Monday was a normal day in Pontelandolfo. The school lobby was open so we could vote in the Regional Election. With “what party” and “who” I was to vote for jotted on a note in my pocket, I raced around the rain drops. It was teeming and in 15 minutes the polls would close.
(For those of you who wondered why I had the “what” and “who” jotted on a note, there were six candidates representing six parties. All wanted to be Regional President. I can barely remember my own long Italian name. You had to know the name of the candidate so you could print it nicely on the paper ballot.)
Cursing the rain and hobbling up slick steps without a guardrail leading into the school, I looked up and raised a fist at my dad.
JFG started us getting out the vote before we could drive.
He had ingrained in me the absolute need to vote in any and all elections. Deluge be dammed. I stopped in the foyer, shook the water out of my hat and opened my tessera votare to see where I had to go. District 3.
District 3. How is it possible that the district I lived in so many years ago. The district filled with ardent supporters that made sure my dad would be successful in Flagtown, Hillsborough and the County was the same district I’d vote in here?
Ciao Midgeee! Salve Midgeee! And as it had happened years ago in a different District 3, the home town chattering began.
I voted and dashed out.
Barely making it to the car, I was convulsing with sobs. Tears ran down my face. Jack, who didn’t go inside to vote kept touching me and asking what was wrong.
Angie Dorsa. Mc Cray, Mc Hugh, Doyle, Johnny G – my dad. My bigger than life dad who was an iconic election figure. That’s what was wrong. After hearing the first poll worker bellow “Midgeee,” all those old Democrats came to life for me. I could see them, feel them, hear them in the District 3 of yore.
Click and feel the moment. Midge “raw”coming to you from her Fiat.
Borgo Cerquelle is celebrating fall harvests in a joyfully orangey way – pumpkins have crept into every aspect of the bioagriturismo’s autumn offerings. We were lucky to have taste tested their light as a cloud pumpkin gnocchi. Sorry, we scarfed them down too fast to take a picture.
Before I start slurping the pot of pumpkin soup I just made from one of Borgo Cerquelle’s organic pumpkins, I need to explain how visiting this hilltop bioagriturismo is a leap back into the history of Pontelandolfo. Borgo Cerquelle is an ancient – well borgo – hamlet – that in the end of the 1600s housed contadini – peasant farmers. Built entirely of stone, the borgo has been repurposed into an incredible spot for locals and tourists. It is just a few minutes up the mountain from Pontelandolfo’s historic center. Those of you who know me, know that gulp, twisty mountain roads are not my favorite route to anywhere. Jack loves them! That said, Borgo Cerquelle, located about 600 m – 1970 feet – above sea level and surrounded by streams, woods, meadows and olive groves is worth the driving angst. The view of Pontelandolfo from there makes me want to sing Finian’s Rainbow “How are things in Glocca Morra.” Some days I do!
Some members of the original families have returned to visit and marvel at how Borgo Cerquelle was rehabbed, preserved intact and is alive again. Guests stay in the rustically furnished, heated rooms with an independent entrance and bathroom. I must admit, the original inhabitants did not have indoor plumbing. Thank goodness for that upgrade.
Our Cooking in the Kitchens of Pontelandolfo participants stay here and have nothing but joyful comments about the place, the family who runs it and of course – the food.
Celebrating fall and the fabulous harvest found on this organic farm also means fall foliage. Borgo Cerquelle is in an area abundant with oak trees. I learned that “Cerquelle” is based on the ancient dialect name for oaks -“cerque.”
The family that has created this unusual place to eat and stay is headed by Alverio and Marianna. Alverio insists Marianna is the boss. They are more than ably assisted by their son Antonino and daughter Serena. Antonino wears the administrative hat now and his sister Serena takes care of the kitchen following the traditional recipes of his mother and grandmother. Serena is a talented potter and her creativity can be seen on every table. Antonino’s photos grace their website.
Sniff, sniff, my zuppa di zucca is percolating on the stove. Yummy. After a day at Borgo Cerquelle eating farm to table fare that featured pumpkins, I knew I had to bring a pumpkin home. You need to know that lunch at this bioagriturismo takes a minimum of three hours. There is no menu choice. What is fresh today is what is cooked. We have never had anything but an exceptional locally sourced feast.
Yeah, I have a pazillion pounds of pumpkin! Jack, borrowing a samurai sword, hacked it into manageable pieces. I had been gifted an old rooster that had outlived his cock-a-doodle and made a rich chicken – or is it rooster -stock. Now, how to put both these quite local food groups together? Simple. 1. Roast the pumpkin which makes it easier to cut up. 2. Take a scant head of garlic, dice it, toss it in the broth and let it simmer. (Garlic wards off fall flu.) 3. Toss in some old cheese rinds, tyme, rosemary, salt and pepper. 4. Let the roasted pumpkin cool. Ok, Jack made me let it cool. I am famous for burning my hands in the kitchen. 5. Cut up the pumpkin, toss it in the pot and let everything simmer to meld. 6. Take out the immersion blender, zzzzzzzzzzz, errrrrrrrrrr, it to a creamy texture. 7. EAT with hearty bread from Diglio Forno drizzled with Borgo Cerquelle savory pumpkin marmalade.
This fall, Borgo Cerquelle has offered a plethora of activities from harvesting, trips to the river, classes in cooking, ceramics, art therapy and my favorite APERITIVO! With a reservation, as the sun sets, we can zip up the mountain and enjoy a cocktail and incredible snacks. As the laughter of guests fills the fall air, an outdoor bar decorated for fall is the anchor.
When I asked Alverio why they do what they do. He explained that they want to revive the activities and traditions of the ancient inhabitants of the village. That means cultivating the land and raising animals organically, providing an oasis away from the stress of the city and offering an experience that is perfect for individuals and families. I have to say that every time I bring children there for lunch they race off to see the animals, climb the rope course and just plain old play.
HEY JACK WHEN YOU READ THIS BLOG POST – AND YOU BETTER BE READING MY BLOG POSTS – WE HAVE TO GO TO THIS AT BORGO CERQUELLE – werwolves and witches – huzzah!
The people, the place and the friendly wolf/dogs Vilcas e Tempesta make Borgo Cerquelle a great place to eat, relax, play and breath. I hope to run into you there.
A group of Cooking in the kitchens of Pontelandolfo cooks pose with Marianna, Antonino and Alverio.
Next fall, easels, pochade boxes and artists focusing on la bella vista will be popping up in the hills and historic centers of Morcone, Casalduni and Pontelandolfo. An En Plein Air workshop, organized by artist Steve Duprey and Midge Guerrera (that’s me) of Literally Italy LLC, is scheduled for September 2026. (And you thought Cooking in the Kitchens of Pontelandolfo was all I was up to.) Steve’s enthusiasm for the Sannio Hills and his expertise as an artist was all it took for this new cultural initiative to percolate here.
By Steve Duprey
Eight artists will have the opportunity to leave the four walls of their studios behind and paint the landscape, streetscapes and people of small southern Italian villages. On this blog, you’ve seen photos of our little piece of Italy and can imagine the paintings that this group will create. Some of the sites to be visited include Roman ruins, vineyard, olive groves, farms and medieval village centers. Steve particularly wanted us to take painters to Morcone’s hill top historic center. The group will be shuttled in Api Cars converted to navette – mini shuttle buses -to the tippy top of historic Morcone. That in itself is a cultural experience. The vista of the valley is amazing.
According to our delightful local organizer, Annarita, Pontelandolfo’s traditional folk dance troupe will have members in historic costumes living life in the village’s historic center. If an artist falls in love with the setting and wanted to place a person in the painting, they have models available.
A flock of sheep crossing a rural road in the hills of southern Italy, reflecting the spontaneous moments that artists will capture during the workshop.
Participants will share large double rooms in La Locanda della Presuntuosa. I love this villa. Last October our playwright’s retreat used the space and participants really enjoyed it.
Happy writers and one writer/painter. Can you find Steve?
Located in Pontelandolfo, the property is in a wonderful park filled with olive groves, orchard, pond, swimming pool, tennis court and woodland trails.
Writer/Artist Steve Duprey on a terrace of La Locanda della Presuntuosa.
Wild Boar – Cinghiale. They dig up crops, scare the bejeeezus out of tourists, and imagine this – one year ago the Italian army was sent in and told to shoot to kill. The ugly critters, found even in the streets of Rome, were or may have been carrying African Swine Fever which threatened the pazzilion dollar prosciutto industry. Some of the wild bad boys may have been getting a little too close to the gentile domestic sow. Sigh – isn’t that always the way.
Here in Pontelandolfo, we may not like their big ugly tusks charging at us but we do love the rich sauce you can make with the meat. The amazing steak and well, the general incredible taste that only free ranging, wild things can give us. 🎶 “Wild thing, you make my taste buds sing!” 🎶
Growing up in rural agrarian Somerset County, New Jersey, venison, wild turkey, peasant and other wild critters often graced the table. My dad told me that in the dark days of the depression, ground hog – which tastes remarkably like pig when made in tomato sauce – was often part of Sunday pasta day. My nonna told me the horror stories of picking buckshot out of teeny tiny sparrows or maybe they were black birds. When a flock flew over my nonno would hauled out the shotgun and BAM. Wee birds for dinner. I remember cleaning buckshot out of peasants and that wasn’t fun. But a family has to do what a family has to do.
Here in Pontelandolfo, we still have subsistence farmers who grow and process vegetables, raise animals for milk and meat and, gulp, remind me of my grandmother. They are kind, hardworking and loving people. We’ve integrated into the village’s rural lifestyle. Nope, I haven’t planted a thing except words on a page and a good will smile. Since, everyone thinks that because I spend my time at a desk, poor Jack will die of starvation, we are often recipients of parts of harvests and hunting. NOW YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING…
Thanks to a wonderful hunter, a giant chunk of cinghiale found its way to my freezer. Jack and our summer guests would not starve. Unless I was hosting a party for our contrada (neighborhood), there was too much to use for one meal. I put on my 4-H Cooking Club farm girl brain and thought – I know me thinking seems like an anomaly – but Shazam an idea. Yes! I would divide the meat and create three freezable dishes. Stew, pasta sauce and meatballs – all freeze well and will make Jack a happy cena.
First step, get out a big knife and divide the hunk. Based on no knowledge of boar anatomy, I think it was a thigh or butt. I grabbed one of my nonna’s giant stainless steel bowls – yes, I brought a few to Italy – tossed in leftover red wine, wine vinegar, apple cider vinegar and herbs. Why, you are wondering did I use a mix of vinegar. Simple, there was a little bit left in a few bottles. I also added diced garlic, fresh rosemary on the stem, thyme, pepper and salt. Plopped in the meat, covered it and left it in the refrigerator for two days. I think twice I remembered to flip it around.
Truth be told, I then had to succumb to google. Did I wash the meat after the marinade? I did. Did I mention, I throughly washed the meat before I dropped in the melange of acids. I’m glad I washed it. An important lesson was learned. Leaving boar in vinegar for 48 hours means it is tender and tastes like a hint of vinegar. Next time it will just be red wine.
I looked at the three big pieces of meat which were now no longer red. WHAT DID I DO? I was planning on taking one third to our friendly butcher and asking him to grind it. When I got there the first words were – in very marginal Italian – did my marinade wreck the meat?! He laughed. The meat absorbs the acids and changes color. I promised him some meatballs. He smiled at that too.
Cinghiale Balls!
There is something meditative about squishing a mixture of meat, grated cheeses, breadcrumbs, raisins, oregano, salt, pepper, basil and eggs through your sanitized hands. Because the meat wasn’t very fatty, I used more cheese and eggs than one might usually. Actually, I scooped in extra bread crumbs too. I ended up rolling about 30 balls this size.
Meanwhile on the stove, my giant stainless steel pot was hosting slow cooking freshly diced tomatoes, onions, garlic and green/red pepper. I wanted the fresh stuff to break down before I added jars of passata ( homemade tomato puree graciously left on my veranda.) In went the passata plus a couple of store bought cans of diced tomatoes. I was trying to fill the giant pot and freeze enough sauce for decades.
To make the sauce really rich, I have learned to add a mirepoix. Carrots, celery and onion were diced to almost a paste in my blender. That went into the pot then I stirred and waited. When it started to bubble, I very carefully placed each of those boar balls in the pot. Lid went on and I let the ragù slow cook for a few hours. The meat balls gave it not a gamey taste but a savory taste that one wanted to go on forever.
I could eat this sauce everyday!
I made enough sauce and meat balls for three of us to have a substantial meal. Nestled in my freezer are now three containers of sauce and balls for the future. Yummy. I thank the hunter who share with poor starving Jack.
We will talk about the stew another day. I am hungry and need to forage for local cheese,wine and bread.
The following blog may contain content that vegans, vegetarians and lovers of small farm animals may find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.
Did you ever lust for something so much that the thought of it made you salivate? Admit it, you have. This week all I could think about was eating lamb. I love roasted lamb, lamb chops, lamb-burgers and most of all real hearty Shepherd’s Pie made with – what else – lamb. The little baa baas had been tempting me for a month. Daily, I watched the little ones romp in Pontelandolfo’s verdant fields, stop traffic and then suddenly they disappeared . Disappearing lambs? My mind was wandering hither and yon, over hill and dale, wondering where Bo Peep was hiding the baby sheep.
Love the Lamb Jam. Driver beware.
My tummy wanted to find them. That is a big juicy lie. I did not want to find a lamb, I wanted to find mutton before it became mutton. Knowing that I would make Jack insane if I didn’t stop talking about Shepherd’s Pie, I dashed down the hill to Marcelleria Mancini.
One of the primary joys of living in Pontelandolfo is being able to shop at a real butcher, baker and cheese maker. Stefano Mancini of Marcelleria Mancini is an amazing butcher. All of his meats are locally sourced and he prides himself on working only with select farms. The meat found at Marcelleria Mancini tastes like meat that was on the hoof a few days ago. Free range, scrumptious and not spiced up with hormones. Of course, I would head there for lamb.
Stefano, our always smiling butcher.
What is wonderful about Stefano is that he doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy when I ask for something that most of my neighbors would ever ask for. Like agnello macinato – ground lamb. Not just ground but thickly ground. Here, ground meats are passed through the grinder a few times. For my rustic dish I wanted it rough.
Stefano looks at me and asked – what are you making? My Italian will get us fed, a room and a hospital but how do I explain Shepherd’s Pie – torta dei pastori? Sauté lamb with veggies and cap with butter-rich mashed potatoes. As I described it, I could see it and couldn’t wait to make it.
Dashing to the back room, Stefano returned holding aloft a leg of lamb. Literally, aloft. He was holding the leg by the tibia (shin bone), above the knee was the meaty thigh. La coscia sarebbe perfetto, he said. This is the first time that I realized that the leg of lamb we buy is really the thigh! That incredible meat would be perfect for my Shepherd’s Pie.
As the butcher deboned the meat, I asked if I could have the bones for bone broth. He was impressed that I would make a broth and promptly dashed the bones into manageable pieces. From leg to grinder to packaged, I soon had the lamb I needed for dinner and a package of bones.
Don’t tell Jack, please but another thing I love about Macelleria Mancini are their “pretend you spent the day making interesting meat based dishes.” Stefano’s fiancé, Ilaria, creates amazing to go dishes. As their website says: Avete voglia di qualcosa di sfizioso ma il tempo stringe !?! Passa a trovarci…tutti i giorni prepariamo diversi “pronti a cuocere”…con carni fresche e di qualità !Craving something tasty but running out of time!?! Come visit us…every day we prepare different “ready-to-cook” dishes…with fresh, quality meats!
Pretty Isn’t It!
My Shepherd’s Pie was scrumptious- and I had made enough for a couple of days. After cooking the base, I made the mashed potatoes. No, I tried to make the mashed potatoes. Where are all my potatoes??? Merde, I only had four little potatoes. That would never be enough for my mashed topping. What do do???
Think about where you are and use what you have. What did I have corn meal for polenta? I made a batch of polenta, added Parmesan cheese, and mixed the polenta with with the potatoes. It was absolutely fabulous. My mashed potato – pontenta may become a carb mainstay.
Wherever you are enjoy what you make. Buy local and serve every meal with a smile.
Since we got back to our happy creative place, my inbox has been a flutter with invitations to book launches, book club and writer meet and greets. Remember, my happy creative place is not an urban center but Pontelandolfo – a tiny village with a population under 3,000 – that includes sheep and cows.
One of the newest organizations that is making a literary impact is Sannio Che Legge. Spear headed by folks with an interest in art, literature, intellectual discourse and highlighting the cultural connections of Pontelandolfo, Morcone and the entire Sannio area, they are constantly providing me with a place to go and a book to read.
An aside: I just turned to Jack and bellowed, “I just love this!” We are sitting outside Bar Elimar, my writers room, Latin music is playing, I’m sipping a limoncello spritz, tapping my foot and writing. Two tables of men are playing cards. Three tables of thirty something’s, with babies in tow, are gossiping and laughing. How could someone not create art here???
Jack and I went to the Sannio Che Legge event at Morcone’s newest restaurant, Cantina Ristorante Biancamela. (Morcone’s progressive mayor and council are working hard to bring life back to their historic center. That is another blog. ) I was impressed. About 30 people were there listening to author Rita Martignetti talk about the genesis of his work. He actually gave all of us a copy of one of his books. Grazie Mille. His numerous works deal in an entertaining manner with the history of the Sannio Hills.
I should note that Sannio Che Legge grew out of the Pontelandolfo Biblioclub and signed a Reading Pact with the Municipality of Pontelandolfo. The organization is now entrusted with the Pontelandolfo Library.
I will be there with my cosmopolitan literati hat on.
One of my besties, Adele Gentile had a recent book launch and of course I went. Once her publisher gets that e-book link and on line bookstore link up there, you will get a full story on her tome.
Book launches here are set up a bit differently. Adele, the author, didn’t read any parts of her book. She has a wild and wonderful personality and I was looking forward to her reading. Instead, others – think critics – talked about the book. There was also dialogue with the author. It was actually incredibly interesting. A great way to learn about an author’s catalyst for creation.
Blue is Adele’s favorite colors and blue took over the auditorium. From the flowers on the stage to the cover of her emotional and yet entertaining memoir. I chuckled as I watched Adele hand out programs and check every detail of the launch. Is she a Jersey Girl too?
The place was packed. That means about 200 people came to a book launch. A book launch in a teeny tiny village! (Damn, time to start getting my stuff translated.)
Adele, wrote her memoir while undergoing treatment for breast cancer. Ooops, I vowed I wouldn’t say a word until we had the links so that you could buy the book. It is – a freakin‘ amazing work.
Rescheduled to September.
I am excited to hear this presentation and buy a copy of the book – written in English and Italian. Written originally as a screenplay, the novel tells the tale of the 1861 pillage of Pontelalndolfo in the name of Risorgimento in a different way. An American woman with Pontelandolfo roots visits the village, sees a mural and …. I can’t wait to read the story.
I could overburden your inboxes with more examples or you could visit our little place of creative energy and see for yourself. Interested in gathering up some writer pals and spending a week here? Just let me know and we can organize something magical. Then, I will grab my laptop and join your writer’s room on Piazza Roma.
Those of you who had been following my tales comparing my Nonna’s 1920 transatlantic crossing and mine, know that on May 30, 2025 we disembarked in Southhampton, England UK. Nobody laugh but until we took the QM2 across the Atlantic I didn’t know the word disembarkation existed. Then a bus, a plane and a car service later we were home in Pontelandolfo, Italy.
Some of you have messaged me and asked – What did you really think about the crossing? Was it organized to a type A Jersey Girl’s level of expectation? What did you learn? Would you do it again?
I thought the crossing was fabulous. Jack and I don’t put on worry hats. We absolutely ignored all those woosies telling us to wear magic anti nausea bracelets and take dramamine . Yes, one felt the roll of the ocean. That roll would rock me to sleep at night. It is chilly on the Atlantic but, frankly, we rarely went outside. We found two bars we loved – great martinis, fabulous views of the sea, comfortable seats and interesting other travelers. With my laptop in toe, I would write in the bars or simply stare at the sea. Being friendly folks, we often shared a seating area with other people and had funfilled and engaging conversations. Most of the passengers we met were from Great Britain, Ireland and Italy. (All asked us the same question – who voted for that man to be president? I shrugged and said “boh.”)
We had a room – or do I call it a cabin – that was quite large, had a sitting area, ensuite bathroom with a large shower and an obstructed view terrace. We could sit outside and see the sea through the glass sides of a lifeboat. Not being athletic, I didn’t think that if the need arose I could sprint and leap into the lifeboat. The obstructed view cost less and since we were rarely there was inconsequential.
Room Service Breakfast was off the menu and delish.
Every day a new slick printed trifold was placed on our newly made bed. It contained the schedule for the next day. the “Daily Programme” had nautical information, What to Wear advice for the day – Smart Attire please – and a complete list of activities. Frankly, we never went to see a show – back to the bar after our late night dinner. Never went to the interesting lectures. Never went to the dance and exercise classes. Never went to the painting and arts based classes. Never went into the empty casino. Never went into the all night long disco. Never went – well you get my drift. Passengers who were looking to use the voyage as a “cruise vacation” were not disappointed. I used the seven days as a writer’s retreat and finished a short story and three blogs. Jack and I also enjoyed exploring the nooks and crannies of the ship.
During the day there were lots of seats in the casino.
Based on how much one pays for a cabin, a restaurant is assigned. We were assigned to the Britannia Club and were never disappointed. The menu changed daily, was interesting, delicious and beautifully presented. Famished when we embarked (look I used the fancy word again) we foolishly went to the Kings Court Buffet. Crowds, grabbing a table, I thought I was in a college cafeteria. It was lovely to look at but we are foodie snobs so the buffet never saw us again. For up charges there were alternative dining options. We toyed with trying them but the food in the Britannia Club was so good, I didn’t see the need to.
Room Service was included in the base price. Every morning we got up when we felt like it, didn’t rush to a restaurant and had a scrumptious breakfast delivered. Portions were small – think tapas – and interesting takes on eggs.
We did go to the famous daily Afternoon Tea. Obviously it was a tasty treat for all. Sadly, waiters came around with carafes of tea, trays of different sandwiches, savories and pastries. I thought we were in a dim sum restaurant. I miss the tower and my own pot of tea.
Knowing we were not the soft drink kind of folks, we opted to pay $1008 for unlimited spirits, specialty beverages and more. I know, $72 a day each sounds like a ridiculous price until I started asking obnoxious questions. How much is a martini made with Hendricks? What do you charge for a cappuccino, sparkling mineral water, etc. Bar prices are the same as a New York City or London Hotel Bar. Yes, they charged for mineral water. If a glass of wine is $14 and Jack has two at lunch and three at dinner, we would spend $70. Now, add on the four bottles of mineral water, three cappuccini and toss in an espresso or two and he made the daily price point. Without worry and the tips are included. Frankly, we did spend a lot of time in the various bars and the coffee house. When we flashed our card with the pre-pay stamp we were treated incredibly well. Another incentive to hang out in the bars was the music. Jazz, harpist, light rock, Irish Shanties – music matched the tone of the bar. Sigh, I do miss that.
Bar Table With a View Worth Drinking For.
Was the adventure organized to my obnoxious management standards? Hmm. Yes and no. I would have appreciated some of the information we received on the ship in advance. When we arrived at our cabin we found information about where to eat, how to turn on internet, where do I get my key etc. I would have appreciated the first day schedule in advance. At the Brooklyn Pier, our luggage was whisked out of the car and directly to our cabin. I thought how spot on! What wasn’t spot on was the long cue to show one’s passport and tickets. No one explained in advance that there would be an incredible amount of walking to board the vessel. Jack has a squirrely back and we order an airport wheelchair for him. If I had been forewarned, I would have ordered a wheelchair at the pier . Disembarking was the same forced long march out.
The WIFI was another annoying issue. One must pay the evil StarLink for the service. I paid, and couldn’t get it to work. Obviously, hordes of other folks couldn’t get it to work and on day one we all cued up at the ConneXions Desk. There should have been more people working. After two days of writing, I realized I couldn’t upload anything. Now even more annoyed, I went to the purser’s station and stood in another long line to discover that for a few pounds a day more the wifi would work perfectly. I can’t remember what the uncharge was but hey…
The disembarking including our luggage being whisked out to the transportation center. We found our bags and then lugged them to a bus. Cunard for $90 a person will transport folks to Heathrow. I will never take the bus again. My short legs and big butt make climbing into a high bus and up stairs to the seats a nightmare. Lugging my computer bag down the narrow aisle wasn’t pleasant either. Next time, I would price out a car service to the airport. We spied small groups getting into bigger taxi style vehicles. The driver was helpful at the airport and made sure our luggage made it to the curb.
What did I learn? I learned that the Queen Mary 2, for some passengers, is a commuter ferry. Seriously, a lot of the people I met used the QM2 to get from one content to the other for work. The library on the ship has work stations with ocean views and unless I got there early enough, they were all taken with folks typing away. Someone said to me, they get a lot of work done on the crossing and arrive refreshed and ready to go.
I learned, not quite as bad as an airport, but you still have to wait in uncomfortable lines to get on and get off – excuse me embark and disembark. At least all of the staff was “Disney” smiling and happy.
People are wonderful and interesting. Traveling slowly across the sea provides an opportunity to really chat and get to know people’s stories. The Irish American sisters who visit Ireland annually and regaled us with village tales. They were from a county that butts the county that Jack’s clan is from. The Italian American couple who spend six months a year in Puglia were charming and fun to sit and laugh with in two languages. The Irish woman and her young son were a joy to play with. The world travelers who gave us hints for getting the most out of the QM2. And so many more.
I also learned that being in a cocoon of comfort was a catalyst for my creativity. Since I had been blogging about my Nonna’s journey, I wrote a non-fiction short story about my Aunt Cat. Hmm, a writer’s retreat on a cruise ship? What an idea waiting for someone to organize.
Would I do it again? If the total price point was right, I would do it again. When flights out of Newark, NJ were being cancelled, I started trying to get a flight out of Philadelphia or JFK. The price for premium economy or business class on short notice was the cost of my first car. Then, I get this promotional email from Cunard – last minute deals on cruises. The base fare for a great room with an obstructed view was $859 a person. If we didn’t like bar life or needed wifi, we could have gotten away with that low price. I added on Cunard Care – health insurance and evacuation for 74.27 each. The bus to Heathrow was $90. Then there were taxes. The cost for two people was $2,046.54.
Being math deficient, I had a team of people help me reach the conclusion that adding the spirits package, $17 a day tips, wifi and cheap flight to Naples to the base price the total cost of our voyage for two from Ewing to Pontelandolfo cost us less than one first class last minute ticket on an airplane.
Soooooo, would we do it again? Does Cunard offer discounts to commuters? We are investigating what the seas are like in November and you might find me staring out that QM2 bar window again.
This journey has really been revealing. Actually, no mysteries about the Atlantic Crossing were unveiled- except I did see a whale and it seems that only American Men deem to wear baseball caps to the dining room. The reveal, was personal, very personal. It helped me appreciate my grandmother even more. The revelations started when I discovered SS Madonna, the ship Maria Rosaria Solla, Caterina Guerrera, Nicola Santo Pietro and Salvatore Guerrera took across the sea.
Even though both were built in Europe, SS Madonna by Swan, Hunter and Wigham Richardson Ltd on The Tyne in Northern England and the Queen Mary 2 by STX Europe in Saint Nazaire, Brittany, they had nothing in common. SS Madonna was built specifically to carry cargo and 1,650 emigrants in steerage between Liverpool and New York. (I’m thinking the emigrants were considered cargo too.) There were accommodations for 54 first class passengers. The QM2 carries 2,695 passengers in luxury.
SS Madonna left Napoli on December 3, 1920. A scant 17 days later it arrived at Ellis Island. The Queen Mary 2 powered out of Brooklyn, New York on the evening of May 23, 2025 and will dock in South Hampton seven days later. What a difference one-hundred years of design innovation can do.
Queen Mary 2 – Stunning ship.
The class system on the Madonna was very clear. Fifty four people crossed the Atlantic in cabins, with access to the outside deck and real meals. The hordes of emigrants down below were given bread. Aunt Cat said, they had carried cheese with them and would have starved without it. As I researched this, I couldn’t help but think of the slave ships also built in Europe to carry human cargo. Cripes, the things humans do for profit.
We will never starve on the QM2. Actually, every meal except the over crowed first night buffet has been exceptional. We were assigned – based on our ticket class – the Britannia Dining Room. Others, with more expensive tickets go to the Queens Grill or Princess Grill. That said, we all meet and mingle in lounges, bars and entertainment venues. Frankly, we haven’t had one bad day of eating. Please do not tell anyone, but we never get up in time for breakfast and are addicted to room service. Sigh, does that make me a princepessa? I hope so. My room service eggs scrambled with salmon are light fluffy and downright heavenly. I order them daily.
Find Solla and Guerrera. For a challenge find others from Pontelandolfo.
Studying the SS Madonna’s manifest, I was smacked again with the constant disparaging of Southern Italians. Southern Italians are farmers, stupid, lack initiative – all stereotypic BS. The Northern Italy versus Southern Italy conflicts were intensified during the unification of Italy. Pontelandolfese remember the summer of terror. On August 14, 1861 rape, pillage, murders and fires consumed Pontelandolfo – all in the name of unification. Nothing like genocide to get one to agree to a concept. It all still angers me.
Therefore, I was horrified to see the classifications on the List or Manifest of Alien Passengersfor the United States. There was a category for nationality and one for race. My family was listed as Italy for nationality and – gag me now before I scream – SoItalian for race. What race is SoItalian? The green people? My grandmother had blue eyes – the blue eyed people?? As opposed to NoItalian for race – the fancy people? Guess what, on this manifest I didn’t find anyone whose race was NoItalian. Maybe if you were from the north you could afford one of the 54 first class tickets.
Rosaria Solla’s occupation is listed as peasant. Peasant is better than bonbon eater. Other trades I found were tailor, laborer, housewife.
Accompanied by a 9, 7 and 16 year old, my nonna was rejoining her husband, my grandfather Francesco Guerrera. It was a treacherous experience. The December sea pounds all ships. I can imagine the wild ride my family had on the SS Madonna. The contemporary design of the QM2 keeps it stable.
We easily adjust the thermostat in our cabin. My grandmother, freezing was saved by the generosity of strangers sharing their coats.
The more I researched the ship, the prouder I was of my grandparents. Both went on harrowing adventures, holding their love strong until they could be reconnected.
Jack and I are rejoining our Italian family of Pontelandolfese. I’m proud of us for discovering this transportation solution to the current chaos of air travel. Will we cross the Atlantic this way again? We shall see. I know my nonna felt that once was enough.
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 