18/06/07 (continued)
Since there are another ten hours left on this train ride, I'm going to continue to write about the rest of my time in Riace today. I wake up and realize that I slept past the alarm. Having told the woman at the restaurant that I would be leaving around 7:15, I had already paid for lodging and had received some juice and snacks for breakfast last night to put in the fridge. I fill up the old lemon soda bottle with Ace, and throw two chocolatey pastries into my bag. I should have taken the other packet of shampoo for good measure, too, but I forgo the shower and rush out the door. I walk down the highway and am at the bus stop around 7:30. The woman at the restaurant had told me 7:50, the man who drove me guessed 8:00, though the boy who hopped in the back said 8:30, and a man I asked near the bus stop yesterday said there must be a bus at eight-something (he had conferred with another, older man, who, though he was unable to give a more specific time for the bus, did tell me that Cuteri was not a name from Riace - Scuteri, yes, but Cuteri, no), so I, not wanting to risk missing it, and having miscalculated the time it takes to walk to the stop, patiently wait, hiding my shins from any more sun, until the bus comes at eight-something.
I hop on, and we cautiously drive a winding road up into the hills that I would never have wanted to walk in such heat. At the top, I pay the €0,85 fare and find myself in front of what be none other than the building I'm looking for. I enter, buzz, and a police officer greets me. I explain what I'm trying to do, and he takes me into the next room, where another officer does a quick search on the computer that yields nothing. However, they point me to a white-haired man in the piazza whose memory is as good as any computer. He's also dubious of finding a Cuteri, since it's Scuteri that's a Riace name, but he takes me upstairs to Carmelina's office anyway. We go over the known information (Maria Cuteri, mother was Virginia Onorata, married Nicola Campagna, born March 5, either 1907 or 1908). The white-haired man starts flipping through a fragile-looking card catalog. Each card he pulls out to examine is a no-go. He pulls another out, examining it longer and bringing it to the desk. Carmelina asks if he found it. My breath shortens, and it's a yes.
Cuteri Maria di Pasquale di Antonio e di Onorata Virginia. Nata nell'anno 1908 mese marzo giorno 5.
They photocopy the card, front and back, and hand the photocopy to me. The date of her wedding is only a few weeks after her fourteenth birthday. Her occupation is "casalinga". At the bottom, there is a note marking her emigration to the Comune of B'lyn, NY, Stati Uniti. And then on the back there are two addresses. The gears in the white-haired man's head are turning as he puts the pieces together. He says he's sure of it now - she must have lived at via Roma, 18. And there was an Adelaide Cuteri, who must have been a sister or something? Anyway, one of her granddaughters lives down in Riace Marina, in fact not too far from my hotel. She married the lawyer, Strati, and they live down there now.
There being plenty of time before I can get back down to Riace Marina on the bus, I ask if I can find the house. He starts to explain to me how to get there, then draws a little map, then just decides to take me there himself. It's barely 30 meters away, but I'm thankful that he accompanied me, since now I have a photographer! He's a little confused by the machine at first, but we get some good photos of me on the stairs to her door and by the address on the wall. Giving him many thanks, I'm off to explore more of town.
In my wanderings, I encounter toothless women, angry dogs, and two young men in neon yellow vests leading donkeys with baskets on their backs to collect the town's trash. I go back to Nonnie's building, and by this time the bar on the ground floor is open. I go in and ask for something to eat and drink. I receive cookies and pear juice. (Most of the bars I've been to in Italy serve paninis, pizza slices, and/or gelato - but this was just a bar-bar, and so there wasn't much there besides liquor.) I get a classy picture of the owner in his special white jacket, grinning toothlessly as he pretends to pour some wine. I also go in the local church to rest a while. A shop that sells artisan goods from Calabria and around the world looks enticing, but it's only open Monday-Saturday from 17:00-19:30, which are quite productive hours, I imagine, so I settle for a tabaccheria/souvenir shop. I get post cards and trinkets and then go to wait for the bus. Another €0,85 brings me down, and I begin the search for the wife of the lawyer Strati.
I wander the strip between the restaurant and the gas station, but not finding the name on any buttons, I go back to the hotel and ask the girl at reception where the lawyer Strati lives. Somewhere on this strip, but she's not sure exactly where. I go to the restaurant and ask the waiter (did I mention how cute he is? Probably a little it younger than I, he shuffles from table to table in his neat black pants and oversized white jacket with the most innocent devilish grin). He doesn't know, but gets the woman who seems to be running the show (although everyone refers to the establishment as "Bruno's", I've never seen said Bruno) and she knows! She starts to describe it to me, but, like the white-haired man before her, she just takes me there. Feeling like a trespasser, I salute the woman working in the garden and tell her that I'm looking for the wife of the lawyer Strati. She suspiciously points me to the ground floor door. I buzz, and another woman answers.
"I'm looking for the wife of the lawyer Strati."
"That's me."
"I think that we are cousins."
Not what she was expecting to hear, I'm sure. I see the husband in the background - she tells him that I say I'm an American cousin, and he tells her to invite me in. She seems a little embarrassed not to have asked me herself first, but I'm invited to the table and given a glass of water. We talk for a while, trying to figure out the family tree. The lawyer Strati, with their baby girl in his arms, helps out, and we deduce that her grandmother Adelaide and my great-grandmother must have been first cousins; it seems that their fathers were brothers. I think. It's all very confusing, and I might want to check the figures later, but we must be related somehow. She and her daughter are probably the only ones in the area anything less than fifth cousins, though, since all the others left for America, Australia, or Milan. I think that she herself was born in Milan, but married this man from Riace. Her mother and aunt still own the house at via Roma, 18 (but not the bar underneath), so it makes sense that she met her husband some summer in the south. I take some photos of the three of them, and say my good-byes. It's a strange pleasure, this whole experience. Now I'll try to sleep through as much of what's left of this train ride (another seven hours) and then one more train to Ferrara, where I will shower, check my e-mail, and eat and sleep to my heart's content.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
11.037.600
18/06/07
This journal entry is being written on a 13-hour train ride from Catanzaro Lido to Bologna Centrale. Yup. But first, let's rewind to cover yesterday.
I sleep in and have a shower in the morning, using shampoo for the first time since leaving Ferrara (my shampoo bottle was too bulky to pack, but there were little packets in the tiny little bathroom in my room - sidenote: to use the toilet, which dripped perpetually, you have to put your feet in the shower). I go downstairs and get breakfast in the lobby, where the television first airs mass, and then some show about art that TLC would probably air. After a glass of orange juice and a croissant, I am given directions to the beach (through the back of the hotel) where I will find an umbrella marked with my room number - 32. Before I make it to the beach, I see there is a little patio/playground that I think would be a perfect spot to sit and write in this journal. A small company of ants disagrees, so I move on to the beach, where I find not only the umbrella, but a single fold-up beach chair as well, in a line of red and yellow Stella Marina umbrellas and chairs. I write until maybe noon, then play in the water for a spell, then lay out my towel to tan. The Irish in me beats out the Italian in me, and I now have tingly, rosy arms and shins.
After my fill of the beach, I go back to my room and figure out how to use the television. I do some channel surfing (or "zapping", as the Italians say) and come to the conclusion that Italian television is weird, although probably no more so than American television. I call home and chat with my parents, wishing Dad a happy Father's day and Mom a happy birthday. Granma hadn't come over yet, so after some more zapping, I get a call, and it's her, wishing me a happy birthday. I tell her that I haven't yet been able to find any connections to Nonnie, but I'll be working on it tomorrow. Oh, how happy she'll be to hear all my stories when I get back home! Anyway, it's back to the boob tube, and I come across Will & Grace, dubbed in Italian! The jokes in Italian weren't really funny, but just the fact that they were all speaking Italian was humorous enough in itself.
This whole time I'm snacking on Sticks & Bretzel and a chocolate brioche that I've had since Rome, so I'm not too hungry when I decide that it's starting to get late so I should go to dinner anyway. I order penne alla calabrese and the local white wine to celebrate my birthday. I'm warned that the food will be spicy, but I say that that's fine. As I wait for my meal and nibble on the bread, I notice that the diners are more or less the same faces from the day before. There was a new couple at the table next to me, but the family across the hall and the old friends two tables down are the same. I get my pasta and quickly learn that they weren't kidding - I'm actually having difficulty eating it. Then, within the span of a couple of minutes of each other, every other table gets up to leave. I continue to stuff pasta in my mouth, but the heat, spiciness, and all the emotions of the moment are too much, and I nearly choke up what I have in my mouth. I swallow with a swig of wine, and leaving dignity and decor aside, I get up, leave the penne and wine half-eaten and half-drunk, and go to pay at the counter. I watch some more tv (the Italian under-21 soccer team won their game, but the wrong team won the other game in their bracket, so the Italians unfortunately didn't get to move on) and set my alarm for an early morning.
This journal entry is being written on a 13-hour train ride from Catanzaro Lido to Bologna Centrale. Yup. But first, let's rewind to cover yesterday.
I sleep in and have a shower in the morning, using shampoo for the first time since leaving Ferrara (my shampoo bottle was too bulky to pack, but there were little packets in the tiny little bathroom in my room - sidenote: to use the toilet, which dripped perpetually, you have to put your feet in the shower). I go downstairs and get breakfast in the lobby, where the television first airs mass, and then some show about art that TLC would probably air. After a glass of orange juice and a croissant, I am given directions to the beach (through the back of the hotel) where I will find an umbrella marked with my room number - 32. Before I make it to the beach, I see there is a little patio/playground that I think would be a perfect spot to sit and write in this journal. A small company of ants disagrees, so I move on to the beach, where I find not only the umbrella, but a single fold-up beach chair as well, in a line of red and yellow Stella Marina umbrellas and chairs. I write until maybe noon, then play in the water for a spell, then lay out my towel to tan. The Irish in me beats out the Italian in me, and I now have tingly, rosy arms and shins.
After my fill of the beach, I go back to my room and figure out how to use the television. I do some channel surfing (or "zapping", as the Italians say) and come to the conclusion that Italian television is weird, although probably no more so than American television. I call home and chat with my parents, wishing Dad a happy Father's day and Mom a happy birthday. Granma hadn't come over yet, so after some more zapping, I get a call, and it's her, wishing me a happy birthday. I tell her that I haven't yet been able to find any connections to Nonnie, but I'll be working on it tomorrow. Oh, how happy she'll be to hear all my stories when I get back home! Anyway, it's back to the boob tube, and I come across Will & Grace, dubbed in Italian! The jokes in Italian weren't really funny, but just the fact that they were all speaking Italian was humorous enough in itself.
This whole time I'm snacking on Sticks & Bretzel and a chocolate brioche that I've had since Rome, so I'm not too hungry when I decide that it's starting to get late so I should go to dinner anyway. I order penne alla calabrese and the local white wine to celebrate my birthday. I'm warned that the food will be spicy, but I say that that's fine. As I wait for my meal and nibble on the bread, I notice that the diners are more or less the same faces from the day before. There was a new couple at the table next to me, but the family across the hall and the old friends two tables down are the same. I get my pasta and quickly learn that they weren't kidding - I'm actually having difficulty eating it. Then, within the span of a couple of minutes of each other, every other table gets up to leave. I continue to stuff pasta in my mouth, but the heat, spiciness, and all the emotions of the moment are too much, and I nearly choke up what I have in my mouth. I swallow with a swig of wine, and leaving dignity and decor aside, I get up, leave the penne and wine half-eaten and half-drunk, and go to pay at the counter. I watch some more tv (the Italian under-21 soccer team won their game, but the wrong team won the other game in their bracket, so the Italians unfortunately didn't get to move on) and set my alarm for an early morning.
Monday, June 25, 2007
All the way down
17/06/07
Good morning, Riace Marina! Well, how did I get here? Yesterday, I wake up early in the morning and pack my stuff. I wake Martina up (Andrea[s?], her boyfriend/whatever was in her room, shirtless - awkward), she gives me a bowl of cereal, and I pay her for my stay. I bid Sylia, the big, friendly dog, farewell, and Martina's father drives me to the train station. He goes for a coffee, and I wait for the almost-on-time train. Nothing too exciting about this train to Paola, except for the fact that it's the fourth consecutive train that no one checks my ticket. The next train, Paola to Reggio di Calabria is the interesting one.
It's an overnight that's been going all the way from Milan, but I get on and the first six-person cabin I see is empty, so I sit. My kind of cute guy comes in behind me, leaving one seat between us, but we never end up talking. I take out my "Snack Friends - Sticks & Bretzel (Biscotti Salati per Aperitivi)", which I had bought in Praja, and start munching. A stop or two later, two more men get on - one between me and the cute guy, and the other across from the cute guy. This one sees my snack, and really, there's no hope for peace after that. "Ah," he says, "i biscotti preferiti di Bush." Here we go. I say that they're my favorite biscotti (apparently, pretzels fall under the "cookie" category in Italian) for Bush, since he manages to hurt himself with them. I go back to writing in this journal, and he leaves me alone until I'm finished. Then he asks how Cheney is. I tell him, good, he hasn't shot anyone recently. Now for the most part, he starts discoursing just to lament, somewhat talking to the man next to me (the cute guy has left by now). I try to stay out of it unless he addresses me directly. He talks about how horrible the loss of habeas corpus is. I agree. He says he's not going to America now because the minute he sets foot in the country, he's finished - they can do whatever they want to him. There are no rights anymore. Rights are for the weak, and when the strong have so much power, they don't see a need for rights any more. He asks me if I have money (um, excuse me?) and I say no, I'm lucky enough to be on scholarship to come to Italy. He asks me how I feel about McDonald's. I tell him I hate McDonald's - I'm a vegetarian, and they lied to us about using animal oil in their French fries. So, I told a couple of fibs to create the "I'm-so-liberal-it-hurts" character, but I just didn't want him to start attacking me personally. He has spent a lot of time in Bologna, so he knows Ferrara pretty well. Apparently, the Bolognesi look down on the Ferraresi because they're poor, and up until a few decades ago, all the Ferraresi women were prostitutes. Fascism was also extremely strong in Ferrara. It's a sad town, isn't it, he asks. I have to agree that with the walls and the weather it's a bit slow and depressing, but I still do like it. He and the other man get off a stop or two before me to catch the ferry to Sicily. He asks me to say "hi" to Bush, Laura, Dick and Condoleezza (he had asked me if I thought she was sexy - she kinda dresses like a dominatrix, and he could picture her with a whip - I said "definitely not") and I'm by myself, laughing, until Reggio di Calabria Terme.
In the train station, I ask if there is a map of the city sold in the magazine shop. There isn't, but the woman behind the counter (one of the friendlier and more helpful of the very many women-behind-counters that I have encountered in Italy) tells me that if I keep on walking straight after I make a left out of the train station, after a little over a kilometer, a beautiful walk, I would find the archaeological museum and the Riace Bronzes. I make the walk, briefly stopping at a little park, and pay two Euros admission. There wasn't a place to drop off my backpack, so I may have rushed through most of the museum since the weight was hurting my back and shoulders, but finally I get to the basement with the truly impressive statues. I linger a little, but decide it's time to go. I haven't spent much time in Reggio, and realize that I could take an earlier train and make it to Riace instead of a later one I had planned on originally that would only take me to Roccella, where I would probably have to take a taxi to the hotel. I weakly look for the duomo, but not finding it right away, I just head back to the station to get something to eat and a Fanta. I go to redeem a receipt that I had received in Praja from one of those ticket machines that doesn't give change, and after the man thinks that I had tried to cut in front of the woman who had actually cut in front of me, I get my €3,60. I don't think anyone likes, or know what to do with, those stupid little grey machines. I sit down in the station, and a woman rushes in with her young child by the hair, shoves her onto the seat next to me, and starts to beat her, yelling at her not to move. Two women who were chatting nearby tell the very angry woman to let the child go, and then stand between the two. After a little more yelling, the girl runs away, and I take that as my cue to get up and move to the platform, where it seems they are making repairs on my train. I eat some more Sticks & Bretzel and get a lemon soda before I follow someone onto the train to Roccella. I spend the 45-minunte layover in the cute little town before I look for the train to Riace. It's on track 4, the signs say. The underpass takes you to tracks 2 and 3. 4 isn't even labeled, but I see something that could be it. I ask two men if that is the train to Lamezia (leaving out the word "seriously"). They tell me yes, and I walk across track 3 to board the one-car train to Riace.
I get off after two stops, and I see that this place is, let's say, stark. No signs of life on the street, just some cars that zip by on the highway. Based on my memory of the website, I think I know where the hotel is, and confirm this in the pharmacy. I walk alongside the highway for a bit longer than I may have liked until I see "Stella Marina". I walk in, and tell the woman that I reserved a room. She tells me that this is the restaurant, and the hotel is further down the road. Okay, super. I make it there, and check in with the girl behind the counter. She makes me leave my passport, which I will get when I come back down. I find my not-terribly-clearly-labeled room, turn on the a.c., and relax a bit before going back down. I have to give the girl my address in the States, but then she returns my passport and I order a Fanta. I sit and drink it, and when I go up to pay, I ask her if she knows anyone with the last name "Cuteri". In Riace, no, but in the town over, yes. I tell her about my great-grandmother, and she says that if I go to the Comune of Riace, I can find the birth records, and probably the house she lived in.
I go back to the room to get my backpack, and then follow the girl's directions - towards the train station, left at the traffic light (no possibly confusion here, since there's only one traffic light) and go up. I start going, and get lost. After I hit a dead end, I ask a woman watering her lawn where I might find the birth records. Two men appear and we get into a conversation about my great-grandmother and why I'm here. We chat a while, and I'm told that the Comune is closed by now, and will be tomorrow as well, since it's Sunday, but Monday morning, I can take the bus from the traffic light right up to Riace, and I will be dropped off in front of the Comune. It's about this point when I realize that the don't consider where I am to be "Riace". No, this is "Riace Marina". Riace is a good six or so kilometers uphill. One of the men offers to drive me back to the hotel, and I hesitantly accept. We get in, and as we're about to head off, a young boy hops into the back. We drive down a bit, but stop in front of one building so that I can meet the woman who works at the records office. We're invited up into a very nice kitchen. I'm offered a beer, but decline, then get offered an orange soda, and accept. Today's Fanta count: three. A few more people come in until there are four women, three boys, the man who drove me, and I, sitting around the kitchen table. They all chat for a while, and I mostly listen. They all think it's great that I've come to search for my roots. I take a photo of everyone and we say our good-byes. The man then drives me back to the hotel, telling me on the way the name of the woman who works at the records office - he knows her first name instantly, but has to think about the last name. I kinda like what that indicates about this community. From the back seat, the boy corrects me - "Carmelina" only has one "l". I write the last name and ask him if it's right. He says it's good and I smile.
Back in my room, I get organized and then walk down to the restaurant where, for the first time in my life, I eat dinner in a restaurant alone. It's good - seafood spaghetti - and afterwards the hostess gives me information on the buses for Monday. I'm not sure if she gave me all the schedule information or just edited out what she didn't consider to be "convenient" times, so I'm going to do my own research anyway. So I discovered that this place isn't as desolate as it seemed at first glance, and maybe some good things will come on Monday. Now I've got my birthday to pretty much just hang around the beach and see if there's anything at all going on in town. Maybe the next entry won't be so monstrously long!
Good morning, Riace Marina! Well, how did I get here? Yesterday, I wake up early in the morning and pack my stuff. I wake Martina up (Andrea[s?], her boyfriend/whatever was in her room, shirtless - awkward), she gives me a bowl of cereal, and I pay her for my stay. I bid Sylia, the big, friendly dog, farewell, and Martina's father drives me to the train station. He goes for a coffee, and I wait for the almost-on-time train. Nothing too exciting about this train to Paola, except for the fact that it's the fourth consecutive train that no one checks my ticket. The next train, Paola to Reggio di Calabria is the interesting one.
It's an overnight that's been going all the way from Milan, but I get on and the first six-person cabin I see is empty, so I sit. My kind of cute guy comes in behind me, leaving one seat between us, but we never end up talking. I take out my "Snack Friends - Sticks & Bretzel (Biscotti Salati per Aperitivi)", which I had bought in Praja, and start munching. A stop or two later, two more men get on - one between me and the cute guy, and the other across from the cute guy. This one sees my snack, and really, there's no hope for peace after that. "Ah," he says, "i biscotti preferiti di Bush." Here we go. I say that they're my favorite biscotti (apparently, pretzels fall under the "cookie" category in Italian) for Bush, since he manages to hurt himself with them. I go back to writing in this journal, and he leaves me alone until I'm finished. Then he asks how Cheney is. I tell him, good, he hasn't shot anyone recently. Now for the most part, he starts discoursing just to lament, somewhat talking to the man next to me (the cute guy has left by now). I try to stay out of it unless he addresses me directly. He talks about how horrible the loss of habeas corpus is. I agree. He says he's not going to America now because the minute he sets foot in the country, he's finished - they can do whatever they want to him. There are no rights anymore. Rights are for the weak, and when the strong have so much power, they don't see a need for rights any more. He asks me if I have money (um, excuse me?) and I say no, I'm lucky enough to be on scholarship to come to Italy. He asks me how I feel about McDonald's. I tell him I hate McDonald's - I'm a vegetarian, and they lied to us about using animal oil in their French fries. So, I told a couple of fibs to create the "I'm-so-liberal-it-hurts" character, but I just didn't want him to start attacking me personally. He has spent a lot of time in Bologna, so he knows Ferrara pretty well. Apparently, the Bolognesi look down on the Ferraresi because they're poor, and up until a few decades ago, all the Ferraresi women were prostitutes. Fascism was also extremely strong in Ferrara. It's a sad town, isn't it, he asks. I have to agree that with the walls and the weather it's a bit slow and depressing, but I still do like it. He and the other man get off a stop or two before me to catch the ferry to Sicily. He asks me to say "hi" to Bush, Laura, Dick and Condoleezza (he had asked me if I thought she was sexy - she kinda dresses like a dominatrix, and he could picture her with a whip - I said "definitely not") and I'm by myself, laughing, until Reggio di Calabria Terme.
In the train station, I ask if there is a map of the city sold in the magazine shop. There isn't, but the woman behind the counter (one of the friendlier and more helpful of the very many women-behind-counters that I have encountered in Italy) tells me that if I keep on walking straight after I make a left out of the train station, after a little over a kilometer, a beautiful walk, I would find the archaeological museum and the Riace Bronzes. I make the walk, briefly stopping at a little park, and pay two Euros admission. There wasn't a place to drop off my backpack, so I may have rushed through most of the museum since the weight was hurting my back and shoulders, but finally I get to the basement with the truly impressive statues. I linger a little, but decide it's time to go. I haven't spent much time in Reggio, and realize that I could take an earlier train and make it to Riace instead of a later one I had planned on originally that would only take me to Roccella, where I would probably have to take a taxi to the hotel. I weakly look for the duomo, but not finding it right away, I just head back to the station to get something to eat and a Fanta. I go to redeem a receipt that I had received in Praja from one of those ticket machines that doesn't give change, and after the man thinks that I had tried to cut in front of the woman who had actually cut in front of me, I get my €3,60. I don't think anyone likes, or know what to do with, those stupid little grey machines. I sit down in the station, and a woman rushes in with her young child by the hair, shoves her onto the seat next to me, and starts to beat her, yelling at her not to move. Two women who were chatting nearby tell the very angry woman to let the child go, and then stand between the two. After a little more yelling, the girl runs away, and I take that as my cue to get up and move to the platform, where it seems they are making repairs on my train. I eat some more Sticks & Bretzel and get a lemon soda before I follow someone onto the train to Roccella. I spend the 45-minunte layover in the cute little town before I look for the train to Riace. It's on track 4, the signs say. The underpass takes you to tracks 2 and 3. 4 isn't even labeled, but I see something that could be it. I ask two men if that is the train to Lamezia (leaving out the word "seriously"). They tell me yes, and I walk across track 3 to board the one-car train to Riace.
I get off after two stops, and I see that this place is, let's say, stark. No signs of life on the street, just some cars that zip by on the highway. Based on my memory of the website, I think I know where the hotel is, and confirm this in the pharmacy. I walk alongside the highway for a bit longer than I may have liked until I see "Stella Marina". I walk in, and tell the woman that I reserved a room. She tells me that this is the restaurant, and the hotel is further down the road. Okay, super. I make it there, and check in with the girl behind the counter. She makes me leave my passport, which I will get when I come back down. I find my not-terribly-clearly-labeled room, turn on the a.c., and relax a bit before going back down. I have to give the girl my address in the States, but then she returns my passport and I order a Fanta. I sit and drink it, and when I go up to pay, I ask her if she knows anyone with the last name "Cuteri". In Riace, no, but in the town over, yes. I tell her about my great-grandmother, and she says that if I go to the Comune of Riace, I can find the birth records, and probably the house she lived in.
I go back to the room to get my backpack, and then follow the girl's directions - towards the train station, left at the traffic light (no possibly confusion here, since there's only one traffic light) and go up. I start going, and get lost. After I hit a dead end, I ask a woman watering her lawn where I might find the birth records. Two men appear and we get into a conversation about my great-grandmother and why I'm here. We chat a while, and I'm told that the Comune is closed by now, and will be tomorrow as well, since it's Sunday, but Monday morning, I can take the bus from the traffic light right up to Riace, and I will be dropped off in front of the Comune. It's about this point when I realize that the don't consider where I am to be "Riace". No, this is "Riace Marina". Riace is a good six or so kilometers uphill. One of the men offers to drive me back to the hotel, and I hesitantly accept. We get in, and as we're about to head off, a young boy hops into the back. We drive down a bit, but stop in front of one building so that I can meet the woman who works at the records office. We're invited up into a very nice kitchen. I'm offered a beer, but decline, then get offered an orange soda, and accept. Today's Fanta count: three. A few more people come in until there are four women, three boys, the man who drove me, and I, sitting around the kitchen table. They all chat for a while, and I mostly listen. They all think it's great that I've come to search for my roots. I take a photo of everyone and we say our good-byes. The man then drives me back to the hotel, telling me on the way the name of the woman who works at the records office - he knows her first name instantly, but has to think about the last name. I kinda like what that indicates about this community. From the back seat, the boy corrects me - "Carmelina" only has one "l". I write the last name and ask him if it's right. He says it's good and I smile.
Back in my room, I get organized and then walk down to the restaurant where, for the first time in my life, I eat dinner in a restaurant alone. It's good - seafood spaghetti - and afterwards the hostess gives me information on the buses for Monday. I'm not sure if she gave me all the schedule information or just edited out what she didn't consider to be "convenient" times, so I'm going to do my own research anyway. So I discovered that this place isn't as desolate as it seemed at first glance, and maybe some good things will come on Monday. Now I've got my birthday to pretty much just hang around the beach and see if there's anything at all going on in town. Maybe the next entry won't be so monstrously long!
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Friday in the Park with Czechs
16/06/07
On the road again. I left Praja this morning, and am now on a train to Reggio di Calabria. Yesterday was another good day. Originally, I was told that there was another group that was going to go rafting, so I was going to tag along. However, the plan got changed to an off-road Jeep tour, which ended up being splendid! I had thought that Martina had told me to be ready to leave the hostel at 9:00, but as she handed me a bowl of cornflakes at about twenty till, she said, "you've probably already missed your train by now." So I wolf down the cereal, grab my bag and start hoofin' it to the station. As I'm rounding the first bend that overlooks the sea, a car stops beside me. I'm thoroughly sketched out at first, but then I see the driver is Martina's father! He's driving a friend downtown and offers to drop me off near the station. So I get there in plenty of time to catch the train to Scalea, the next town over. I call Oreste, the guy who runs the rafting/Jeep adventure group, and he says that a Jeep will be over in ten minutes. When it arrives, the driver introduces himself as Francesco, and we chat as we wait for Oreste to bring the other group. They arrive, a family of six that I assumed must be German, and we split up between the Jeeps to get ready to start. I'm in the covered Jeep with Francesco and the grandparents. Pretty soon, we're into the farmland, and then a broad, shallow river. Yes, into the river. They really do mean "fuoristrada". We meander through some beautiful and striking scenery - farms, forests and mountains - with Francesco sometimes driving a little bit off the path to give us a 30°+ angle thrill. We stop and take a short walk up to a waterfall - cool, clear and refreshing. Then, Oreste picks a long blade of grass and loops it up to show us how to catch a lizard. He gets one hooked and plays with it for a while before letting it go. We drive back down, then, and stop by a botanical garden, where there are all the different trees of the national park, except the one that symbolizes the region. I saw a picture of it later - a gnarled, old curmudgeon that grows in the rocks at the mountaintops and lives for centuries, if not millennia. Imagine that. And then as contrast, there are tiny little trees marked with plaques that commemorate the birth of every child in the local town.
We then head off to a mountain town where Oreste, Francesco and I each get an ice cream as the family (who I'm beginning to suspect are not German - their language sounds more Slavic, but Russian doesn't seem right, either) continues to document their whole experience with two video cameras and other still-photo cameras. We ascend to a little grotto with a Madonna statue, and then another hillside takes us to a giant cross with a fantastic panorama. Heading back, I'm in the open Jeep with Oreste, the grandparents and the father, and we are then joined by one of the two daughters. And after a journey of about three hours, Oreste brings me back to the station. The whole time he and I had been using both English and Italian to communicate, but then he said something to me that I couldn't understand. Catching himself, he says, "ah! Now I'm speaking in Czech to you!" So, that's where the family must have been from! Oreste knew probably just enough Czech to say "let's go!" and tell them how much they owed him (which I later found out was more than what I paid - Martina made sure that I got a special rate).
After returning to Praja, I decide to find the church in the mountainside before heading back to the hostel. It takes a bit of wandering the back streets of town, but I finally spot the stairs leading up to the sanctuary - a church that is literally housed in three connected, spacious caverns. I spend a short time there by myself and then descend back down and walk to the hostel.
In the evening arrives Josh, a cute 29-year old who has been spending the last couple of months traveling in Spain and Italy. He, Grace and I have dinner while Martina has yogurt (I swear, I can't deal with these girls and their weight/eating issues any more) and we discuss all the dubiously legal ways that one can extend one's travels around Europe beyond the three months that your traveler's visa allows. Grace and Martina were fine with the idea, but Josh seemed like too much of the classic good Jewish boy to want to risk it. I probably wouldn't, either. Grace still can't walk very well, but the other three of us went out to use Martina's grandmother's dial-up internet, and then we end up in the main square where there's a dance performance going on with a stage decorated with images from Alice in Wonderland. They all seem to be local performers, and some of them aren't too bad, including the girl who was the Alice character, who Martina said was her best friend. We mill around a bit and meet the new mayor! He seems friendly, and Josh was in a bit of a shock to have met the mayor hanging out in the piazza. But, that's just how it goes in an Italian town of 6000 people. It was an interesting place, and Martina's an interesting girl, but now it's time to move on to see what these next few days have in store.
On the road again. I left Praja this morning, and am now on a train to Reggio di Calabria. Yesterday was another good day. Originally, I was told that there was another group that was going to go rafting, so I was going to tag along. However, the plan got changed to an off-road Jeep tour, which ended up being splendid! I had thought that Martina had told me to be ready to leave the hostel at 9:00, but as she handed me a bowl of cornflakes at about twenty till, she said, "you've probably already missed your train by now." So I wolf down the cereal, grab my bag and start hoofin' it to the station. As I'm rounding the first bend that overlooks the sea, a car stops beside me. I'm thoroughly sketched out at first, but then I see the driver is Martina's father! He's driving a friend downtown and offers to drop me off near the station. So I get there in plenty of time to catch the train to Scalea, the next town over. I call Oreste, the guy who runs the rafting/Jeep adventure group, and he says that a Jeep will be over in ten minutes. When it arrives, the driver introduces himself as Francesco, and we chat as we wait for Oreste to bring the other group. They arrive, a family of six that I assumed must be German, and we split up between the Jeeps to get ready to start. I'm in the covered Jeep with Francesco and the grandparents. Pretty soon, we're into the farmland, and then a broad, shallow river. Yes, into the river. They really do mean "fuoristrada". We meander through some beautiful and striking scenery - farms, forests and mountains - with Francesco sometimes driving a little bit off the path to give us a 30°+ angle thrill. We stop and take a short walk up to a waterfall - cool, clear and refreshing. Then, Oreste picks a long blade of grass and loops it up to show us how to catch a lizard. He gets one hooked and plays with it for a while before letting it go. We drive back down, then, and stop by a botanical garden, where there are all the different trees of the national park, except the one that symbolizes the region. I saw a picture of it later - a gnarled, old curmudgeon that grows in the rocks at the mountaintops and lives for centuries, if not millennia. Imagine that. And then as contrast, there are tiny little trees marked with plaques that commemorate the birth of every child in the local town.
We then head off to a mountain town where Oreste, Francesco and I each get an ice cream as the family (who I'm beginning to suspect are not German - their language sounds more Slavic, but Russian doesn't seem right, either) continues to document their whole experience with two video cameras and other still-photo cameras. We ascend to a little grotto with a Madonna statue, and then another hillside takes us to a giant cross with a fantastic panorama. Heading back, I'm in the open Jeep with Oreste, the grandparents and the father, and we are then joined by one of the two daughters. And after a journey of about three hours, Oreste brings me back to the station. The whole time he and I had been using both English and Italian to communicate, but then he said something to me that I couldn't understand. Catching himself, he says, "ah! Now I'm speaking in Czech to you!" So, that's where the family must have been from! Oreste knew probably just enough Czech to say "let's go!" and tell them how much they owed him (which I later found out was more than what I paid - Martina made sure that I got a special rate).
After returning to Praja, I decide to find the church in the mountainside before heading back to the hostel. It takes a bit of wandering the back streets of town, but I finally spot the stairs leading up to the sanctuary - a church that is literally housed in three connected, spacious caverns. I spend a short time there by myself and then descend back down and walk to the hostel.
In the evening arrives Josh, a cute 29-year old who has been spending the last couple of months traveling in Spain and Italy. He, Grace and I have dinner while Martina has yogurt (I swear, I can't deal with these girls and their weight/eating issues any more) and we discuss all the dubiously legal ways that one can extend one's travels around Europe beyond the three months that your traveler's visa allows. Grace and Martina were fine with the idea, but Josh seemed like too much of the classic good Jewish boy to want to risk it. I probably wouldn't, either. Grace still can't walk very well, but the other three of us went out to use Martina's grandmother's dial-up internet, and then we end up in the main square where there's a dance performance going on with a stage decorated with images from Alice in Wonderland. They all seem to be local performers, and some of them aren't too bad, including the girl who was the Alice character, who Martina said was her best friend. We mill around a bit and meet the new mayor! He seems friendly, and Josh was in a bit of a shock to have met the mayor hanging out in the piazza. But, that's just how it goes in an Italian town of 6000 people. It was an interesting place, and Martina's an interesting girl, but now it's time to move on to see what these next few days have in store.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Succeeding at not drowning
Second morning in Praja a Mare. Yesterday was a nice day at the beach. Grace and I went swimming as Martina sunbathed, after pointing us towards a cave that we could go to. The beach was all pebbles and the cliffs were walls of dark grey rock. I hadn't gone swimming in a mighty long time, but after I started getting adjusted, Grace and I decided to find this cave. We found a niche in one wall and decided to try to get in. The water was a bit choppy, so it was somewhat difficult: ride a big wave so that you can grasp a higher rock, and hold on tight so as not to be sucked back into the sea. It took Grace a couple of tries, but I must have gotten the timing just right, since I made it up the first time. The niche proved to be rather small, though I wondered if you could actually climb further up if you had the right gear and the guts. After I got out, Grace pointed me around the corner to what we figured out was the actual cave Martina had told us about. With my claustrophobia mostly suppressed, we swam in through a little tunnel into a bigger space, lit by some sunlight reflecting in the blue-green water.
We exited through the other side of the cave and swam back to Martina. She told us that there was another little beach on the other side of the mountain wall, so we set off. I think we got a little off the path as we scrambled up the mountainside, getting scraped by the rocks and plants as we tried not to slide back down. We found a spot with a nice view to rest for a while before descending to the beach. We swam out below the cliff-jumping arch (22 meters high, they say) to verify that it was deep enough. Grace was convinced, but I knew I would have to see some one do it first.
After relaxing in the mesmerizing waves for who knows how long, we went back to Martina to take us up to the top of the arch. It didn't take long for Grace to decide to jump. I went down back into the waters below, "just in case." Martina told Grace, "even if you don't hurt yourself, you won't be able to breathe once you come up. But don't worry, it's normal." I got into position, and when all were ready, Grace launched herself from the arch, plummeting into the water with an enormously loud splash that took me by surprise. I swam to her and asked if she was alright, since she had let out a huge gasp when she resurfaced. With an affirmative response, we swam back to the beach and climbed back up to meet up with Martina. That's when I noticed blood trickling down Grace's leg. At first she told me that it didn't hurt, but after we got down to the next beach and she washed off the blood, she noticed that there was something wrong with her knees. They sure didn't look right to me, but Martina was convinced that if it were serious, Grace wouldn't be able to walk. "100% of Australians jump," Martina tells us.
We get back to the hostel and all take a little siesta nap. When I wake up, Martina asks if I want to go downtown to get a gelato and so that she can find a girl to ask her some things about a thesis she needs to write. I asked her what class it was for. Making me promise not to laugh, she tells me that she needs to graduate high school. It turns out that she dropped out of school to travel the world when she was sixteen. I don't know how old she is now, but she sure has an amazing life story so far. If you're born in Praja, it's expected that you stay in Praja. Martina's known around town as a bit of an oddity, but maybe things are starting to change. After 27 years of one mafioso mayor, they finally elected a new one, who might be able to boost tourism and turn Praja around. Martina's optimistic, but I cautiously worry that the battle for progress is far from over.
We exited through the other side of the cave and swam back to Martina. She told us that there was another little beach on the other side of the mountain wall, so we set off. I think we got a little off the path as we scrambled up the mountainside, getting scraped by the rocks and plants as we tried not to slide back down. We found a spot with a nice view to rest for a while before descending to the beach. We swam out below the cliff-jumping arch (22 meters high, they say) to verify that it was deep enough. Grace was convinced, but I knew I would have to see some one do it first.
After relaxing in the mesmerizing waves for who knows how long, we went back to Martina to take us up to the top of the arch. It didn't take long for Grace to decide to jump. I went down back into the waters below, "just in case." Martina told Grace, "even if you don't hurt yourself, you won't be able to breathe once you come up. But don't worry, it's normal." I got into position, and when all were ready, Grace launched herself from the arch, plummeting into the water with an enormously loud splash that took me by surprise. I swam to her and asked if she was alright, since she had let out a huge gasp when she resurfaced. With an affirmative response, we swam back to the beach and climbed back up to meet up with Martina. That's when I noticed blood trickling down Grace's leg. At first she told me that it didn't hurt, but after we got down to the next beach and she washed off the blood, she noticed that there was something wrong with her knees. They sure didn't look right to me, but Martina was convinced that if it were serious, Grace wouldn't be able to walk. "100% of Australians jump," Martina tells us.
We get back to the hostel and all take a little siesta nap. When I wake up, Martina asks if I want to go downtown to get a gelato and so that she can find a girl to ask her some things about a thesis she needs to write. I asked her what class it was for. Making me promise not to laugh, she tells me that she needs to graduate high school. It turns out that she dropped out of school to travel the world when she was sixteen. I don't know how old she is now, but she sure has an amazing life story so far. If you're born in Praja, it's expected that you stay in Praja. Martina's known around town as a bit of an oddity, but maybe things are starting to change. After 27 years of one mafioso mayor, they finally elected a new one, who might be able to boost tourism and turn Praja around. Martina's optimistic, but I cautiously worry that the battle for progress is far from over.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
First morning in Calabria
14/06/07
I am in Calabria! Yesterday morning, I took my third exam, then had lunch and got on the train. There was a woman sitting in my seat, and when she noticed that I was looking to sit, she started stuttering a few Italian words, and I laughed and told her I was American, too. Her seat was across the aisle, but she had done some shuffling so that she and her family (husband and boys - I'm guessing from the 4 to 7 range) could sit together. So, I sat down across from her and we chatted intermittently. "I like your ribbon," she said, referring to the rainbow on my backpack, "I have a brother who plays for your team." Certainly friendly and outgoing. Turns out they were from Portland, Oregon, but had decided to take ten months off as a family and see the world. They had been through Australia, New Zealand and Asia, and by month eight, they had reached Italy. The got off in Florence, and the rest of my train to Rome was uneventful.
I have nothing good to say about the children on the train from Rome to Salerno.
Third train, Salerno to Praja - I'm probably the only foreigner on the train. I sit down and take out my knitting. The conductor passes by checking tickets, but he passes me right by. Couldn't tell you why. The train starts to slowly empty, and after some excitement between the conductor and some man who seemed to have cheated the system somehow, my car is reduced to me, and someone behind me, who sneezes every so often. After a bit, he comes and strikes up a conversation with me, as I comically am trying to undo a nasty knot in the yarn. He's a young, local man, getting off at the same stop as I. He knits, too, and tries to help me with the knot, but it's futile. We get off, and he accompanies me until I meet up with Martina, the girl who runs the hostel. The friendly young man bids me farewell with kisses on the cheeks, and I'm off in the car with Martina and her boyfriend, Andrea.
We get to the beach and find the rest of the guests, six girls (Three Aussies, a Brit, an American, and a girl from Singapore), around a small bonfire. Some people go back to the hostel around midnight, but the rest of us stay out until about one. When I finally get to the hostel, I realize that it's basically just Martina's family's house, and we're staying in the bright, little attic.
In the morning, almost everyone packs up and leaves after Martina makes us some crepes and I get to meet her parents and dog. The remaining girl, Grace, a quiet, fair girl from Queensland and I go into town to get some food for later. The town is nothing much, really, and the main road was in the process of being re-paved. After making some small purchases, I head back and find my way back to the hostel as Grace tries to find a bank.
Off to a good start, I'd say. Nine hours of train travel actually wasn't bad at all, since it was nicely split up. Today looks like it will bring cliff-diving and tomorrow is rafting, it seems. We'll see how all that goes!
I am in Calabria! Yesterday morning, I took my third exam, then had lunch and got on the train. There was a woman sitting in my seat, and when she noticed that I was looking to sit, she started stuttering a few Italian words, and I laughed and told her I was American, too. Her seat was across the aisle, but she had done some shuffling so that she and her family (husband and boys - I'm guessing from the 4 to 7 range) could sit together. So, I sat down across from her and we chatted intermittently. "I like your ribbon," she said, referring to the rainbow on my backpack, "I have a brother who plays for your team." Certainly friendly and outgoing. Turns out they were from Portland, Oregon, but had decided to take ten months off as a family and see the world. They had been through Australia, New Zealand and Asia, and by month eight, they had reached Italy. The got off in Florence, and the rest of my train to Rome was uneventful.
I have nothing good to say about the children on the train from Rome to Salerno.
Third train, Salerno to Praja - I'm probably the only foreigner on the train. I sit down and take out my knitting. The conductor passes by checking tickets, but he passes me right by. Couldn't tell you why. The train starts to slowly empty, and after some excitement between the conductor and some man who seemed to have cheated the system somehow, my car is reduced to me, and someone behind me, who sneezes every so often. After a bit, he comes and strikes up a conversation with me, as I comically am trying to undo a nasty knot in the yarn. He's a young, local man, getting off at the same stop as I. He knits, too, and tries to help me with the knot, but it's futile. We get off, and he accompanies me until I meet up with Martina, the girl who runs the hostel. The friendly young man bids me farewell with kisses on the cheeks, and I'm off in the car with Martina and her boyfriend, Andrea.
We get to the beach and find the rest of the guests, six girls (Three Aussies, a Brit, an American, and a girl from Singapore), around a small bonfire. Some people go back to the hostel around midnight, but the rest of us stay out until about one. When I finally get to the hostel, I realize that it's basically just Martina's family's house, and we're staying in the bright, little attic.
In the morning, almost everyone packs up and leaves after Martina makes us some crepes and I get to meet her parents and dog. The remaining girl, Grace, a quiet, fair girl from Queensland and I go into town to get some food for later. The town is nothing much, really, and the main road was in the process of being re-paved. After making some small purchases, I head back and find my way back to the hostel as Grace tries to find a bank.
Off to a good start, I'd say. Nine hours of train travel actually wasn't bad at all, since it was nicely split up. Today looks like it will bring cliff-diving and tomorrow is rafting, it seems. We'll see how all that goes!
Lida-Rose, I'm home again
Well, Ferrara-home, that is. I survived Calabria! I spent a lot of time down there writing a journal to document my experiences, so I will try to type that all up (about 13 hand-written pages, I think?) and post it in installments, so that those of you who blog-check as obsessively as I do (I still check Budzy's on a regular basis) will have a new story every day or so for a little while. But I don't have that all with me right now, so it's going to have to wait. Also, Amanda's coming tomorrow, so who knows if I'll actually keep up with these best intentions.
Peace!
Peace!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Quickie
Okay, three exams done, one to go! But first, I need to go to Calabria! I'm leaving in a couple of hours, so I'm going to go get ready now. Excited but scared. If I'm not back in a week, well, then I've been kidnapped by the 'ndrangheta. Wish me luck!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)