Culture Clashes – The Good and the Not So Good

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

This is not a rant.  I am not in a foul and ugly mood.  It is just that after a while I can no longer hold my tongue.  Some things in Italy annoy me.

Kids and Cars –

Everyone out there who is as old as I am can remember the fun filled roll around in the back seat time before mandatory seat belts.  Clean it up, I’m talking about being a kid and not buckled into your assigned third of the seat.  As toddlers we would stand on the back seat of the car peering out the back window, sticking our tongues out at the drivers behind us.  Or hanging out the side window and giving trucks the arm pull down signal for tooting their big horn – then getting yelled out for sticking our heads out.  When  you were about 4,can you remember sitting on your dad’s lap and “driving the car” ?  How about those fun filled times riding in the back of the pick up truck.  Sitting on the edge of the truck bed and balancing as the wind whipped your face.  Then there was the piece of plywood my father had cut to fit the back seat of the car that my mom tossed pillows on.  it was an instant bed for long drives.  So what if the car flipped and we flopped around.  Somehow we all survived and made it to – well whatever age we are.  Then someone started keeping data on folks killed in cars.  A lot of them and many because they weren’t buckled in.  Safety first!  Seat belts save lives!  Well, where car safety is concerned, here in Southern Italy it is kind of like 1955 .  I see toddlers standing on front seats – wheeee – you can really see out the window.  Now, not all parents do that – I have seen kids buckled up for safety.  Frankly though, I see more standing on seats and hardly ever see a car seat.  Someone lovingly holds all the wee ones.  The absolute worse thing I saw was in Puglia – a helmetless tiny tyke on the back of a giant motor cycle clutching dad’s shirt as they sped through town.  Jack pointed out the kid was smiling and I was the only one having a hissy-fit.  Apparently, according to Jack, I am often the only one having a hissy-fit.   Is this car riding freedom a good thing or a not so good thing?  You decide.

You Can Dress Them Up But You Can’t Shut Them Up –

This is the second year that Comicron,  the fabulous  international comic short film festival was staged in Piazza Roma.  Artisitic Director, Ugo Gregoretti spent his younger days summering in Pontelandolfo.  It is a classy event, from the red carpet, the film stars attending, the beautifully appointed stage, to the well dressed folks sitting in the cordoned off area.  We got there a tad late and sat in the back behind the incredibly well dressed Antonetta.  She had on a fabulous long silky blue gown and dingle dangle sparkly jewelry.  How did I know her name was Antonetta?  Her pals got there later than we did and during a film bellowed ANTONETTA.  She leaped from her seat and five dapperly dressed donne chatted in the aisle next to us.  My evil eye and shushing had no effect.  Of course the young ushers also occiasionaly chit chatted in the aisle.  Jack said I am the only one it bothers and I should get over it – do you sense a “get over it” theme here?  This is not the only time chatty chicks bothered the hell out of me.  The first time I got so insensed I asked them to be quiet – the performers deserved respect.  Who were the performers?  Primary school kids! The moms in the audience felt compelled to share their shopping lists, lover’s names and whatever was on their minds  throughout the performance.   The only time they were quiet was when they were snapping pictures of their own kid on stage.  Che fa!  Is freedom of speech whenever and wherever you want to talk a good thing or a not so good thing?  You decide.

What Time Does It Start?

The producer/director in me gnashes teeth and is ready to kill when the advertised time of events are absolutely ignored.  My theory is the lack of timeliness is taught in the elementary school.  Case in point.  A few years back I went to the primary school’s end of  year show.  It was slated to start at 3:00.  Parents who worked left work early to get there by 2:00 to join the non working parents and thier toddlers in line.  Why so early?  Well audience consideration is not taught in the school either – there were not enough seats for all the parents.  People got  there early to grab a seat.  It was a hot June afternoon.  By three, standing outside the school in the sun I was drenched in sweat.  By three-thirty, I was drenched in hate and wondering why the bloody doors hadn’t opened.  We could hear the kids still rehearsing.  Hey teachers, if you don’t have it ready by now give it up.  They let us in at about 3:35.  Everyone scrambled for a seat or wall and the spectacular finally began about ten minutes later. (Don’t get me started on the production values.)  

The team that produces the events in the piazza and/or the acts they hire seem to have lost their watches too.  This year the August festaval headliner, jazzman James Senese was promoted as starting at 10:00.  At 9:30 I’m nagging Jack to get a move on so we can get to the village  before the show starts.  Jack raised an eyebrow and said , “it will start at 11:00.”  We got to the piazza a bit before  10:00 and there wasn’t any crowd.  Sitting at a table at Bar Mixed Fantasy, Jack told me to look behind me.  I did and there sat the roadies for Senese eating sausage sandwhiches at 10:00 PM.  No one was on the stage.  At about 10:45 things started to wake up and crowds started to form in front of the stage.  Somehow they knew  when the show would start.  Son of a witch, Jack was right – the show started at 11:00.  Cripes, maybe I am an Ugly American with my own expectances and Jersey girl angst.  Jack, ever living his theme with me said, ” Midge, this is Italia, get over it.”   I must say, I have never gone to events in Northern Italy – except the opera in Verona and that started about 10 minutes late – so I don’t know if tardieness is just a southern thing or universal.   In the scheme of life does timeliness really matter?  Is timeliness – or the lack thereof – a good thing or a not so good thing? You decide.

Those of you who live in or visit Italy or simply have an opinion – please join the conversation.  You decide!

Ci vediamo .  Thanks for listening.

Forum Giovani – The Young Producers

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

Forum Giovani

Over the years I watched the young people of Potelandolfo produce theatrical events, calcio tournaments, festas and more.  I knew there was something called Forum Giovani but I didn’t really get what it was.  I’m thinking like Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney – a couple of kids get togther and make stuff happen.  You will not believe this – because it sure doesn’t happen in New Jersey – but the region and or Italia  gives each town a stipend of €2,500 earmarked for Forum Giovani. The teens to early twenty-somethings, that choose to be involved in the group, use this as seed money to produce events.  This is a really good thing!

The forum has a two room office that they use for meetings.  The commune provides the office, computer and furniture.  They only call meetings when they need them. Smart huh – no mandatory monthly BS.  Now, just what do these kids do with that money???

You conservatives out there need to stop thinking of it as a socialisitic handout.  The money is used for administrative overhead – paper, pens, ink for the printer, light bulbs etc. It really is seed money – watch those dollars and young entrepreneurs grow.  Having the administrative bills paid for all their energy goes into raising capital for events. A prime example is the Beer Festival that was organized and produced by Forum Giovani Pontelandolfo.

In order to produce a large community wide event, the kids had to develop and demonstrate a good arts administration skill set.  I know about that stuff – I did it and taught it.  These kids learned experientially, which to my mind is the absolute best way.

Here’s what this professoressa obserserved – the kids had the ability to:

  1. Raise adequate funds to underwrite the event by approaching and acquiring 20 sponsors.  Not an easy feat during the South’s economic crisis.  Ask and you shall receive – Fundraising 101. Thank you to all of the sponsors.
  2. Design and destribute great marketing material – the uber talented Valerio Mancini did the art work.  We know it worked because the place was packed.
  3. Negotiate with venders – some of whom were sponsors – for great deals on beer, sausages and all the trimmings. Set prices to cover costs and create a profit center.
  4. Rent a stage and organize the set up of the lights and sound. It helps that one of the areas largest tech theater companies is owned by a Pontelandolfese!
  5. Set up Ex-calcetto Nero ( a big open space) to insure that there were enough tables and refreshment stations.  All borrowed from Pro Loco Santa Croce – networking really works.
  6. Create two nights worth of activities and entertainment.  They hired the home town favorite – Ri Ualanegli – the dance company is huge and has a huge following. Night two featured The Dish Rock Band – also local and with a following. PR 101 –  hire groups with lots of performers and/following – guaranteed audience that buys your beer and sausages.
  7. Handle budgeting and fiscal accountablity – note there was never just one person by the money boxes.  Which was kind of cute as one person took money and the second gave you your beer or food tickets.  Well the boys were cute – the wait while they tore the tickets not so cute.

Was it all wonderful – nah they forgot to precook sausages and the wait for a sausage sandwhich was a three beer wait. – Hmmm – maybe that was the plan.  Also, they didn’t organize traffic well by the food and drink.  Did they learn – you bet.

But enough of my academic chatter – lets see what they have to say.

Sushi Ruyi – Marina di Vasto

by midgeguerrera, posted in Food - Eating In and Out!

  
Be still my heart! Could this be true?  In this city of high-rise hotels that serve three mediocre meals a day we actually found incredible Chinese food and yes yummy yummy sushi.  Sushi Ruyi was a beacon on a dark and stormy night. OK, it was a clear and hot night but you get my drift. 

Our hotel, as all the hotels here, offers a fixed price three meals a day plan. Jack and I prefer to eat in local, family-owned restaurants and forgo the typical tourist fare. What we didn’t know was that there were hardly any restaurants in Marina di Vasto. At least none we could walk to. We hopped in the car and started driving. Restaurant sign after sign affixed to hotels. Then we spotted our favorite word “sushi”. We parked and ran before the mirage disappeared. 

Night one – yes there was a night two- we opted for only sushi. The restaurant offers Japanese, Chinese and Thai fares. The fish was fresh and the prices fair. We had tuna, salmon and a giant roll. I didn’t take any photos. – we gobbled too quickly. Then we tried something new – sushi barca. Two pieces for €6. Steep Price for sushi until we saw the size. No way you could put this in your mouth with one gentle gulp. The amount of rice was very large and an incredible amount of salmon was sculpted around it in the shape of a boat. Complete with little mast. It was worth the price and we ate it slowly savoring every bit of the salmon. Of course we sushi gluttons also ordered sushi barca di tonno. With sake and wine the cost was €55.

Day Two – Chinese 

Jack said ” this is better than any of the Chinese food within 50 miles of Flagtown.”  We started with fried wontons. They were deep fried crispy and I chastised Jack for ordering them. They weren’t special except for the piece of pork in the center. Jack liked them drizzled with hot oil. I had ordered ravioli vaporato- steamed dumplings. We didn’t get any dipping sauce and these did not need anything. They were filled with delicately seasoned pork. 

In the name of science, we both ordered soups. Jack – hot and spicy. Me – corn and chicken. Both broths were obviously homemade – no salty canned chicken stock here. Scrumptious. 

The Mai Fun – Spaghetti di riso curry con vedure was perfect.  No stuck together glob of rice noodles- it was fragrant and airy. 

I could go on and on but it is making me hungry. Just suffice it to know that if you are in southern Italy and jonesing for sushi or Chinese food you should head to Marino di Vasto. 

  

Genealogy Hint 1 – Start with your Family!

by midgeguerrera, posted in Finding My Family - Genealogy
Dear Readers,

richedit2I’ve got GREAT news!  Genealogist Rich Venezia has volunteered to share his knowledge with us.  OK that is a lie, I asked him.  There is now a tab at the top of the blog that says “Genealogy”.  If you open that tab – in the future – any information we get from Rich will be posted there.  There will be easy links to articles.

Midge

Genealogy Hint 1 by Rich Venezia

Buon giorno a tutti!  I couldn’t say no to Midge (how could I?) and am happy to share my passion for genealogy with all of you. Here is the first installment of Researching with Rich.

My first, and arguably most important, research tip – whether you are a novice or experienced researcher – is to interview your family members! Whip out your steno pad! Does anyone even use those anymore? Grab your tape recorder (or your phone), and get cracking! It’s really best to start with your older relatives – they’ll have one or two or three generations more knowledge than others. Moreover, you never know how much longer 95-year-old Aunt Tillie will be around. If you haven’t already gathered DNA from your relatives, when you interview them is a great time to start! But that’s another blog post entirely…

A number of key reasons to interview your elderly relatives –

  • Their stories, memories, and knowledge perish with them, unless they have taken the time to write or record them, or they have been written or recorded by someone else. Here’s looking at you, dear genealogist.
  • They may have personally known some of the people who you are researching or need to research. Now, you can have a first-hand account of your great-great-grandfather, who up till this point, only existed for you in census records and a few old photos. Nothing beats that.
  • Even if their information is wrong, it’s often half-true. My great-grandmother always said she was from Naples. Was she from Naples? No – but she was from a village less than an hour outside of Naples. No, of course it wasn’t in the province of Napoli… you can’t win ‘em all! At least this gives you a place to start.
We still have the original!
We still have the original!
  • They may know who is the keeper of the stuff or they may be so themselves. The old photos, passports, identity documents, and certificates of naturalization – these all-important documents were likely passed down to one child or another. Perhaps your relative can help you pin down who has the documents you want. Borrow it and scan it so you can digitize your history for the rest of your family. And remember to return the items that you borrow!
  • Elders may be able to tell you tales that hadn’t previously been told to younger generations… Just the other day, I told a story about my great-great-grandmother’s arrival in the US to my father. It was told to me by my great-grand-aunt (who turned 100 this week!) and he had never heard it before. Apparently great-great-grandmother was pregnant with my great-grand-aunt (another one), and faced some issues when entering because of this… she threatened to throw herself in the river if they deported her. Needless to say, she stayed out of the water!

Professional Hint – don’t forget to bring the sfogliatelle or pizzelles.

The following tale is the reason I implore you to ask where the old documents may be hidden or stored away. My parents and I were cleaning out the garage last summer, and Dad pulls out a box and tells me he’d been meaning to give it to me. Inside was my great-grandfather and great-grandmother’s original certificates of naturalization (1923 and 1944), original certificate of marriage (1919), my great-grandmother’s Italian certificate of birth (obtained in 1966), and information on my great-grandfather’s burial (1940). I’d been the de facto family historian for eleven years at this point – and a professional genealogist for a year. I knew all this information already – but it would have been helpful to have it handed to me years ago! The documents would have saved me a lot of time. In Dad’s defense, I never asked – so I never received. Ask where the stuff is – and you may well be rewarded.

And while you’re bugging them about the memorabilia – and especially if they get cranky since you’ve already asked 5 times – tell them why you want the stuff and the subjects of said stuff. Everyone in the family will benefit from your research!

Great Grandma G

Inquire about their recollections of specific ancestors. Bring out an old photo you found and ask if they remember that person, or show them an obituary or a document that may trigger some memories. Organize your questions – this is an interview but it should be fun! And a tip – you can use the same set of questions for different relatives… but make sure to keep who’s who straight! Some folks videotape the interviews – this is also a terrific way to share the stories.

Some examples of questions you may wish to ask your relatives (or a few to start with):

  • Where are your grandparents buried?
  • Did your Grandma and Grandpa ever say where they were born?
  • Do you have a little book with everyone’s birthday and anniversary?
  • Do you remember what your Grandpa and Grandma were like?
  • What church/synagogue did you go to as a child?
  • What was the special dish your family cooked for holidays?
  • At whose house did your family celebrate big events? Who was there?
  • Am I your favorite niece/nephew? – JUST KIDDING!

Family history is all about that – family. You never know what will turn up – and that’s part of the beauty of it.

Rich Venezia is a professional genealogist based in Pittsburgh, PA. He specializes in Italian, Irish, and immigrant ancestry, and NJ/NYC and Pittsburgh-area research. He has worked on two genealogy TV shows (including PBS’ “Genealogy Roadshow”) and is available for client research and speaking engagements. His website can be found at richroots.net and he can be reached at richvenezia@gmail.com. He adores Midge and her blog, and is so thrilled to be dropping in. A presto!

Backpack Rant!!!

by midgeguerrera, posted in Practical Matters - Living Abroad

 

Back you soul sucking animal!

Back – no, no, don’t – not another fall.  

Splat – ouch damn it.

Why can’t you leave me alone?  What the heck have I done to you?

IMG_2846

Backpacks –  brrrrrr.  The word gives me chills.  Backpacks hate me.  Collectively they have decided to bite me, push me, smack me, trip me and generally aggravate the hell out of me.  I live in Italy 6 months a year and the backpack gang has made life hell.  Unadulterated HELL!

The first time one the X%#&%@%$% attacked me was about ten years ago.  The sun was shining, my husband Jack and I were exploring Lago Como and decided to have a cappuccino.

What?  Of  course it was before 10:00 AM.  What do you think we are ugly Americans?

Speaking of ugly —– A group of obviously New York region tourists – I’m from the New York Region so I can talk nasty but watch it if you’re not from the USA – you can’t.  Anyway, these folks  were sitting around a table in front of a small  bar on a smaller piazza.  Clad in shorts, sneakers and baseball caps —  Yoo hoo – except for a nine year old have you ever seen an Italian dressed that way?  Mai!  Never!

Anyway, back to the backpacks.   Their backpacks – unbeknownst to me – were casually sitting behind their chairs, leering out of their little grommet eyes and gurrrrring.

While concentrating on carrying a cappuccino from inside the bar to a table, a backpack lunged at me.  I swear the thing lashed out and bit my ankle – well maybe it was the carabiner pin thingy  that nabbed me.  Rats that hurt – do I see blood.  No, but I do see the arrogant nasal sounding cretins who own the backpacks pulling bottled water and snacks out of the vile things to eat at the bar’s table.  PEOPLE YOU WOULDN’T EVEN THINK OF BRINGING YOUR OWN FOOD TO DISGUSTING MC DONALD’S!  Bars in Italy – as we did in Asbury Park, NJ – pay a fee to the town to be able to put tables outside.  Buy Something!

That did it – it wasn’t my fault. It was them  – really – I just had to say “Gee, I’m so sorry the market treated you guys so badly and now you’re homeless – living out of your backpacks. So sad.”

Then I smiled, sat at a table and sipped my paid for cappuccino. The backpacks growled.  Jack put his head on the table and sighed.  They weren’t kids they were folks like me – well over 50.

It was after my smart ass comment that the backpacks of the world started tormenting me.  They haunted me, followed me, tripped me and – have I mentioned –  freakin’ annoyed me.

There I was, riding the Metropolitana in Milan minding my own business when bang, smash ouch – what the X%$# – hit me in the back. I quickly turned to see a well dressed white haired woman porting a giant back back chatting with a pal – also bent over under the weight of a snarling tapestry covered evil beast.  Forgetting she had a hump on her back the idiot had swung around to chat knocking the wind out of me. “Excuse me – do you know you’re carrying a back cracking weapon on your back?”  She gave me one of those southern drawls and ignored me.

It was a lovely day in Siena – a few days before the Palio.  Jack and I were eating lunch at a lovely restaurant when a large family appeared – each and everyone had a backpack.  Maybe they were gypsies?  Nah! Starting with – DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH? – and ending with sending their kids to another restaurant to buy gelato to eat at this restaurant’s table – I realized they were as inconsiderate as one could be.  Oh the backpacks – tossed on the ground so that every waiter had to leap over them to carry food to other tables.  Jack stared at me and then put his nails in my leg – he knew I was about to explode.  What could I say that would have an impact.  Nothing.  When you are an ugly traveller you are an ugly traveller.

Instead, I called over the headwaiter and apologized on behalf of my country, explaining that we were not all “Cafone, maleducato, volgare” – mannerless creeps.   Oh, yeah even though in Italy one rarely tips – I did mention to this family that they should tip heavily because that was de riguer during Palio season in Siena.  Ooops a wee and I hope cost ’em big fib.

Backpack Montage

Bellagio photos shot within a 5 minute period.

Bella Bellagio is besieged by tourists of all nationalities but it seems only the ones that speak English and maybe German carry backpacks.  Gaggles of them.  The charming village has narrow streets that wind up hill – both sides with shops designed to tempt the tourist.  That means the tourists are quickly stopping, turning to face the windows  and smacking me in the face.  Their backpacks that is smacked me in the face, head, shoulder etc.  I’m thinking you came to town on a tourist bus – are you carrying the crown jewels? Leave your stuff on the bus.

I asked a very civilized and loving pal of mine who carries a backpack one question – Why?  For my water in case I get thirsty – every little village in Italy has a bar and a fountain –  water is accessible.  For my binoculars when I’m birding – I’m talking in Manhattan – not the woods.  Oh, well they stay in my backpack.  Then there is a sweater if I get cold, books if I get bored and the list went on.

I thought about the list and had only one comment –

When you are in Europe do you want to explore a new culture, resonate with the customs or wear a sign that says I’m An American – Bite Me?

Beware.  I am from New Jersey and I might bite you before your backpack bites me!

❤️❤️Marilina e Elio’s Festa❤️❤️

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

  
    💕Elio and Marilina – Auguri!💕

Music, not fruits and vegetables, filled the Pontelandolfo covered outdoor market. Bar Elimar’s Marilina and Elio are getting married!  They invited customers, family and Pontelandolfo pals to help them pre-celebrate. Disco lights, a band, tables, chairs, enough food to fill millions, and friendly faces transformed the market into the hottest club in town and made this one night to remember.

  
Words can’t capture the sounds of the night. The band played everything from traditional Italian to Latin to rock-and-roll. The father of the groom sang. The aunt of the groom sang. Local guys leapt up to the stage and sang. And all the voices were welcomed with cheers from the crowd. 

Everyone was dancing from toddlers to octogenarians. That’s one of the things I love about village life.  Everyone participated. Even I got up and gave it a shake or three. 

  

💞💞 Thank you, Marilina for inviting us. 💞💞

From Bridgeport, Connecticut back to Castelfranco in Miscano

by midgeguerrera, posted in Finding My Family - Genealogy
 A few weeks ago, I got a call from Nicola – one of the directors of Centro Mediterraneo Pintadera that world class language school in Alghero, Sardinia – she asked if she could give my phone number to a current student at the school.  He too was searching for his family and they were from a village not far from me.  Of course I said yes! I love the community of people who are as passionate as I am about finding their heritage. Kevin Monks and I played phone tags for a day and finally connected.  We met for coffee in Benevento and swapped family stories.  Kevin now lives in Cremorne, Tasmania – Australia!  Talk about a long trek to find your roots.
This is Kevin’s Story:
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Italian Mom and aunts in Connecticut (early 1950s)
My name is Kevin, son of an English father and US born Italian mother. My childhood memories of my Italy-born grandfather are as snapshots….just a few really, oh and one scent.
Walking up a dark hallway toward the kitchen light in Bridgeport, Connecticut. I must have escaped my bed to visit the happy sounds coming from the kitchen where adults were talking and laughing late into the night. “Pops” Gabriele stood with a smile on his face as the little boy entered into the light.
The scent that I remember is my grandfather’s pasta e fagoli soup wafting through the house. I’ve identified that precise scent only 1-2 times, both time  while visiting Italy.
image1
Antonio Tito Gabriele (nonno)
My mother didn’t really tell us much about Pops Gabriel (dropped the ‘e’ after immigrated to US). All she said was that he immigrated to US. (Ellis Island, then Bridgeport) when he was nine years old. His US Italian wife (Mary Ann Vertucci) died when my mother was 16 years old. Pops was born in a town called Castelfranco but she didn’t know where it was and never looked into it.
Both of my parents are gone now, but I wanted to look deeper into those few facts left to me. Starting at the usual places,/ I discovered my Nonno’s fathers name (bis nonno) and my great-great grandfathers name ( bis bis nonno). Along with the names came the point of origin – Castelfranco in Miscano.
I wanted to go see this place. Why did they leave? Adventure, poverty, famine, war? Who were they…what did they do? Well, I booked the tickets and set out from Tasmania to visit this place.
Setting out from Benevento, Campania I boarded the only once-a-day 12 seat autobus to go to my destination. The route left the flat rural farmland and snaked upwards through hilltop villages and finally stopped in the little town of Castelfranco in Miscano.
Midge had given me the best places to look, who to enquire of…so I set out for the Municipio…not a long walk (100m….double that and I would be out of town). It was an old style building with a serious looking clerk who looked at me as if I’d beamed down. “Sono Australiano…Italiano nonno”. She had that look of “great, another balmy touristico seeking truth and identity”. Well, another clerk helped with my very limited Italiano and calmly took action when the elder clerk’s expression became dark and aggravated. All good…I thanked them for a photocopy of the records they found. Bis bis nonno was a shepherd….and bis nonno was a labourer, one of seven brothers.  They gave me their email address to formally request an in-depth search. I don’t know where they were going to look…maybe out the back door and raid the church records.
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Donato (bis nonno – born 1877) Fedele and Maria Gabriele 
I popped into the chiesa to see if I could corner a padre on the matter…nobody home. Midge said to check out the al bar/ cafe in town. While grabbing an espresso I went through my basic spiel again and Lo and Behold she said someone from her family was currently in Bridgeport CT visiting family. “What? That’s my birthplace. As it turns out, almost all from Castelfranco went to Bridgeport CT. Midge, at my post trip aperitivi debrief in Benevento said it happened a lot. One goes out, writes a letter back, and the others follow the bread crumbs.
Well, I walked around the small village, snapped a few photos and headed back to the town centre. Approaching the Al Bar, I over heard the distinct accent of an Australian (am I surprised? Aussies are everywhere you least expect them). They were hanging around to see if I showed up…word had gotten around the village.  The two sisters in the bar had passed the word…relatives. Had a good chat and I learned more about Castelfranco as their nonna, a charming elderly woman, sat with us. She was born there and had lived in Melbourne for 26 years. Once her Italian husband had died she returned to Castelfranco. The Australian families had driven up to pick her up for a huge family reunion to be held in New Jersey. They were leaving to go at that moment down to Napoli to fly out to the U.S. That was a rich experience.
I wasn’t  prepared for the physical emotional effect when I first approached the little town. There must be something connecting our brain with our heart as we get close to our roots, heritage and Land-Place. It was worth the effort. I encourage anyone to take the journey! Do it while you can relay your findings and stories to loved ones still with you!

The Address is Right – Why Can’t They Find Me?

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

We rent a great apartment, one house away from the cemetery – now that is a great land mark – right?  Why couldn’t the UPS guy find us? How about this – our landlord’s family has owned this house for generations and we always include his name in our address but still the mail never finds me.  Is it because I am a middle aged woman – actually a wee bit more than middle aged and I’m freaking invisible?

I knew I was invisible in the United States.  How many times have I been ignored at a bar waiting to order a drink?  Enough that I had to bellow – “bar keep – invisible woman here.”  But to be invisible in Italy is putting me over the edge.
Last year was the first time we discovered I was invisible here.  My “codice fiscale” – like a social security number that you need to buy anything big or do any large financial transactions – was sent to me, in care of our landlord, at our address.  Where did it end up?  About a mile up the road at a family of Guerreras.  They called my cousin Carmella – whose mom is a Guerrera – and asked who Margaret Ann was?  Carmella’s husband went and got the letter and delivered my mail to me.  Thank God it is a small town.  The postman refused to believe that a Guerrera could live where we live.  I guess he never saw me when I said hello at the end of the driveway.

This year we sent three larges boxes of stuff – important stuff that we wanted in the apartment – like my grandmother’s cast iron griddle and winter coats.  The saga of the boxes is another story – but for now just know that even though the boxes were addressed to me, in care of my landlord at his address they were delivered to my cousin’s mother!  Mario, Carmella’s husband, guided the big truck back up the street to us.  Che fa?!

Yesterday was the tip of the iceberg – I am going to call Harry Potter and see if he can conjure up some anti-invisible cream.  I ordered a part from Apple Italia – that’s another story too.  It was coming via UPS.  The driver texted me that morning – a nice touch.  I replied the house was very close to the cemetery and my landlord’s name was on the gate.  That afternoon, he called and said I can’t find the house.  “Where are you?” I asked.  “By the funeral agency,” he replied. What?  I texted cemetery????   “But where are you,” he whined, “which house?”

I told him I would  meet him at the cemetery – it is the only bloody one in town.   After walking down to the front gate – it took all of 3 minutes – I waited in the shade of a mausoleum.  Where is he?  The truck passed me – I was the only person standing in the street in front of the cemetary.  I am invisible.

Rather than leave you on such a sad note, he did turn around, smile whimsically as only a twenty-something Italian hunk a bunk can and give me my package.

Can you see me?????