Cell Phone Blues

What? No Magic Jack or Viber?

What?!  This sim from this Phone won’t work in my iPhone 6???

The first two years we stayed long term in Italy we used the telephone carrier Wind.  Here is the flash back to that first year –  http://wp.me/p3rc2m-69.

It cost us €10 a month for each phone and that got us 400 texts, 400 minutes and unlimited data. Though – after the 1st gb the data was s l o o o o w.  Unbelievable price.  The only problem we had was logistical.  The Wind signal didn’t make it to the kitchen of our stone house or any interior rooms.  But – hey for that price we answered all calls in the dining room or if that didn’t work -on the balcony.

We bought new iPhones this year and discovered new technology.  Beh!  The iPhone 6 uses a micro sim!  Perchè?  Because then you have to buy more new stuff!  Double Beh!!

Now, since we couldn’t seamlessly insert the sim from the iPhone 4’s into the new phone.  We spent our first week in Italy exploring the sights and foods of Milan – just using our Verizon Wireless Global Plan for uber emergencies – like where in the world is JACK!  The Global Plan costs more than I want to spend just to call a local Milanese restaurant – all those roaming and I can’t figure them out charges.

We needed to get an Italian sim card ASAP.  In Milan, I asked around and no one could point me to a Wind store.  Apparently, it is not in the social register of the literati.  Everyone I asked said – “oh here in Milano we use Tim.”  Tim has always been a popular phone service so we spent €45 for two sim cards and one month of usage.  Tim worked great in Milan.  Not so great in Bellagio, Rome, on the train to Boiano and not at all in our house in Pontelandolfo.  Merde!

Since we are planning on traveling around more of Italy this year, I decided to do the smart thing and research a bit.  We heard the rumor that Vodofone – which now owns a bit of Verizon – was moving towards buying into another carrier for a USA presence.  What the hey – let’s roll the dice and try Vodofone.  €15 bought us each a sim card and the first month of service.  Now it will cost us more than Wind – €16 each month for 1gb of data, 100 sms and 100 talk minutes – I think.  I say I think because we bought the sim cards in  Media World – think Best Buy type of store –  not in a Vodofone store.  I was remiss – yes, yes, I do occasionally screw up – and didn’t ask all the right questions or get a print out of what we bought.

Vodofone works everywhere in the house – even the all stone kitchen.  We get a signal – so far – knock wood – everywhere we have been.

Klunk – that is the other shoe dropping.  I bought the card and was glad because they have an app for my iPhone and an online presence.  That means I can – allegedly – recharge the card and check out any new deals on line.  WRONG.  I was born in the wrong place to do that!  One must be able to register on-line to use the app and on line services.  To register on line you have to fill in a form that includes place of birth.  Guess what?  I was born in the USA and the form only has drop downs for the EU.  UGGGG.  We did spy a Vodofone store or two and I’ll be going in asking them to please register me.

SummaryVodofone costs us more per month than Wind but works everywhere.  Tim – well – we will just forget Tim.  USA Global plans we won’t even talk about.

Mail Boxes ETC. Italian Style!

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Jack had two large suitcases.  I had one large suitcase and a small suitcase stuffed with books.  He had a carry-on.  I had a carry-on and a purse.  Easy peasy – we get a ride to JFK International Airport and are a scant few feet away from the Air Emirates counter.  They take the bags and we go off to have a drink and talk about our next six months.  In Milano we use a FREE cart to hold the bags and take them out to the taxi kiosk.  There the driver jams them into the trunk and escorts us to our apartment building – where he hands over the suitcases to a charming man who worked there.

Ahhhhh – we open a bottle of wine and stare out the window at the street. “Look Jack – the subway stop is so close it will be easy to get to the train station.”  EASY – we have three huge suitcases, one book stuffed sack, two carry-ons and a purse!!!!  What were we thinking!!!

We decided we would end up paying big bucks to take a cab to the train station – in rush hour traffic and not worry about the bags.  Than one morning we decided to walk down our street in the opposite direction.  There, on the corner was a Mail Boxes Etc.  Dragging Jack over to the window I pointed out the sign that talked about a cheap rate if you could stuff a bunch of stuff in a box and it weighed less than 10 Kg.  “The books,”  I screeched – let’s at least offload the books.  I went in and talked to Fernando La Vigna, the store manager, and he said the books would get to Pontelandolfo in 2 days.

The next morning, we dragged two shopping bags full of books back.  It cost us €16.90 to send the books – we were under the 10 Kg too.  I jokingly said, “lets go back and get more stuff from the suitcases to stuff in the box.”  Fernando looked at us and said, “we can ship the suitcases.”

The thought of a way not to schlep all the suitcases on the train and drag them around Roma Termini to switch trains was incredibly appealing.  We had looked into shipping the suitcases from the USA and the average charge door to door was $250 each.  I asked how much it would cost – “not to worry – not much.”

The day before we left Milan we dragged the four suitcases to Mail Boxes Etc. located at Via G. Pelitti 7 – 20126 Milano.  (info@flaservizi.it or 02 395 46101)   For €80 all four pieces went from Milan to our house in Pontelandolfo.  They actually got there the next day before we did!

Would I do that again?  In a nanosecond!!!  Riding the train is a great way to see the country – dragging the suitcases for a six month stay on the train is not.

Waking up in Milan

I’m still shaking off the zzzzzzzz’s from our travel day so if i start to sound incoherent toss caffè on me.  The trip from the airport to the center of Milan by cab is €90 – we had too many bags to take the train.  Jack keeps saying we have to leave more stuff in Italy and get down to one carry-on.  I’m sure he is right – but why does he have two giant suitcases and I only have one????  The apartment we rented is not in the heart of the city – we love the neighborhood vibe and lack of tourists.  To get there by train we would have to take the Malpensa Express train (www.malpensaexpress.it) and at Cadorna Station take the red line metro.  Easy, but not with enough luggage to outfit a baseball team.

Our host, Claudia, met us at the apartment – Via Livraghi 1/A. Yes, yes, it was Jack who did the research and found the place on VRBO.com (vacation rentals by owner).  The rent is considerably less  – way less – think less than €100 a day – than we would pay in a hotel and we have a cute one bedroom flat on the 7th floor in a real neighborhood. Of course it has an elevator – who would carry umpteen bags up seven flights?  Not us!  Claudia provided maps and information on Milan, recommendations for restaurants and volunteered to drive us out to Bellagio on Lago Como next Monday.  She is wonderful!!  We are one block from the Metro stop “Villa San Giovanni”.  Our goal today – if I ever stop staring at the views of the city out the windows- is to hop the metro to the center of the city and just reconnoiter.

Last night we followed Claudia’s advice and ate dinner at Mamma Lina di Milano.  Our apartment is really on the corner of Via Livraghi (a private street I might add) and the thoroughfare Via le Monza.  Since all we had to do was cross V.le Monza to get to Mamma Lina and we could barely walk it was a no brainer.  The exterior looks like any urban building but the interior –

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A hidden garden greeted us.  The tables are to the right.

The fare is “tipica Pugliese” from Puglia.  (Check out their website at www.mammalina.it) We both started with an incredibly creamy mozzarella cheese on a bed of rucola.  The description said it was bathed in cream – yummy.  Too tired to think, we both had the same entrée – scallops served in their shells with diced asparagus and an angelically light sauce.  Yes, it was seafood heaven.  A side of steamed but herbed vegetables and we were happy eaters.

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Almost too pretty to eat – but  we did.

What – it is almost noon.  Too late to get a cappuccino and try out the bar on our block.  Rats, I’ll have to start moving earlier tomorrow.  We are off to see the famous Duomo and explore the center of Milan.  I’ll have more to say domani.  Ci vediamo a presto.

Let The Second Act Begin!!!

Yawn, my eyes are little goopy slits but I feel compelled to talk to you.  Just a second.  There a gulp of tea and a quick peek at the clouds and I feel a wee bit better.  I’m perched on my Air Emirates “flat bed” seat gazing around the cabin at the sleeping beauties snoring.  Pretty subtle huh?  Yup Jack and I are on the way back to Italy flying Business Class on the classiest airline I’ve ever been on.

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Jack Huber – The Ace Airlines Shopper

Trust me – we paid less for these seats than we would this time of year for coach on anyone else.  There was an e-mail alert that Jack got – he is on all kinds of travel lists – Air Emirates was offering TWO coach seats to Milan from New York for $800 ROUND TRIP!!!!  Then they sent an e-mail that within a three hour window you could upgrade to Business Class for $900!!!  Jack rapid fired a response.  So our two tickets cost us a total of $1750.  Damn, Jack is a great air shopper.  The plane is lovely – Jack says his dinner of herb cured salmon was very good.  He also had huge prawns, scallops,  great asparagus with thin polenta – cripes I’m getting hungry.  I got on the plane, asked the steward to make up the bed and promptly fell asleep.  I missed the open bar.  RATS.  We are spending a week in Milan.  This is the prologue of our new second act.  A Second Act that finds us searching for new adventures.  Perhaps I should explain…

Sigh, some of you may have wondered where the heck I’ve been for two plus months.  Here is the ugly update – I got smacked with a bizarre something or other – lots of tests and no diagnosis – we have no idea illness made me dizzier than usual and held me couch hostage for two months.  As soon as I could lift my head from the pillow, we made good on our promise to each other to list our New Jersey home and start a new and exciting second act.  The house has been in my family since 1926 – my nonna fed all of us from that subsistence farm.

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We made quite a few changes to the place but the soul of it belongs to nonna & nonno.

 The family used the house as a safe haven in any storm.  Listing it was tough – but hey it could take years to sell a 250 plus old farm house.  WRONG – Seven days – 7 days.  The bloody house sold for full price in 7 days.  I’m thinking that Zia Caterina, Poppa and Nonna wanted me out of the house and on the road.

We frantically emptied 3 out buildings and the huge house of 3 generations worth of stuff.  The work was staggering physically and emotionally.  First came the estate sale company – they take 30% of the gross sale. Second I cajoled and begged family and pals to help me belly lug everything left in the house to the out buildings and set up for the “Free Sale”.  People queued up in the rain to be let into the garage ten at a time, race around grabbing all the good stuff they wanted before I bellowed “Your Done – Next Group In”.  Hey, you gotta make this stuff a game or be bored to death.  Shit – there is still stuff left.  A thirty yard dumpster and crew of three tossed the rest of my family’s possessions.  That night I stayed up with my pal Grey Goose and sobbed.

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Bye Bye 221 South Branch Road.  You served generations of us well.

Photo by http://galleries.johnfeistphotography.com/

We closed on the house a week ago.  Now what?  Sell the cars of course.  Might as well be car-less as well as homeless.  That pretty much brings you up to date.  Now that we have shed most of our belongings and bills we are back in Italy ready to open that Second Act.

I’ve got to go now.  The handsome cabin steward just asked if I wanted an omelet,  french toast or – who cares what it is served on china with real flatware!!!  We will chat again soon.

Thank you in advance for following the Italian journey with us.

Getting to Naples Airport

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Road Rage Doesn’t Become Me.

It is so exciting for us when our friends and family come to visit. It is not so exciting to drive to the Naples airport. We love our family and friends but aren’t kind and gentle enough to drive to the Rome airport to pick them up.  We (OK me – Jack is kind) tell them to fly to Naples.  Now, after schlepping to Naples numerous times to procure our loved ones, cursing and shrieking during the drive and watching Jack clutch the wheel while I turned green –  I started thinking there must be a better way.  Couldn’t the adventuresome guests take the train?  Yeah, yeah, yeah I know, I’m a bitch but have you driven in Naples or Rome?

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Janet Cantore Watson came and found her Cantore cousins in Pontelandolfo!

It is a small world.  I have always considered Janet my daughter and discovering she had family where I had family was an uber woo woo moment.  Being a brazen lady of the world, Janet was the first guest to take a bus from a stop seconds from our house to Naples.  We were told that an early morning direct bus to Naples stopped in the piazza in Compolattaro.  That piazza is literally 5 minutes from our house.  We were there in the wee hours of the morning.  A tiny little bus stopped.  I asked if it went to Naples. “Si” said the lying S.O.B. bus driver.  Janet kissed us goodbye and got on.  As we were leaving a big bus pulled around the corner – h’mmm I wondered?   The first bus only went as far as Benevento – the second bus was the right one.  Merde.  Janet had to figure out which bus from Benevento went to Napoli.  Jack just pointed out that the first driver was not an S.O.B since he stayed with Janet and escorted her to the right bus – which cost her €10.  Double Merde.  After tooling around Naples Janet hopped a €16 cab to the airport. Her experience taught us that we have to over research everything and ask ALL the right questions.

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My brilliant niece, Alexandra Rose, was the first to explore the train to the plane connections from Pontelandolfo to the Naples airport.

When she came to visit this fall, Alex wanted to hang in Naples with her cousin Giusy. ( I didn’t ask what they got up to and they didn’t tell.)  After landing at the Naples Cappodichino  airport she hopped the Naples Alibus Airport Shuttle.  It took her to Naple’s Central Train Station.  After frolicking with Giusy, she took a Metrocampania train from Naples to Benevento.  There we scooped her up in big hugs and drove the scant twenty minutes home.

It is wonderful to have an adventuresome kid in my life.  Living in London she has traveled all over Europe alone.  Alex has scored thousands of points with this Auntie Mame.  Returning to London, Alex was going to do the trip directly to the airport. We hopped in the car and took a short slide down the mountain to Stazione di Benevento.

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There Alex was able to get a ticket on a Metrocampania NordEst train to Napoli Termini.  She tells me the ride was quick, easy and uneventful.

Next, the ever resourceful traveler jotted down specific directions to the AliBus shuttle from Napoli Termini to Naples Cappodichino airport for whoever was going to try it next.  Alex’s directions were simple enough. Tickets were cheap too.  It’s €4 if you buy the ticket on the bus or €3 if you buy it at a shop – but we don’t know which ones.  She was easily at the airport and on the way to England.

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Marta Figueroa – our next adventurer.

Marta, the traveling buddy of my youth, spent a fun filled week with us.  Being another world wide explorer she said it was stupid for us to repeat the drive to the Naples airport.  We had picked her up there and she got the full driving in Naples and on the highways experience.  “How could they be passing on a solid line?”  “Is going that fast legal?”

We got Marta to the Benevento  Train Station in plenty of time.  There isn’t great parking near the station so Jack stayed with the car.  I went in to discover that Alex was right – buying tickets was a breeze.  The station was organized – just lacked parking which reminded me of NJ Transit.  The ticket to Naples was only €5.  She got on the train and all was well until she got to Naples.  Even though we had Alex’s directions and knew that the Alibus stop is located in Piazza Garibaldi midway between the Central Station and Corso Garibaldi.  No one could help her figure out which door out of the train station headed in the right direction.  When she finally dragged her suitcase to the right place a kindly gent suggested that since the bus wouldn’t be there for ten minutes she cross the street and buy a ticket in advance.  Marta bought the ticket and  watched an Alibus come in, unload and leave.  What???  Maybe the driver had to pee.  A second bus came in, unloaded and left!  Now she is panicking about making her flight.  Finally, a full 45 minutes later,  an empty Alibus appeared and let the throng of people on.  Imagine how many people were now cued up, worried about catching trains and dragging luggage.  Marta pushed her way onto the bus and then watched the drama unfold.  The driver wouldn’t leave until a very proper British type lady got a new ticket.  She spoke Italian with great force and pretension.  “I have a bloody ticket and will not buy another.”  Now, you must validate the ticket in the electronic ticket machine on the bus and it is good for 90 minutes from validation.  What Marta couldn’t figure out is if the women had validated it too long ago or it was three years old.  She said the shouts and screams were incredible.  People on the bus were offering to pay her way.  The driver threatened to call the police.  She threatened to – well I don’t remember what.  But there was much shrieking until – —

The bus took off and Marta made it to the airport with only twenty minutes before the boarding of her flight.  Her recommendation – take the taxi!

Some cynic said to me – “Mussolini is dead you can’t expect public transportation to run on time.”

Learning Italian in Sardegna – Centro Mediterraneo Pintadera

Learning a language can be an onerous activity – especially if you are in your garret reading your verb lists by candle light.  I studied French for 4 years in high school and can barely buy bread in Paris.  Italian wasn’t spoken to me at all – well pass the mapeen and sta zitta – but that was it.

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My first real brush with the language was after my first trip to Pontelandolfo – in a year when the dinosaurs roared in tongues over the earth.  I was twenty-something and had come to visit the village of my heritage with my Aunt Catherine and two cousins.  We assumed that since Aunt Cat was born here and left when she knew the language well that she would be our translator – NOT.  She spoke the arcane dialect of Pontelandolfo.  I knew we were in trouble when we landed in Milano and she asked a question to be told “we don’t speak Spanish here.”  Thank the Universe I had a trusty Berlitz phrase book with me. 

I played with learning Italian but didn’t get committed until 1999 – the year I returned to Pontelandolfo with my family tree in hand and found my dad’s first cousins.  When I got home,  I went to Brookdale College, Somerset County College and finally Dorothea’s House in Princeton.  All experiences had their pluses and minuses.  Next, to nudge Jack into learning the language I researched immersion schools in Italy.  I would go to websites, send an e-mail and hear nothing.  Or worse, I would call – all saying they were multi-lingual – and no one spoke English and could tell me about the place.  Than I found Centro Mediterraneo Pintadera!  The school is located in Alghero on the magical island of Sardegna.

Love the school. Could I win the lottery and stay here?  I spoke with one of the directors, Nicola, and was assured that the classes were small – which they were capping out at about six people.  She speaks multiple languages flawlessly.  She told me about the teaching staff  – think Ph’ds who aren’t yawners.  The facility was up a flight of stairs in the heart of the old part of the city.  That location puts the school in the middle of the art and culture that makes Alghero fabulous.  It also means you are within walking minutes of the sea.  When she told me the price – I was sold!

On a sunny May day, Jack and I packed a notebook and pens and headed for Sardenga.  The sea surrounds the city, May means fewer tourists and cheaper airfare. We were not disappointed in our choice of schools or the location.  

Why didn’t someone tell me when I was younger that studying language in the place the language was spoken not only makes great academic sense BUT – you meet really cool people.  People who like to travel like we do – sans reservations, sans itinerary.  Just go, explore and do!  The people we met in our classes – Jack and I weren’t together – I was a bluebird and he was – well – on the little bus – anyway the people were GREAT. 

Jack has no idea what Mascha is saying.

Jack is studying – but who – I mean what?

We met two smart pithy women from Germany, a tall handsome Dutchman, and a really interesting guy who lived in Dubai but was from Tasmania!  Instantly, we all bonded over caffè, were forced to speak Italian or – gulp- English.  Since of course, everyone else spoke their language plus English. 

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Caffè and Conversation Between Classes

Since I can’t keep two languages going in my brain at the same time, the small full immersion classes worked for me. The faculty not only had advanced degrees in languages but I swear were all actors.  You have to be a an actor to communicate with six wildly wicked adult students who want to learn your language but really don’t understand a spoken word. 

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Jack gets personal attention from a great and talented teacher.

The classes focused on both grammar and conversation.  The homework did not make me pull out my teeth.  Every moment was very interactive.  No one wanted to put their head down on the desk and snore.

Smile guys the audienc is clapping.

Check Out Who Sings With the Professional Classical Group? – Yup, our teacher!

Not only does the school have a great graded curriculum, but they made all of the living arrangements for us too.  We rented a charming house for the two week course that was right in the heart of the historic center of Alghero.  That meant close to world class bars, restaurants and shops.

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Our New Dutch Pal Cooking Dinner at Our House.

Marion, another Berliner, sows up fo the last pizza party.

In a great local joint with our new found school pals.

Every morning, following the narrow cobblestone streets, we would walk to the school.  Classes ran for about four hours every morning – with a break to speak to the locals and have caffè.  Then we would find a charming place for lunch, Jack would go for a walk and I would sit, stare at the sea, pretend to write and drink Prosecco. The school also ran cultural immersion classes I took a cooking class that was scads of fun.  The hunky chef owns one of the local restaurants.  We started out shopping and then back to his kitchen to prepare a meal that we then ate paired with fabulous local wine.

Last time I swim with the dolphins.

The Tuna Was Really Fresh!

Note our Chef/teacher in the backgound  - cute too.

We Were Shucking and Yucking in the Kitchen.

Jack and I were so in love with the place that I convinced pals from Dorothea’s House to come too.  We went back one January – which means during Epiphany – the city was alive with holiday spirit and the staff of Pintadera made sure we knew what was going on and participated. 

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La Befana Was Everywhere!  Even Lots of Women Dressed as La Befana!

I would love to be in Alghero every January – anybody want to send me?  Huge gangs of men dressed in black and sporting berets moved as one up and down the narrow streets singing in tight harmony.  Children raced from one La Befana to another asking for treats.  The spectacular theatre featured free live entertainment.  The Living Manger Scene really touched me, the actors were all persons with disabilities who took their roles seriously and were applauded by all.

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Living Manger

There was so much to do and experience that sometimes “my dog ate my homework” for the next class at Pintadera.  The extras that the school provided included a wonderful walking tour of the historic center filled with tales of the season.  Another fun filled extra was a class on the use of your hands when speaking Italian.  No – we did not learn how to flip the bird – that is not – OK maybe they do it  – but it is not Italian.

Chiara uses those gestures when we are BAAAAAAAAD.

How About A Class in Italian Hand Speak!

Through shaky lenses we discover it might just be...

Great Bar Beneath January Apartment – All LOCAL Wines and Foods

In May the city is filled with sun and walking on the sea wall is magical.  In January it gets dark a lot sooner but walking on the sea wall is still magical.  I felt like a princess wrapped in a cloak an walking the castle walls looking out to sea, waiting for my prince to return.  There was so much life in the city during the holiday season that it was impossible to feel cold.  Also, it wasn’t as cold in Alghero in January as it was in New Jersey.

Why aren't the lights in Flagtown this cute?

Sea Wall At Night!  During the day I stared and stared.

Go to Centro Mediterraneo Pintadera and create your own story.  http://www.pintadera.info/

Associazione Culturale
Centro Mediterraneo Pintadera
Vicolo Adami 41
07041 Alghero (SS)
Tel: +39 079 917064 / +39 079 983311
Mobile: +39 328 885 7367
Skype: pintaderalgheroP

I See My Father

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Dominico Manna has my father’s eyes.

The other morning I was startled when my father’s eyes peered into mine.  He hadn’t made an appearance since my sighting of him in Belize.  That day he arrived in a big old Chrysler – driving right up the beach – got out of the car and looked up at me sitting on the balcony staring at the sea.

Dad's head shot for a State Senate Run.

He did that John Wayne gun shot with your pointer finger thing and told me to stop being a wimp and to get on the f’n plane.

Did I mention that he had been dead for three years?

Cripes, I thought, what had I done to have him stare me down in a public place – Bar Elimar in Pontelandolfo?  I gulped and pulled my eyes away to see if the image stayed.  It stayed. The face was smiling – it wasn’t my father’s face. But the eyes – they were his eyes.  My woo woo moment had kinda’ sorta’ passed. My cousin Dominico peered down at me.  Rats, those are my father’s eyes.  I just met Dominico Manna a week or so ago, but when my dad’s eyes looked back at me I felt like I’ve known this newly found cousin my whole life.  Dominico is my father’s second cousin just like my Guerrera cousins back in the USA – that makes him my third cousin or second cousin twice removes or…. Well it doesn’t really matter.  He has my father’s eyes.

Part of my fantasy living in Pontelandolfo for 6 months – besides writing a best selling memoir – HA – was uncovering more cousins.  Our family tree is full of all of the names that mark homes all over Pontelandolfo – Guerrera, Rinaldi, Fusco, Perugini, Mancini etc. etc. etc.  When I look at the family tree, I start thinking that I have at least one blood cell of every single person that I pass on the streets.

Every time I actually find someone with a clear direct link to my nonna and nonno, I get smacked in the face again with how much we are all alike.  What was that Haley Mills TV show about the cousins who looked so much alike they could pass for one another?  My USA family – starting with my incredibly talented sister and niece and branching out to second and third cousins – is full or actors, dancers, writers, photographers, artists and those who love the arts.

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Hand Crafted by my cousin Carmella in Pontelandolfo!

Imagine my joy to discover that generations of our blood line here have danced in the towns international touring folklorico dance company, are incredible photographers, writers, visual artists etc.  Others, like me, are arts administrator types and help organize the towns events. Damn that artistic DNA!

I always remember my grandmother, Uncle Sal and Aunt Cat working their Flagtown land. Grandma taught me how to kill and pluck a chicken for dinner. Many here farm their land to produce incredibly tasting meats and vegetables. Gifts of home made cheeses and meats have graced my door.

We have family all over the world – the ones I know about are in
Argentina, Montreal, England, Spain and I can’t remember.  Jack and I will have to definitely take a trip to Argentina.

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Our family members, when the village could no longer support them, took the risk and re-established themselves beyond the borders of Italy. Even though we had never met, live miles apart and in some cases don’t even know that parts of our blood line intersect we are the same. Hell I know this sounds like woo woo but maybe there is something about this DNA stuff.

Every market day, if I stay in one place I am sure to see more of my family. Sometimes I haven’t a clue what they are saying to me but it doesn’t matter. Other times they clearly share what is bothering them, who is driving them crazy or why today is an absolutely fabulous day. The connection that comes from sharing secrets makes me feel like I have been here my whole life. In reality I discovered this family of Pontelondolfesi a scant 18 years ago. 18 years of returning to the village of my grandparents has forged incredible bonds.

I have finally decided that this is where I want to live – it may be 6 months a year or full time. It was seeing my father’s eyes that put me over the decision making edge. Daddy visiting me through Dominico and telling me once again not to be chicken shit – life is too short.

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When we get back to NJ the house will go on the market. Anyone want a farm house with a bocce court and mulberry trees?

 

 

Ferragosto – A National Holiday/Party

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When the Shepherd’s off for Ferragosto – Guess who is in Charge!

15 agosoto is a super special day all over Italy!  A national holiday that sends thousands to the beach, forests and points unknown.  I’m sure that Jack and I have been in Italy in August other years but for some reason we didn’t feel the impact of ferragosto.

Tragedy number 1 – No bread to be bought anywhere!  I obviously didn’t hit il forno, alimentari or supermercato early enough and every place was sold out of bread. Ferragosto must be national i  panini day too.

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You have to get there early on Ferragosto!

Tragedy number 2 – We realize we are too bloody OLD to be forced to party all day and into the night.  Another morning spent with bleary eyes and heavy head.

Tragedy number 3 – everything is closed!  Bars stayed open – they never get to celebrate.

Tragedy number 4 – I have Italian citizenship, participate in the health care system but embarrassingly don’t know what the holiday represented. So what is Ferragosto?  I asked a number of people and they all said non lo so or a holiday to celebrate summer or to celebrate workers or that ever popular I haven’t got a hell of an idea – bo. The ever wise Mario Mancini said Augustus started it.  Huh, why and when?

Thanks to Wickipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ferragosto) I discovered –

The term Ferragosto is derived from the Latin expression Feriae Augusti (Augustus’ rest), which is a celebration introduced by the Emperor Augustus in 18 BC. This was an addition to ancient Roman festivals which fell in the same month and celebrated the harvest and the end of a long period of intense agricultural labor.

On our way back to Midge's roots!

Time to decorate the oxen and head for the picnic!

The ancient Ferragosto, in addition to obvious self-celebratory political purposes, had the purpose of linking the main August festivities to provide a longer period of rest, called Augustali, which was felt necessary after the hard labour of the previous weeks.  People would picnic in the fields, play music and…

Midge: August means the country is on vacation!  This could have negative consequences in an already shaky economy.

During these celebrations, horse races were organized across the Empire, and beasts of burden, were released from their work duties and decorated with flowers. Such ancient traditions are still alive today, virtually unchanged in their form and level of participation during the Palio dell’Assunta which takes place on 16 August in Siena.

During Fascism, the tradition of taking a trip during Ferragosto arose. In the second half of the 1920s, during the mid-August period, the regime organized hundreds of cheap/free popular trips.

The Catholic Church celebrates this date as a Holy Day of Obligation to commemorate the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary— what they believe to be the actual physical elevation of her sinless soul and incorruptible body into Heaven.

Before the Roman Catholic Church came into existence, however, this holiday also included honoring of gods—in particular Diana—and the cycle of fertility and ripening.

Bottom line, since Diana blessed the earth, parties rule the country on August 15th.

In Pontelandolfo, holding to the tradition of the event, most families organize a picnic in the mountains. Usually the small and narrow mountain roads are empty.

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Lovely views out the car windows!  No guardrails!

This quindicesimo di agosoto the roads were – well – think the Daytona 500 speedway in the last heat. The only difference is you can tumble to your deeath off the edge of the mountain. But I get ahead of myself.

Our friends Alda and Gennaro were the ones that told us about Ferragosto so I wrangled a picnic trip to the the mountain with them. The night before, thanks to the incredible potato and tomato harvest of our landlord Nicola, I made a potato salad, tomato salad and since I loath cucumbers – Jack made a cucumber salad. We also packed wine, water, cutlery, cheese and who can remember. Alda packed sausage, roasta (pork slabs), cheeses, beer, bread and so much stuff that the back of the car was jammed. Gennaro loves to grill over a wooden fire so they were in charge of meats.

We crammed our stuff in the car and off we went. Gennarro loves going to the mountains and was a wealth of information. I decided to call him Gennar-apedia. There are fountains all over the territory, many built during the Borbone or Savoian reigns.

Well:trough

Man and beast can drink pure mountain water.

Massive stone signs embedded in the hill often tell the name of the fountain – Fontana di Cristina – named for the wife of Umberto 1st a Savoia.

I hadn’t realized – well maybe I did but until I saw it – just how huge a commune Pontelandolfo was. There are many little ancient villages tucked all over the mountain – contrada – that are part of Pontelandolfo.

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We saw crumbling medieval buildings and glorious weekend houses constructed out of some of the ancient row houses. I’m told wealthy Neapolitans are creating summer and weekend houses. This isn’t such a bad thing – taxes get paid and the area gets prettied up.  As we continued our quest for the perfect spot we passed Fontana Sillenziosa – this water is good for “fare peepee”.  Why use a chemical diuretic when the mountain can provide a natural one!  I need to really take the time to explore the fountains and get all of their stories.

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First Possibility!

We came to one fountain nestled in the mountain with a picnic table. Gennaro stopped the car and I thought this would be our picnic spot. If you didn’t look at the fountain which was next to a garbage pail overflowing with trash and crap left by pigs strewn near the road attracting honeybees, it was a pretty good spot. We wanted the best so back in the car we went.

The mountain was packed with people. I think some of them camped out at the best spots the night before. Swings were set up in trees, fires were built, like fields of crocuses in bloom blankets were covering meadows. One jam packed mountain parco included a stone cottage originally built for shepherds. A family started a roaring fire in the ancient fireplace and the elders were cosily ensconced there.

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Stone hut complete with fireplace found high in the mountain.

Well, there was no room for us on this hill top so we zoomed off to another – hmm what is that I smell through the open window? Sweet maryjane – let’s stop here! The hill was packed with twenty to thirty somethings playing Calcio, setting up tables, generally having the best of time picnicking. We ancients didn’t want to cramp there style – well most of us didn’t.

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Young ones park and walk up to the party on the hill.

We ended up at the first place we found, unpacked the car, ate, drank and had a smashing good time.

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Happy Ferragosto!

OK, now you know what the grey set did but what did a charming 17 year old bright young lady do?  Let’s ask one.  Alessia Guerrera lives in a small town near Sorrento.  Alessia popped in to practice her English and I quizzed her on her Ferragosto.

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Evil me  started with the question that no one in town could answer.   Why do you celebrate Ferragosto?  I don’t know.
Do you know when this holiday started?       I don’t know – I don’t think anyone knows.
Do they talk about this holiday in school.       No – never.        ( It seems to me that Mario is the only person who knew about Augustus.)

Alessia, tell me how you celebrated?      The day started for me early – I woke up tired at 7 o’clock in the morning.  Even though I was sleepy, I prepared all the things that I had to take to my best friend’s house.  I blew up balloons, baked a cake and gathered up the speakers for our music. Then at 8:00 o’clock my dad drove me to my friend’s house.

Where is the house of your friend?     On the little mountain called Carpineto.  When I got to the house I talked with my friend’s mom ensure that she was comfortable with us being there.

Wasn’t she going to be there?     His mom left and we were alone.  She went out with her family and friends too.  After she left, we waited anxiously  for our  twenty other friends. Everyone had their parents drive them up the mountain to the party.

Why would ones parents want to drive them up the mountain to a wild party???
Because here this kind of party in the mountain is traditional.  Our parents used to go to the sea.  Today a person can go to the mountains or to the sea.  We set up speakers, plugged in our cellular phones and danced to the music.  We danced until noon and then we cooked.

I can’t imagine twenty kids in the kitchen but hey – cooking together can be a lot of fun.
Some of us were in the kitchen and the others were in the dining room setting the table for lunch.   We ate pasta forno – it is made with cooked pasta,  prosciutto, mozzarella, and eggs layered in a baking dish. We also had insalata di riso, salame, salsiccia, and beef steak grilled. For dessert we ate a chocolate and vanilla cake, the chocolate cake that I made and other pastries.  To drink – we drank beer, wine, coke and that’s it.

Did your parents know you had beer and wine???
Yes, they knew. Italian parents let their children sip wine from birth.  Some parents let their children drink but the other parents do not.  After  lunch we cleaned all the rooms.  We went outside. We laughed.  We danced.  We joked and partied until the sun rose.

Thank you Augustus for yet another reason to have a party in August!