hour south of Reggio Calabria on the Ionian sea. The beach itself is beautiful with volcanic mountains in the distance and even a picturesque drug smuggling boat that had been confiscated and left laying on the beach. Despite crumbling buildings and burned-out abandoned cars, my relatives who lived in this town all drove nice cars and all lived in a big house.
For dinner, there was a lot of hand gesturing and yelling. Or maybe it was a conversation?
It was hard to say as the dialect was impossible for me to understand. I was happy when someone poured me a glass of wine. I felt warmly embraced by this family even if our connection was due to what was once a scandal for my "grandfather.". Despite already having an uncountable number of cousins and second cousins, everyone seemed happy to add one more to the mix. I felt very welcomed and tried to not feel like an outsider--but the language barrier was an issue. They understood me perfectly...but I was usualy lost with their responses. AND NOBODY spoke English beyond a few words here and there.
Throughout dinner I was hearing the words "chiave" and "apartamento" repeatedly and soon learned why: I would be staying at one of their empty apartments. After dinner, they dropped me off at the mystery apartment with a chiave and told me to lock the door and not to open it. “Call us if you need anything and when you want to get picked up in the morning.” I asked if there was a café nearby and was told “NO, stay inside, call us if you need a cafe. Do not leave the apartment. Call us if anyone comes to the door.” Uhm that was a bit unnerving?? The apartment is on the beach and the building was empty as the other tenants were doctor's offices or vacant. The apartment has two balconies, which meant all night long the glass doors rattled and I did feel a bit on edge—doors or somebody rattling around? Being American, did I stay inside the next morning? No, I went and found a cafe for a cappuccino and felt safe. I also made sure to speak Italian well so as not to advertise my Americanness.
I read that in southern Italy there is often little distinction between the employed and the unemployed because there is scarcely anyone who has enough to do. There are not enough jobs and those that are there are underpaid. I saw this as my cousin F took me to the mall and we were running into relatives who I thought maybe should be at work? It was Monday at 11:00 am! Why is everyone hanging out? This part of Calabria reminded me a bit of Appalachia—a sort of fatalistic attitude of defeatism. The young people left behind didn’t seem very future-oriented (thousands of young people are leaving Calabria). Although both of my cousin's adult kids do work, over 35% of young people in the south are in the category of not employed, not in training, and not in school. The economy there is hanging on by a thread and always has been, mostly due to a century of organized crime and corruption. It’s not helping that half of Southern Italians are still illiterate and climate change and severe soil erosion have intensified the arid “farmland”, particularly on the Ionian seaside due to deforestation. After two days it was hard to ignore the influence and presence of 'ndrangheta everywhere.
Tomorrow is the big family party in my honor with relatives coming from Reggio Calabria and all over.
For dinner, there was a lot of hand gesturing and yelling. Or maybe it was a conversation?
It was hard to say as the dialect was impossible for me to understand. I was happy when someone poured me a glass of wine. I felt warmly embraced by this family even if our connection was due to what was once a scandal for my "grandfather.". Despite already having an uncountable number of cousins and second cousins, everyone seemed happy to add one more to the mix. I felt very welcomed and tried to not feel like an outsider--but the language barrier was an issue. They understood me perfectly...but I was usualy lost with their responses. AND NOBODY spoke English beyond a few words here and there.Throughout dinner I was hearing the words "chiave" and "apartamento" repeatedly and soon learned why: I would be staying at one of their empty apartments. After dinner, they dropped me off at the mystery apartment with a chiave and told me to lock the door and not to open it. “Call us if you need anything and when you want to get picked up in the morning.” I asked if there was a café nearby and was told “NO, stay inside, call us if you need a cafe. Do not leave the apartment. Call us if anyone comes to the door.” Uhm that was a bit unnerving?? The apartment is on the beach and the building was empty as the other tenants were doctor's offices or vacant. The apartment has two balconies, which meant all night long the glass doors rattled and I did feel a bit on edge—doors or somebody rattling around? Being American, did I stay inside the next morning? No, I went and found a cafe for a cappuccino and felt safe. I also made sure to speak Italian well so as not to advertise my Americanness.
I read that in southern Italy there is often little distinction between the employed and the unemployed because there is scarcely anyone who has enough to do. There are not enough jobs and those that are there are underpaid. I saw this as my cousin F took me to the mall and we were running into relatives who I thought maybe should be at work? It was Monday at 11:00 am! Why is everyone hanging out? This part of Calabria reminded me a bit of Appalachia—a sort of fatalistic attitude of defeatism. The young people left behind didn’t seem very future-oriented (thousands of young people are leaving Calabria). Although both of my cousin's adult kids do work, over 35% of young people in the south are in the category of not employed, not in training, and not in school. The economy there is hanging on by a thread and always has been, mostly due to a century of organized crime and corruption. It’s not helping that half of Southern Italians are still illiterate and climate change and severe soil erosion have intensified the arid “farmland”, particularly on the Ionian seaside due to deforestation. After two days it was hard to ignore the influence and presence of 'ndrangheta everywhere.
Tomorrow is the big family party in my honor with relatives coming from Reggio Calabria and all over.
Last edited by RubyTwins; Oct 17th, 2022 at 09:33 AM.
Oct 17th, 2022, 01:44 PM
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I had to google "'ndrangheta". When I realized it meant Mafia, I googled images. No wonder you were uneasy.
Funny, on our Palermo street food tour, our guide, a local and very cheery fellow, looked very serious for a moment, and said Mafia is NOT to be taken lightly or laughed at. He also commented that (this is in Sicilly) it has evolved into white collar organized crime - not the killing and slaughtering you've come to associate with Mafia, but more the tune of cameras absolutely everywhere, and business is done by who you know and when/if you can get permissions etc. Not so in Calabria yet apparently. So sad to hear about the unemployment, obviously due at least in part to the immense corrupted network.
Hungering for the rest of your story. Did you present the painting yet?
Funny, on our Palermo street food tour, our guide, a local and very cheery fellow, looked very serious for a moment, and said Mafia is NOT to be taken lightly or laughed at. He also commented that (this is in Sicilly) it has evolved into white collar organized crime - not the killing and slaughtering you've come to associate with Mafia, but more the tune of cameras absolutely everywhere, and business is done by who you know and when/if you can get permissions etc. Not so in Calabria yet apparently. So sad to hear about the unemployment, obviously due at least in part to the immense corrupted network.
Hungering for the rest of your story. Did you present the painting yet?
Oct 18th, 2022, 07:31 AM
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Incredible TR, RubyTwins! Stanley Tucci TV show about food in Italy was recently about Calabria.... very disturbing about the mafia and economic problems. Since most of the "Do Not" signs are in English, I'm also disturbed by Americans behaving badly. More soon, please.
Oct 18th, 2022, 12:33 PM
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Thank you everyone for your kind words. I am still processing this meeting of the family after growing up with this mythical story.
I gave this branch of the family one of my mother's paintings that I had lugged down to Calabria. It is a watercolor of a beach and palm trees (which looked a little like Calabria actually). On the back of the framed painting, I included a photo of my mother young, in her art studio. While these relatives have more of a practical vs. aesthetic household, I think they really liked it as it was soon prominently displayed in the dining room. I felt Mom might appreciate having her artwork in Italy (a country she loved) and a presence with her lost family. Cousin F was supposed to take me to the beach (probably to get me out of the way for the hordes about to descend and massive cooking to be done). I did see glimpses of the beach as a blue blur out the window at 50 miles per hour. We arrived at the real destination, that shopping mall again, and headed to his brother-in-law's café for coffee and to pick up a big cake before heading back to the house.
The relatives started coming and coming and coming all day long. There was a lot of interest in the “story” and I was prepared with a photo album and a chart (and I made sure to know any confusing words like "adopted"). First, I wanted to dispel the myth that my grandmother was a showgirl. I may not have been a fan of hers, but in fairness, she was strong enough to leave a bad arranged marriage and get a job in a factory and work. She was political like my "grandfather." And she must have had some charisma as many men loved her and she did end up happily married to a tailor. Obviously my grandfather thought it was more than just a fling or he would not have been writing her for so long. But his travel papers were taken away and then he was conscripted to the army and then he went back to university to become a veterinarian and married the woman he was betrothed to since he was 14 (he was 27 by now). I was sure to show the family that despite everything, mom ended up with a family that loved her. I didn't want people to think this was a visit needing this family--because my mom and therefore we, had a family. But more a visit to connect, meet a new family and tell her story. People were visibly moved by the first photo in the album of my mom looking like a bedraggled waif at 2 or 3 years old but I followed it with a photo of my Grandfather holding her up in the air and looking at her with such love. There was a lot of interest in the story but less so in what my mom was like. Perhaps the language barrier... although I drilled them on what my "grandfather" was like and walked away realizing that many of my mom's "talents" were from him. Her beautiful singing voice, her aesthetic sense, her charisma, and her love of all creatures great and small. He was also known as the town judge/therapist. People came to him with their problems and he tried to solve them. My mother also provided counsel to many lost souls and wounded birds. Her brother and sister showed great regret not knowing this sibling.
There is another branch of the family living in Reggio Calabria. This is my mother's brother's family and there I felt more of a kinship. My "uncle" while having gone to university and holding a good job, also painted, traveled, and was aesthetic. He was interested that I was a reader and I regretted our language barrier because he is a reader too. He apparently is the most like my "grandfather." Calabria is still a “traditional” world where masculinity and machismo dominate. I noticed the gender inequalities on the first night when my cousin and aunt did all the cooking, clearing the plates of the men, and all the dishes. They always seemed to be cooking or cleaning up and the men seemed to be relaxing... an awful lot. Plus there is that big lunch to cook too. Meanwhile, the cousins in Reggio Calabria are not married -- they are all sophisticated, educated, and professionals with good jobs, and one with a live-in boyfriend in a very cool apartment. I don't mean to sound classist at all... and further reading may help why I felt more of a connection to this side. My adopted grandfather did not go to college. He was from Foggia and very poor and yet he learned to read and write and loved Voltaire and opera. So it's about a learning mindset and curiosity. OK, I am off-topic.....
Back to the day: Soon cousin S arrived--I was warned he is a "player.". My "uncle" said, "stay away from him, he is Diavolo." S gave me a pearl necklace. Another cousin gave me a lovely plant. Another cousin arrived with tomatoes and wanted to go back to get some canned? something or other (lost in translation) when she realized I could not take them on the plane but nobody would let her drive back to get them. Soon my second cousins came wobbling up the dirt road in heels and into the front locked gate. The meal was both lasagne and eggplant parm and of course meat and some stuffed small peppers but no wine? What is it about lack of wine down here!? I was dying from stress! I wanted a glass of wine but didn't want to look like the drunk from America. More people poured in. I don't know how many people showed up throughout the day--but it was a lot. I took a recording of the sound of dinner and sent to it my brother. I took notes of who was who.
Common questions that I was continually asked were “how old do you think I am?” and “How old are you?” I made sure to subtract ten years from what I thought was correct. I think I made people’s week
As everyone departed, my Uncle hugged me and said, "I love you. I love you." Well.. it was in dialect so I didn't know what he said and I didn't have a coherent or appropriate response besides a smile. But I looked over at my cousins who had tears in their eyes and they translated for me. It was very affecting and poignant--time is almost out and I will probably never really know him. In two days, I would be going to RC for lunch.
Overall, I felt so welcomed and honored to meet everyone and to be celebrated as the lost cousin from America.
Tomorrow: my grandfather's grave and house: The original town.
I gave this branch of the family one of my mother's paintings that I had lugged down to Calabria. It is a watercolor of a beach and palm trees (which looked a little like Calabria actually). On the back of the framed painting, I included a photo of my mother young, in her art studio. While these relatives have more of a practical vs. aesthetic household, I think they really liked it as it was soon prominently displayed in the dining room. I felt Mom might appreciate having her artwork in Italy (a country she loved) and a presence with her lost family. Cousin F was supposed to take me to the beach (probably to get me out of the way for the hordes about to descend and massive cooking to be done). I did see glimpses of the beach as a blue blur out the window at 50 miles per hour. We arrived at the real destination, that shopping mall again, and headed to his brother-in-law's café for coffee and to pick up a big cake before heading back to the house.
The relatives started coming and coming and coming all day long. There was a lot of interest in the “story” and I was prepared with a photo album and a chart (and I made sure to know any confusing words like "adopted"). First, I wanted to dispel the myth that my grandmother was a showgirl. I may not have been a fan of hers, but in fairness, she was strong enough to leave a bad arranged marriage and get a job in a factory and work. She was political like my "grandfather." And she must have had some charisma as many men loved her and she did end up happily married to a tailor. Obviously my grandfather thought it was more than just a fling or he would not have been writing her for so long. But his travel papers were taken away and then he was conscripted to the army and then he went back to university to become a veterinarian and married the woman he was betrothed to since he was 14 (he was 27 by now). I was sure to show the family that despite everything, mom ended up with a family that loved her. I didn't want people to think this was a visit needing this family--because my mom and therefore we, had a family. But more a visit to connect, meet a new family and tell her story. People were visibly moved by the first photo in the album of my mom looking like a bedraggled waif at 2 or 3 years old but I followed it with a photo of my Grandfather holding her up in the air and looking at her with such love. There was a lot of interest in the story but less so in what my mom was like. Perhaps the language barrier... although I drilled them on what my "grandfather" was like and walked away realizing that many of my mom's "talents" were from him. Her beautiful singing voice, her aesthetic sense, her charisma, and her love of all creatures great and small. He was also known as the town judge/therapist. People came to him with their problems and he tried to solve them. My mother also provided counsel to many lost souls and wounded birds. Her brother and sister showed great regret not knowing this sibling.
There is another branch of the family living in Reggio Calabria. This is my mother's brother's family and there I felt more of a kinship. My "uncle" while having gone to university and holding a good job, also painted, traveled, and was aesthetic. He was interested that I was a reader and I regretted our language barrier because he is a reader too. He apparently is the most like my "grandfather." Calabria is still a “traditional” world where masculinity and machismo dominate. I noticed the gender inequalities on the first night when my cousin and aunt did all the cooking, clearing the plates of the men, and all the dishes. They always seemed to be cooking or cleaning up and the men seemed to be relaxing... an awful lot. Plus there is that big lunch to cook too. Meanwhile, the cousins in Reggio Calabria are not married -- they are all sophisticated, educated, and professionals with good jobs, and one with a live-in boyfriend in a very cool apartment. I don't mean to sound classist at all... and further reading may help why I felt more of a connection to this side. My adopted grandfather did not go to college. He was from Foggia and very poor and yet he learned to read and write and loved Voltaire and opera. So it's about a learning mindset and curiosity. OK, I am off-topic.....
Back to the day: Soon cousin S arrived--I was warned he is a "player.". My "uncle" said, "stay away from him, he is Diavolo." S gave me a pearl necklace. Another cousin gave me a lovely plant. Another cousin arrived with tomatoes and wanted to go back to get some canned? something or other (lost in translation) when she realized I could not take them on the plane but nobody would let her drive back to get them. Soon my second cousins came wobbling up the dirt road in heels and into the front locked gate. The meal was both lasagne and eggplant parm and of course meat and some stuffed small peppers but no wine? What is it about lack of wine down here!? I was dying from stress! I wanted a glass of wine but didn't want to look like the drunk from America. More people poured in. I don't know how many people showed up throughout the day--but it was a lot. I took a recording of the sound of dinner and sent to it my brother. I took notes of who was who.
Common questions that I was continually asked were “how old do you think I am?” and “How old are you?” I made sure to subtract ten years from what I thought was correct. I think I made people’s week
As everyone departed, my Uncle hugged me and said, "I love you. I love you." Well.. it was in dialect so I didn't know what he said and I didn't have a coherent or appropriate response besides a smile. But I looked over at my cousins who had tears in their eyes and they translated for me. It was very affecting and poignant--time is almost out and I will probably never really know him. In two days, I would be going to RC for lunch.
Overall, I felt so welcomed and honored to meet everyone and to be celebrated as the lost cousin from America.
Tomorrow: my grandfather's grave and house: The original town.
Last edited by RubyTwins; Oct 18th, 2022 at 12:40 PM.
Oct 19th, 2022, 02:43 AM
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RubyTwins, what an intriguing and gripping narrative, thanks for sharing your story with us. I can imagine it wasn’t easy for you, but the joy of finding an unexpected extended family is all yours, albeit after so many years. Am also happy to hear your grandmother found contentment with her tailor husband, the very least she deserved after all the hardships she faced.
Oct 19th, 2022, 05:56 AM
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Oct 19th, 2022, 11:58 AM
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The next day before heading to the town where my grandfather was born and lived, we first had to head back to that same strip mall again. The side of the highway is strewn with garbage bags of trash looking a little like dark green shrubbery if you squint your eyes and are going 50 miles an hour. Cousin S brought me into a jewelry store that I thought he owned (turns out he didn't) and gave me Pearl earrings to match the necklace and a Versace bag. And then back to the coffee shop for Cappuccino and finally on the road to the town (where some of Versace’s family is from). OK, I kept the pearl earrings but I laid the Versace bag on a park bench for someone to claim. (Man I really hope the family doesn't find this report--Because nobody speaks English, I think not). Maybe in a month, I will ask Fodors to remove it.
The road to my grandfather's town is a one-and-a-half lane, with sharp hairpin curves up and spinal injury-inducing potholes to the top of a dry scrubby mountain. A bit hair-raising when a car would come careering down from the other direction but with beautiful views. "Focus on the views, focus on the views, focus on the views" was my mantra. First, a stop at the grave for me to lay flowers down. Luckily a cousin had given me a plant that I couldn’t take on the plane so I could leave this. Next, the homestead that has been abandoned for 25 years. While my aunt and I went inside, my cousin argued with the neighbors and then took two phone calls one of which was an argument. The house is a time capsule: like the family packed a suitcase and walked out the door leaving the house and everything inside exactly as it was in 1997. There are clothes in the closet and laid out on the bed and paintings on the walls, and a newspaper on the table. There is a nice-sized garden – totally overgrown of course with orange and lemon trees. I wanted to take some photos of the paintings on the walls but was rushed in and out quickly. And I wanted to see my grandfather's library. The one painting I took a photo of turned out to be by my Uncle. It was a watercolor that looked surprisingly like the paintings my mother did! My time in the town was so brief, I have no idea if there was even a grocery store in this village. But it’s a good house and I can imagine restoring it and setting up an “authentic” Italian village stay AirBnB. Not sure anyone is that ambitious and there isn’t a lot of extra time to get much done between the arguing and the cell phone conversations. I suspect the ambitious people boarded a boat and left a long time ago before apathy set in (or moved away from this town ). You can’t help but think of mezzogiórno which is an unwillingness to invest capital in anything down South—even by families into their homes.
That evening I mentioned what a good solid house this was to my cousin's 26-year-old under-employed son (or perhaps he is employed and just cannot tell me what he does)... Maybe clean it out and set it up for a rental for travelers looking for an "authentic" Italian experience. But was met with total disinterest despite me telling him this is the new trend--finding undiscovered places away from tourists. I mean he has a point, there is so little infrastructure in Calabria: Limited trains and bus service, and even the road to the town was a bit of a nightmare of potholes.
After the town, it was back to the house for lunch. I hope I don't sound ungracious as I cannot believe how generous and inviting the relatives were to welcome me. But my husband had asked me to bring home some great authentic Italian recipes from the family. Let's just say it's a myth that all Italian home cooking is delicious. I had to laugh when the bottle of Coca-Cola came back on the table. PLEASE I need a glass of wine!
I was dropped off at the “apartment” to rest while the family had a funeral to attend Finally, I could sneak out to see the beach. And what a beautiful beach it is. And of course, on the walk back, I ran into one of the cousins wondering why I was out of the apartment alone. OK more later......
The road to my grandfather's town is a one-and-a-half lane, with sharp hairpin curves up and spinal injury-inducing potholes to the top of a dry scrubby mountain. A bit hair-raising when a car would come careering down from the other direction but with beautiful views. "Focus on the views, focus on the views, focus on the views" was my mantra. First, a stop at the grave for me to lay flowers down. Luckily a cousin had given me a plant that I couldn’t take on the plane so I could leave this. Next, the homestead that has been abandoned for 25 years. While my aunt and I went inside, my cousin argued with the neighbors and then took two phone calls one of which was an argument. The house is a time capsule: like the family packed a suitcase and walked out the door leaving the house and everything inside exactly as it was in 1997. There are clothes in the closet and laid out on the bed and paintings on the walls, and a newspaper on the table. There is a nice-sized garden – totally overgrown of course with orange and lemon trees. I wanted to take some photos of the paintings on the walls but was rushed in and out quickly. And I wanted to see my grandfather's library. The one painting I took a photo of turned out to be by my Uncle. It was a watercolor that looked surprisingly like the paintings my mother did! My time in the town was so brief, I have no idea if there was even a grocery store in this village. But it’s a good house and I can imagine restoring it and setting up an “authentic” Italian village stay AirBnB. Not sure anyone is that ambitious and there isn’t a lot of extra time to get much done between the arguing and the cell phone conversations. I suspect the ambitious people boarded a boat and left a long time ago before apathy set in (or moved away from this town ). You can’t help but think of mezzogiórno which is an unwillingness to invest capital in anything down South—even by families into their homes.
That evening I mentioned what a good solid house this was to my cousin's 26-year-old under-employed son (or perhaps he is employed and just cannot tell me what he does)... Maybe clean it out and set it up for a rental for travelers looking for an "authentic" Italian experience. But was met with total disinterest despite me telling him this is the new trend--finding undiscovered places away from tourists. I mean he has a point, there is so little infrastructure in Calabria: Limited trains and bus service, and even the road to the town was a bit of a nightmare of potholes.
After the town, it was back to the house for lunch. I hope I don't sound ungracious as I cannot believe how generous and inviting the relatives were to welcome me. But my husband had asked me to bring home some great authentic Italian recipes from the family. Let's just say it's a myth that all Italian home cooking is delicious. I had to laugh when the bottle of Coca-Cola came back on the table. PLEASE I need a glass of wine!
I was dropped off at the “apartment” to rest while the family had a funeral to attend Finally, I could sneak out to see the beach. And what a beautiful beach it is. And of course, on the walk back, I ran into one of the cousins wondering why I was out of the apartment alone. OK more later......
Last edited by RubyTwins; Oct 19th, 2022 at 12:43 PM.
Oct 21st, 2022, 09:59 PM
#35
I had to laugh at this “it's a myth that all Italian home cooking is delicious”
When my Oma came to visit (after the Berlin Wall came down so obviously we were strangers- my father had escaped East Germany), she was thrilled to make her mark in my mother’s kitchen. Of course, not a word of English and we weren’t allowed in the kitchen ….and were eventually served boiled potatoes, mustard sauce and an egg.
My brother and I naively were hoping for rouladen, dumplings, red cabbage, mushroom sauce, lol.
When my Oma came to visit (after the Berlin Wall came down so obviously we were strangers- my father had escaped East Germany), she was thrilled to make her mark in my mother’s kitchen. Of course, not a word of English and we weren’t allowed in the kitchen ….and were eventually served boiled potatoes, mustard sauce and an egg.
My brother and I naively were hoping for rouladen, dumplings, red cabbage, mushroom sauce, lol.
Oct 22nd, 2022, 08:01 AM
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I had to laugh at this “it's a myth that all Italian home cooking is delicious”
When my Oma came to visit (after the Berlin Wall came down so obviously we were strangers- my father had escaped East Germany), she was thrilled to make her mark in my mother’s kitchen. Of course, not a word of English and we weren’t allowed in the kitchen ….and were eventually served boiled potatoes, mustard sauce and an egg.
My brother and I naively were hoping for rouladen, dumplings, red cabbage, mushroom sauce, lol.
When my Oma came to visit (after the Berlin Wall came down so obviously we were strangers- my father had escaped East Germany), she was thrilled to make her mark in my mother’s kitchen. Of course, not a word of English and we weren’t allowed in the kitchen ….and were eventually served boiled potatoes, mustard sauce and an egg.
My brother and I naively were hoping for rouladen, dumplings, red cabbage, mushroom sauce, lol.
Oct 23rd, 2022, 07:47 AM
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Nov 2nd, 2022, 05:27 AM
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Next day: Reggio Calabria and my flight to Rome. Picture the car scene in “To Catch a Thief” —but the driver is my 80-year-old Aunt and not Grace Kelly taking those curves in a sports car with a stick shift and scarf flying (all while talking on the phone, of course). The family from Reggio Calabria have separated themselves a bit from the ndrangheta branch both by distance and choice. In this side of the family, everyone went to college and has a career. Reggio Calabria is a beautiful city which has been rebuilt many times due to earthquakes. The drive along the water over looking Sicily is stunning and I wish I had been able to go the museum with the greek collection. I also saw many interesting artisan workshops on our walk to the restaurant. It seemed like an interesting place to poke around. I was glad my cousin said "next time, you stay here." YES!! We had lunch at a nice restaurant (finally good food in Calabria!) I am sorry I don't know the name but my cousin ordered sampler plates of arancini and little sandwiches for us. It was great but I still needed to get to the airport—my 90-year-old Uncle grabbed my suitcase this time, threw it in his sports car and we were off. In southern Italy intersections are a series of games of chicken —and I guess my aunt and uncle had nothing to lose. We were flying along the coast overlooking Sicily and Mt Etna and plowing through intersections left and right. It was a little sad to say goodbye--the language had been a barrier and I felt a connection to this uncle that i may never see again.
I wandered around the Fiumicino airport lost a bit and finally found the poorly marked waiting area for the shuttle to my hotel Isola Sacra----advertised as very close to the airport. The trip there was worrisomely long and I had an early morning flight. I was glad there was an American couple there more assertive than I was who brought this up at the front desk. And luckily I was able to get a "reservation" on this morning shuttle bus as I was the last one to grab a spot and not sure how I was to make it back to the airport if I hadn't (the drive to the airport was a lot shorter for some reason) The hotel is comfortable but it was advertised on Booking as having authentic Italian food... the food was ok. I am sure I could have stayed at the Marriott and it would have been the same. Although the breakfast was excellent. Anyway next morning back to the states. By the end of the 9 hour flight, the ITA flight attendants were literally throwing breakfast sandwiches at us. Luckily I play tennis and grabbed mine before it hit the floor.
It's been a lot to process and not about “closure” as some have conjectured. I found mom’s father and told mom’s story to her brother and sister. I cleared up that she wasn’t the byproduct of some fling with a "showgirl"—I helped them to know who she was and for me to sort of know who they are. It helped me understand the Italian American experience. In fact, while I didn’t say this, I believe after visiting, if my grandfather had NOT been deported and his travel papers revoked, I now believe he would have stayed in the US. Anyone with ANY ambition left that area if they could especially between WWI and WWII.
The family was warm and loving and welcoming . There was also on the Aunt's side of the family the kind of Italian melodrama that I know drove mom crazy. With my Uncle there was a kindred spirit: Aesthetic, vibrant, creative, funny, intelligent, a real presence and definitely along with my aunt respected and not in any kind of patronizing "old folks" way. My uncle, unlike others, understood the situation and there was no sentimentality or building up of my grandfather to be more than he was--and I do believe he was a force (a journalist who fought the fascists and had to give up writing went back to college and became a vet). To some in the family, he is on a pedestal and beyond reproach. But if he was like my mom, I can say without sentimentality he probably was a force --as she was also a charismatic, aesthetic and also a difficult person who people were drawn to. I guess I am still processing the experience of the Southern Italian family but I appreciate the kindness and generosity they showed me.
I also appreciate the opportunity and means to be able to travel alone and to stay in one place long enough to feel the rhythm of the city: To have time without the hordes of instagrammers where I could sit in front of a Duccio without needing to rush to the next item on a list or I could find a back alley cafe to drink my cappuccino and read the paper. And I am very happy I took the class and met many different people. Thank you for those who stuck with this and read this very very very long trip report.
I wandered around the Fiumicino airport lost a bit and finally found the poorly marked waiting area for the shuttle to my hotel Isola Sacra----advertised as very close to the airport. The trip there was worrisomely long and I had an early morning flight. I was glad there was an American couple there more assertive than I was who brought this up at the front desk. And luckily I was able to get a "reservation" on this morning shuttle bus as I was the last one to grab a spot and not sure how I was to make it back to the airport if I hadn't (the drive to the airport was a lot shorter for some reason) The hotel is comfortable but it was advertised on Booking as having authentic Italian food... the food was ok. I am sure I could have stayed at the Marriott and it would have been the same. Although the breakfast was excellent. Anyway next morning back to the states. By the end of the 9 hour flight, the ITA flight attendants were literally throwing breakfast sandwiches at us. Luckily I play tennis and grabbed mine before it hit the floor.
It's been a lot to process and not about “closure” as some have conjectured. I found mom’s father and told mom’s story to her brother and sister. I cleared up that she wasn’t the byproduct of some fling with a "showgirl"—I helped them to know who she was and for me to sort of know who they are. It helped me understand the Italian American experience. In fact, while I didn’t say this, I believe after visiting, if my grandfather had NOT been deported and his travel papers revoked, I now believe he would have stayed in the US. Anyone with ANY ambition left that area if they could especially between WWI and WWII.
The family was warm and loving and welcoming . There was also on the Aunt's side of the family the kind of Italian melodrama that I know drove mom crazy. With my Uncle there was a kindred spirit: Aesthetic, vibrant, creative, funny, intelligent, a real presence and definitely along with my aunt respected and not in any kind of patronizing "old folks" way. My uncle, unlike others, understood the situation and there was no sentimentality or building up of my grandfather to be more than he was--and I do believe he was a force (a journalist who fought the fascists and had to give up writing went back to college and became a vet). To some in the family, he is on a pedestal and beyond reproach. But if he was like my mom, I can say without sentimentality he probably was a force --as she was also a charismatic, aesthetic and also a difficult person who people were drawn to. I guess I am still processing the experience of the Southern Italian family but I appreciate the kindness and generosity they showed me.
I also appreciate the opportunity and means to be able to travel alone and to stay in one place long enough to feel the rhythm of the city: To have time without the hordes of instagrammers where I could sit in front of a Duccio without needing to rush to the next item on a list or I could find a back alley cafe to drink my cappuccino and read the paper. And I am very happy I took the class and met many different people. Thank you for those who stuck with this and read this very very very long trip report.
