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!