Before I ventured into Alimentari De Angelis, our local salumeria for the first time alone, I stood outside and took a breath. My heart was pounding. Would I remember all the Italian I needed to buy mortadella or prosciutto or – well anything? Etto? Cento grammi – was that close to 1/4 pound? Theatre training kicks in – I review my lines – visualize my actions – think about what I was doing before I went through the door and said, “Vorrei un etto di – – Un etto of what – eeeeeeech -here is where I point at the case and resist saying “that salami looking stuff”. I know these words. I eat these words – wait – I didn’t say that right.
Now you are thinking – it is just a store in a small Italian village – stop with the dramatics. You’re right. But in this village everyone knows everyone else. I can’t embarrass generations of Guerreras and Sollas. I notice the woman on the bench near the store staring at me. I go in. The small shop – about 8X10 – was crammed full of just about anything you needed to create a quick scrumptious meal. Packets of pasta, a few round loaves of bread, rice, canned good, juice, paper plates, – you get the picture.
The three people in front of the meat counter turned as I pushed aside the beaded curtain, entered and said “boun giorno.” (Everyone says boun giorno every time they enter a shop – most times the folks in the shop echo an answer.) While I was waiting for my turn, the other customers and I stood close together in the jammed packed shop. This was a good thing. I could see and hear how they interacted with the shop’s owner, Pierina De Angelis. After all, we were all here for what was found in the refrigerator case – mortadella, prosciutto, salami di Milano, salami di Napoli …..
Soon it was my turn – I noticed a price list taped to the refrigerated display case and had memorized it. How could everything be un euro or un euro e 20 centesimi per un etto? Cheap great meats – how did I know the cold cuts were great? My cousin and world’s greatest cook, Carmela Mancini, shopped here.
The friendly Pierina De Angelis and her husband Antonio Santo Pietro. (My nonna’s first husband was a Santo Pietro – wonder if we are kind of related?)
“Vorrei un etto di mortadella, per favore.” The blonde Pierina standing by the old fashioned counter smiled and asked me where I was from – in Italian of course. Damn, was my italian so bad that she pegged me right away as an outsider? That happens to me a lot. I told her I was from New Jersey and before I knew it we were having a simple conversation and she discovered where I was from, who I was related to and how long I was staying! She made me feel comfortable and not embarrassed by my accent. I wanted to be her friend for life! OK, now it is time to order – guess what – I forgot the entire product list that I had memorized. Ugggg. We started with the mortadella.
If you haven’t had great mortadella – but only the crap we get in the USA super markets – you haven’t tasted the cold cut that makes you keep coming back and buying more! As a matter of fact, even though my cholesterol rises when ever I think of mortadella, I bought the yummy meats about every other day.
Mortadella – so very very very good.
Starting in about 1899 Americans were calling anything made of pork parts and stuffed in a casing bologne/baloney. Maybe manufacturers thought they could trick folks with limited taste buds into buying the stuff thinking it was like Mortadella – a famous culinary tradition of Bologna, Italy.
Mortadella di Bologna starts with finely ground pork, usually the lesser cuts of meat that are not used for other types of sausage. In fact Mortadella is a testament to the resourcefulness of the Italian pig farmers as nothing edible on the pig is wasted. This ground meat is mixed with a high quality fat (usually from the throat) and a blend of salt, white pepper, peppercorns, coriander, anise, pieces of pistachio and wine. The mixture is then stuffed into a beef or pork casing depending upon the size of the sausage and cooked according to weight. After cooking mortadella is left to cool in order to stabilize the sausage and give it firmness.
It must be cocktail hour somewhere! I wrapped mortadella around grissini added olives and Campari soda. Now that is art.
After the first week of repeated stops at her shop, Pierina could almost guess my order. Un etto di mortadella for me and due cento grammi di salami for Jack. Jack experimented with the various types of salami and couldn’t decide which he liked best. Bottom line? It was all wonderful.
No it is NOT Boars Head. This one – whose name I have of course forgotten – was spicy.
Alimentari De Angelis has been in Pierina De Angelis’ family for generations. She and her husband Antonio Santo Pietro have run it for a long time. I was saddened to hear that they will be closing the shop this fall. They are moving on toward retirement. Boy, do I hope that someone as nice and who sells productsjust as good steps in to fill the gastronomic void.
Chased by the emotions welling from a simple e-mail subject line – Invio Ricerca Famiglie Rinaldi e Solla (Search for Families Rinaldi & Solla), – tears race down my cheeks. An incredible gift was soaring over the mystical internet highway. I took a breath, double clicked and read –
Come eravamo rimasti, finalmente posso inviarti la ricerca delle due Famiglie Rinaldi Mariantonia e Solla, spero che il tutto sia soddisfacente. (As we left it, finally I’m sending you the documents about the Rinaldi and Solla Familes – I hope this is satisfactory.)
Una caro saluto
Antimo Albini
How could it not be satisfactory? It was so much more than satisfactory! Attached were two incredible documents – documents tracing my grandmother’s family back to the 1500’s!
Little boxes of wonder! Pages of them waiting to be entered in my Family Tree software. Anyone want to help?
Immediately I sent PDF’s flying through space to my family. With a little more digging, my newly found ancestors will share incredible stories. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning –
One beautiful morning Annarita Mancini and I walked up Via Municipo and stopped in front of a small attached stone row house. This part of the Pontelandolfo dates back to the 1600’s. Annarita rang the bell.
The shutter of the second floor window burst open and our guide into the past thrust out his sleepy head. “Beh?” Oops, were we too early? Annarita explained that we had an appointment to see the church archives. While he was mulling that over, the beaded curtain in front of the door parted and a middle aged woman peeked out. Shouts from above moved her. She ushered us into the front room. More shouts from above and she ushered us up the stairs. Annarita and I looked at each other. Weren’t we supposed to go to the church? Wasn’t he the dude with the archive room key? Why are we going up to – well who knows what? What had my quest for the family’s history gotten us into? That quest had led us to the true keeper of the keys to knowledge – Antimo Albini! After a cursory greeting, Antimo promptly sat down at the computer, lit a cigarette and led me on a four hour journey into my grandmother’s past.
His head of thick grey hair bobbed and weaved as he pulled up database after database. This passionate historian had decided that the history of Pontelandolfo would be lost if someone didn’t do something. He decided to be that someone.
Antimo spent four years of his life meticulously going through all of the church records and putting the information in a Microsoft Access database. This was an incredible undertaking. As he digs into my past, the gleam in his eyes reveals a man filled with passion for both history and the story of Pontelandolfo. He entered data from books going back to 1607 – separate books for each year of the census. There were also combined year range books of births, deaths, and baptisms. That is a heck of a lot of books. Whoops – he had matrimonial books back to 1505! He said, ” as the books disappear, their stories will be gone unless people like us who care about our pasts start passing the stories on.” So get on the stick and start recording your stories!
Imagine reading thousands of pages like this one.
As he created the databases he noted the book name, page number and entry number. That way if anyone really wanted to see the fragile old books they could just go to the relevant pages. He also created separate data bases labeled by book. Damn, he is good. The organization will help future historians track data.
We learned that until 1903 the priest of each parish was responsible for doing a census. The census held the tales of the village. The priests would visit each house in the parish – whyam I wondering if they also got donations for the church at the same time – and ask questions. They noted the names and ages of people living in the house, if the house was owned or rented, what kind of jobs folks had, nicknames and what ever else caught their fancy. Those notes are now safely ensconced in Antimo’s database. In 1903 the state took over the job and started to do a census every ten years. These sure has hell don’t include the interesting notes the priests wrote down.
Birth and death registration book from the 1800’s.
Before 1700 there were four parishes serving this mountain town of peasants and landholders – San Felice, San Angelo, San Piedro and San Salvatore. So priests from all of those parishes kept records of births, baptisms, deaths, weddings. These are great old journals with meticulous handwriting on paper so old that it crumbles when touched. We know that because the Comune has it’s own set of unprotected books that are manhandled, falling apart and not digitized! Che fa! Thank God Antimo created a database of the much more complete church records.
In 1688, there was a huge terremoto – earthquake – after which the parishes were forced to merge. Well. not exactly forced, but San Felice and San Pietro parishes spent a lot of time fighting over who got to be the cemetery. In those days that meant holding the bones of the departed in the catacombs of the church – you know that space just below the seats for the congregation. In the throws of the fight neither church got rebuilt. That narrowed the playing field and in 1700 there was only the mother church of San Salvatore. The church where my grandmother was baptized and twice married. It still stands and we go to mass there often – not because I’m a good catholic but because I can feel her presence there.
San SalvatoreThe art in San Salvador is awesome.These are shots from the 50’s. Later we will have a blog on the parish and you’ll see glorious color.
As I sit in the piazza writing this, my heart fills and tears start to glide down my cheeks. What is that about? How could a middle aged, hard assed woman like me get so sentimental about finding my family? I haven’t a clue but the universe sent me here and as my dad’s first cousin, Giusippina, says often – sangue è sangue – blood is blood and I am the first of the family to return looking for those that stayed.
Finding one’s family is a backwards process. Start with the birth and death certificates of today and work backwards. Since I had already done a lot of research to gather the documents to become an Italian Citizen, I went to see Antimo with the materials he needed to leap even further back in time. (Read the blog about citizenship for more background.) https://midgeguerrera.wordpress.com/2013/06/21/cittadina-italiana-citizenship/)
Antimo started by finding my grandmother’s birth records. We had the day, time and name of her parents, Liberantonio Solla and Maria Antonia Rinaldi. (I am dying to know if we are related to the Rinaldi Olio di Oliva folks.)
Every village in Italy will provide you with your family’s documents. There was a very nominal fee for grandma’s birth certificate.
Then he painstakingly worked backwards, creating a new excel data base for me that included everything he could find. The little details he unearthed painted a picture of the times and the people. nicknames were used everywhere. My great-great grandma Solla had the same name as mia nonna – Maria Rosaria. It was also the same name as her mother. Her birth certificate was noted as Maria Rosaria D’Addona.
Antimo said that baptisms were very close in date to birth records. Many children died soon after birth. Since everyone wanted the babies to go to heaven, people made sure they got those kids to church and baptized immediately. Often if a child died, the same name was given to the next child of the same sex. Boy, does that add another database layer of confusion.
Later we paniced – we couldn’t find my grandma’s grand-mom, Maria Rosaria D’Addona, in any database. Oh where oh where could my grande bisnonna be! We only found the unborn (no birth record) Cesare D”Addona in all the family census databases. Like she fell from the sky. The brilliant Antimo scanned even more documents and realized that Cesare was Maria Rosaria’s nonna’s name. Since there were two Maria Rosarias in the family they decided to call my great great grandma – Cesare. In 1839, Cesare was only 16 years old when she married the widower Felice Solla from Morcone. I am guessing he didn’t have much cash because they moved in with her mother on Via San Felice (now Via Municipo – the same street where Antimo currently lives.) That means I have walked past my great – great grandparents first marital home a million times!
I never would have figured that out. We were blessed to have Antimo, a focused detective, helping us by constantly cross checking information from birth, death, marriage and census records. OK, we found the lineage of my great grandma. Now let’s talk about great grandpop.
My great grandfather was Liberantonio Solla – family tales are full of his musical ability. Zia Caterina also remembered his ability to drink the night away and fall down the mountain on the way home to Via Porta Nuova. On my second visit to Pontelandolfo, we found my great granddad’s house . The rocks of this small medieval stone cottage – now in ruins – held secrets that we will never know. Or will we?
Only a few stone walls are left of the house that my young grandmother, grandfather and aunt and uncles shared with grandma’s parents.
What we didn’t know was that Liberantonio wasn’t called Liberantoino by anyone but his mama. Pitocchio (flea in dialect) was his nickname. As he played the concertina, villagers shouted Pitocchio . I’m not quite sure of the name my bisnonna, Maria Antonia Rinaldi, shouted when he came home dead drunk, having spent all he made singing at the bar.
Oh, I just remembered, great grandma Maria Antonia Rinaldi was born in a rented house. Liberantonio Solla was born on Via San Felice – in the home of his grandma! How the hell did we discover all this in less than ten hours? My great grandfather was a “bracciante” – an ancient term for working the land for someone else and getting a piece of what you grew for yourself – yeah serf. I come from a long line of indentured servants. Weeoo. My great-great uncle Nicola Solla (Liberantonio’s bro) worked for the commune. We discovered that for generations a Nicola Solla worked for the commune. I can’t wait to find out if one works for the town today.
So much to discover. So many stories to hear, feel and relive. So little time to do it all.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you Antimo Albini for keeping the keys to family history at our fingertips.
Whirling dervishes dance madly in the noon day sun as the wind whips
over the mountains of Campania.
One morning, on our way to the Naples airport , I screeched at Jack to pull over. He raised an eyebrow and kept on driving. Rats, how would I really get a glimpse of the thousands of windmills that peppered the mountain ridge if he didn’t pull over? That was the first time I spied the windmills that are part of the onshore wind farms that earned Italy its 2012 standing as the world’s sixth largest producer of wind power. I have no idea how wind power works but the science guys at http://science.howstuffworks.com/environmental/green-science/wind-power.htm will absolutely explain it all.
Sentries posted on the tops of mountains
Sannino soldiers gaze down on the approaching Romans.
Tall, helmets pointed to the heavens – bodies still against the azure sky.
When I first saw them, I wasn’t thinking – “Gee, how green and save – the – planet this is.” I was thinking, “Hear the sounds of the marching feet as the Roman army emerges over the crest of the hill.” Seriously, from a distance they look like advancing ramrod straight soldiers with pointed hats. Up close they are more like super giant stick figures. Up close? H’mm did she really drive up the mountain to get closer? Yes, by gum we did! Why? Because we could! So why not. OK, if the truth be told, it was a chilly, dreary day and I was going to poke out my eyes with a pen if we didn’t get in the car and do something. Anything – as long as it didn’t cost a bundle of bucks and we didn’t have to change out of comfy clothes. Anything – never give me that option. My brain tumbles and rumbles and soon bizarre suggestions spew forth like Vesuvius. Anything meant – chasing windmills. Jack, knowing divorce was eminent if he didn’t get behind the wheel of the car, started the engine and let me navigate. Navigation was something like – “NO, NO – TURN RIGHT” – when ever I saw the top of a windmill. We were so intent on getting close to the windmills that I didn’t even shriek at the switchbacks along the way. What we didn’t do was record exactly how to get to the ridge. All I remember was from Colle Sannita take SS 212 and make a right on SP 55. I was too entranced to take notes but said into my video at least 10 times – we were on SP55!
http://www.thewindpower.net/zones_en_7_campania.php keeps a database of wind farms and their operators. You tech folks might find this interesting. I don’t know how often they update it. I swear I counted more windmills than are noted. Some may have been the third or fourth phases of a farm and not yet included.
According to http://www.ieawind.org/countries/italy.html, Installation of new wind farms in Italy continued its pace in 2011. Total online grid-connected wind capacity reached 6,878 MW at the end of the year, with an increase of 1,080 MW from 2010. As usual, the largest development took place in the southern regions, particularly in Apulia, Calabria, Campania, Sardinia, and Sicily. In 2011, 590 new wind turbines were deployed in Italy and their average capacity was 1,831 kW. The total number of online wind turbines thus became 5,446, with an overall average capacity of 1,263 kW. All plants are based on land, mostly on hill or mountain sites. The 2011 production from wind farms could provisionally be put at about 10.1 TWh, which would be about 3% of total electricity demand of the Italian system.
Electricity is expensive here so I was hoping the wind farms were producing a lot more than 3%. Well, this data is from 2011 and we know that Italy in 2012 was the 6th largest producer of wind power.
Hay fields surround the windmills.
What is interesting is that the farmers are still working the land around the windmills. As we wended our way around we passed beautiful new combines, tractors and balers . I am guessing that the income from the utility companies helps keep this area green and farmed. Windmills plus farm land sure beats the housing developments plus loss of farm land that are a blight on New Jersey.
Grey day washed away by the buzz of chasing windmills.
I learned something this grey day – chasing windmills is a guaranteed cure for boredom. Listen to the sound of the wind whistling on the ridge!
I know you are staring at me. I’m the new kid. Everyone stares and whispers about the new kid. Even though I am a glorious member of the sixth decade club, whenever I am in a new place with new people I want to scrunch down and get super friendly in the corner behind Mr. Ficus. “But Midge,” pals say. “You will talk to anyone.” Yeah, but first I have to take a deep breath, say, wherever I am God isand allis well, and then give myself an actor’s objective. Damn, getting up the courage to talk takes a lot of stressful work. Work! That always works for me in a strange new situation – work. Around strangers I have to have a job – back to the actors objective – give me the antipasti to pass around and I can chat up a storm.
Lightning bolts of panic zapped around my brain. Strangers in a new town, new country, faced with tons of new people to meet and they speak a different language. How will I meet them? How will I ward off boredom? I need a job!
Before we got to Pontelandolfo, I asked our very own School Board Member (consigliere), Rosella Mancini about volunteering as “madre lingue” in the elementary school.
The bus travels up the mountain collecting kids. Parents PAY if they want the bus to stop.
Starting in “scuola materna” – pre school – English is taught in the public schools. At the lower levels, it is the classroom teachers responsibility. I thought this act of kindness/selfishness would give me something exciting to do and I’d meet a bunch of great kids. They were truly great kids – they stand when ever a teacher enters the room and say Buon Giorno. NO ONE is staring at their phone!
Here’s a quick overview of the educational system – don’t worry I’ll toss in some pictures.
Not the prettiest of buildings. Very 1950’s utilitarian.I wandered and found this on a back alley door. Yes, I reported it.Happier note – they get music and art in every grade. This is a piano keyboard class. Besides English they were studying French too.
All children must stay in school until they are 16 -“Scuola del obligo”. Gossip from the teachers is that school directors don’t accept kids failing. If a teacher fails a child, it is the teacher who is the failure. Whoa – where does that put the responsibility? How many kids just “pass”? I gotta say I taught a good number of college students that graduated from high school and couldn’t write a sentence. Guess some practices are world wide.
TA TA da dum – standardized tests are given by the Italian government during a students third level of la scuola media (students ages 11 to 14). Tests – another global initiative.
The primary school was condemned and now those students have a wing in la scuola media.
Those attending una scuola dell’infanzia/materna, ages 3 to 5, and una scuola primaria/elementare, ages 6-10 get to wear un grembiulino. The smocks are adorable.
Clean, cute and practical. Ours were blue.
The “primaria/elementare” and “media” scuole classes I visited had classes of about 15 students – I am told that is the norm.
i went to the end of year show – music, poetry, history – performed on a very small stage that had incredible art around the proscenium. That great art was covered by pictures the teachers made of fruits and vegetables – REALLY.
NOOOOO! Art Alert! Art Alert!Staples. They used staples.
Not all things are simply fabulous in Italy – the show was to start at 6:30 – it didn’t. Parents started lining up to go in at 6:00. The teachers didn’t open the bloody doors until almost 7:00 and people pushed in to get the limited seats. They need me to produce their end of year shows.
This performance was also the send off for the students going on to una scuola superiore – 5 year high school. These 14 year olds must pick a career so that they can pick what secondary school to go to. Cripes, at 14 I wanted to be something different every day – doctor, lawyer, nun, actor, cabaret star…. (Good link to understand the system – http://www.rome-explorer.com/rome-guide/italian_secondary_school.html)
Secondary School for Public Administration! Do we have one of those? I think not.Secondary School located in Pontelandolfo – Art and Design of Gold Jewelry! Sadly, since there is not easy public transportation and enrollment is low the school will be closing.
OK, back to me teaching. To arrange the volunteer commitment, Rossella and I met with the director of the district. I took one look at the head of the schools and could barely remember my memorized bio in Italian. Thank the stars for Rossella who did the commercial for me. My mind went blank. I was stifling huge guffaws – because this woman who deals with tween age boys all day had a blouse on that was cut so low her girls must have been freezing. Geeese Louise – dress for the job.
Worse than not being able to speak was not being able to listen – though Jack says I am a chronic non-listener. I thought she said, “ how do you like Casalduni?” I said something like, yes, I like Casalduni (neighboring village). What she had said was, ” would I mind teaching there too! ” Not being totally fluent got me into tight binds often. Somehow we managed to ignore that request and just focus on the children in my home town.
Day one approached. I had looked through all of English text books for the entire spectrum of grades – from ages 5 – 14. Gulp, they should know more English grammar than I was ever taught. The sweat was dripping off my brow as I created lesson plans for every grade – did I say every grade. Yes, I taught in every single classroom in the co-mingled primary and middle school. A little voice said – “teach what you know.” Kids and creative dramatics are perfect together. Whew, I should have thought of that sooner. Not bragging here – but since the classrooms are very traditionally taught and I ain’t traditional – the kids loved my classes. I started every class with one of the many name games I can pull out of that theatre trunk in my head. Of course to introduce myself, I did something silly and wondered about the gasps on my last name – Guerrera – until I heard all of their last names and heard a bunch of them say – Guerrera. Yikes, more branches on the mulberry tree to explore.
Land line phones? Are they going the way of the dinosaur? My brilliant computer consultant Cyndi turned us on to Magic Jack. We have dumped our Comcast Cable Triple Play Plan at home and just use the VOIP Magic Jack gizmo. VOIP stands for Voice Over Internet Protocol, a technology for making telephone calls over the Internet in which speech sounds are converted into binary blah, blah, blah techno jargon blah blah… Bottom line – you need access to the internet to make a phone call.
For the initial investment of $69 for the Magic Jack gizmo that plugs into either a router or a computer. You get a U.S.A. number that goes with you anywhere in the world. Now that is pretty groovy but I wanted our existing number. If I finally sold a play or if something tragic happened at home like tidal waves from the Raritan River, how would people find me? Don’t worry, for about $10 you can “port” your existing number to Magic Jack. That is exactly what we did. For $79 for the initial year we now have unlimited calling in the USA and Canada and unlimited international calling to the USA.
We were just a tad apprehensive. I am a “show me” kind of chick. We set up the gizmo at home – dumped Comcast phone service – it worked great. The voice quality was fine and as long as we had high speed internet we would have a phone, voicemail, e-mail alerts of voicemail, caller ID, free directory assistance, call waiting and FREE international calling to the USA.
To have a Comcast bill that made sense we dumped cable TV too – that was a wee bit more challenging. The Triple Play Plan – means you use them for the phone, cable television and high speed internet. Since our plan is not to be home much, having the flexibility of carrying our phone number with us is wonderful. The internet is everywhere and so is connectivity.
Before we left for Italy we tried the Magic Jack with my laptop and Jack’s. It worked fine. We just had to buy a traditional phone with a cord that could be jacked into the Magic Jack. I bought a $9.99 model at Radio Shack. We plugged it in and tested it at home. It worked great. Jack packed it in his suitcase and off to Europe we went.
The initial dilemma was the lack of internet service at the house we rented. Ooops. Magic Jack is a VOIP – need that internet. Wait – there is an iPhone App for Magic Jack! I set it up on my phone, logged into Magic Jack and boom had free international calling over my 3G data network. (Remember, the earlier blog – we only pay $13 a month for unlimited data with WIND.) We did the same thing to Jack’s phone. My phone carries the number that came with the Magic Jack and Jack’s phone is our old home phone number – hmm, we really need to switch that.
Meanwhile back at the Wi-Fi quest, it took us about a week and a half to get internet installed and the router working. A sigh of relief. We could set up the real phone and now hear that pleasant ring when folks in the USA call us. We put an Italian adapter at the end of the plug, plugged the phone into electricity and into the Magic Jack. Hey, what’s that smell? Burning plastic – the $9.99 phone was fried by the Italian current. Don’t ask me why, just don’t bring one.
We ran out and bought a cheapy Italian phone. Now the cheapy Radio Shack phone was small, white, plastic and ugly. Check out the form and function cheapy Italian phone.
Cute!
Note the lines! Feel the beauty! It cost $9.99 and is cute and didn’t melt. Yeah. We have a phone. It works – sometimes.
In all fairness, the sound quality has a lot to do with the internet connection. At our house in Italy we have an antennae on the roof that brings us Wi-Fi from the Wi-Fi gods of the mountain. I have no idea how it works. When it is windy – which in the mountains is often – the antennae is doing dirty dancing and the reception is less than great.
There are other VOIP opportunities out there but they seem to cost more. So, even though we can’t hear you when the wind blows over the mountain, we are still happy with our Magic Jack.
You know how little girls imagine themselves princesses twirling at the ball? Well, I tried to imagine that but after tripping over a hoe somehow knew that my family sure as hell wasn’t royalty. It felt really special to be about 6 years old and discover I was from a long line of serfs! Hey, quit smirking – a lot of us first generation folks come from families who – well – didn’t have the proverbial ‘Pot’. Salvatore Guerrera, the patriarch of my family, was a contadino, farmer. Now, don’t think of the agri-businessman of today or even the great local organic farmer. In the Pontelandolfo church and commune records my family members are all listed as “contadino and/or bracciante” They were peasant farmers who “gave their arms work” for another person. Serfs – now that is a word we all know. Or sharecroppers – these men and women worked the land for a piece of the garden pie – a very small piece.
Over a period of 18 years, I have shared many a long and wonderful Pontelandolfesi meal with my extended Italian family. When the coffee was served, I often steered the conversation to stories about my bisnonno. The elders, his grandchildren, vaguely remembered him but really remembered the stories about him that their parents told. What was he like? Where did he live? What did he do? These alert and fun filled men and women regaled me with tales – all in the dialect of the town. I didn’t have a clue as to what they said. They knew I didn’t have a clue, but kept right on talking. Today, having taken years of Italian, I still only understand about 20% of what anyone says in dialect. Not to lose the stories, I shot lots of video tape. Much of it still needs to be translated. The ever gracious linguist, Annarita Mancini, helped by giving me some short summaries.
The central theme was that my incredibly well built bisnonno was a Robin Hood kind of guy. If the landowners weren’t sharing, he would not so subtly help the process along. One tale, set after World War I, told of great deprivation – everything of any value was used for the war or stolen by the enemy. There wasn’t a bit of food to eat or even wood to burn for heat. Salvatore Guerrera approached the landowner and asked if he could cut down a really big tree – one of the last trees. The man said, absolutely not, I’m saving that tree for myself. Salvatore looked at this incredibly tall tree and thought 50% is good enough for that uncaring @#$%$#. “Noi braccianti have provided him with much much more.” He then climbed up to the middle of the tree and began to saw. Soon the top of the tree tumbled to the ground, was chopped up and shared. No one remembers what the landowner did – but they kept remarking that their nonno was really big and really strong. Hmmmmm.
Three walls are left of my great grandfather’s house.
We were led to what is left of Salvatore Guerrera’s house by his grandchildren. I could write about it but, frankly, am enjoying editing video. What follows was shot in August 1995 – the first time I saw the house with my Zia Caterina – and June 2002 when we brought my father there.
Remember those one ring circuses that scurried into small home towns across America? The one elephant, two-horse shows that still bedazzled us with its newness. The traveling small tent show may have died in America but thanks to families like the Frimers it is alive and well in Italy.
My interest and excitement was piqued when the signs appeared on the main intersections of Pontelandolfo. Signs that showed a scantily clad damsel fighting off the sharpened teeth of a great piranha – or was it a catfish?
That must be one huge fish tank.
“In less than a week,” the signs taunted, the incredible Frimer Acquatic Show would be setting up shop in Ex Campo Calcetto. Not wanting to forget the where and when, I snapped a photo of the signs.
Are there different names on each poster?
Friday, from deep within the kitchen of our all stone house I heard a voice so loud I dropped the tomatoes. I raced out side. Speakers topping an old blue van – the new circus parade – were encouraging us all to experience the wonders of the circus tomorrow. OK, I didn’t understand a word of what they said, but I bet they were touting the wonders of the circus. Finally, it was Saturday – the day the circus was setting up its tent. After stopping at my favorite salumeria for the best mortadella in the world, I found the most incredible gift under my windshield wiper. Two discount coupons for that night’s performance! It was fate. Jack and I could see the world’s greatest Frimer Acquatic Show for only 7 euro each!. I could barely contain myself. The performance was at 9:15 PM. It was 4:00 PM. How could I wait five hours????
Only 7 euro – about $9 for live entertainment.
We got into the village at 8:30 – I wanted a good seat and went to the Campo di Calcio – no tents? Cripes, did I read it wrong? Where is the circus? We walked back to a local bar and noticed people heading towards the piazza behind the the village center – the what I thought was a parking lot that holds the recycling bins. We started to follow them – I heard music – circus music! We were getting closer. Like Conestoga wagons of the wild west, blue tractor-trailer sized trucks had encircled the piazza. A line had formed in front of the ticket counter – people were clutching the same coupons I had. The ticket booth was in a truck and about 6 feet off the ground. Folks were standing on tippy toe to hand their coupons and money to the overly made up but pretty young ticket taker girl. She suddenly stopped taking money. No! Were they sold out? No, she was out of change and no one had any. We waited about 5 minutes for a navy blue suited burly roustabout to appear with some change that he pirated from the closest bar. Whew, we were getting closer. I paid and then we looked for the entrance. The tent! I see the tent! Jack pointed out that the tent we used for picnics was only slightly smaller. I scoffed at him – this is the world’s greatest circo acquatico. When we enter the space I am sure the grandeur of the circus will unravel itself before us. The burly blond ticket taker ripped our tickets and we walked down the path to the tent. It was small! I counted about 100 K-Mart style old white plastic chairs set up in 3/4 round – for you non theatre folks that means that the performance space had chairs on three sides of it. The performance space was pretty small but look there is a large yellow curtain behind it.
Could the piranha be behind the curtain?
I bet that lifts up and we see the tanks of water. People slowly filed in. The first night audience was small – about forty of us. Jack and I were probably the oldest, but we have young hearts! There were two men in their fifties or 60’s at the light and sound boards. They looked vaguely familiar – like the dads of the ticket seller and burly blonde ticket taker guy. The music changed, the lights dimmed and the ringmaster appeared. He welcomed us all and a clown – who kind of looked like the ticket taker and light board guy – came out and started an old vaudeville shtick – it doesn’t matter which one. Just know you have seen the Marx Brothers do it – it involves kicks in the butt. All laughed and the music changed to great entrance rumblings.
Rings and things fly in the air.
Suddenly, dressed all in black and juggling madly, a handsome young man appeared. Wait, he looks familiar – it was the ringmaster! He juggled clubs, balls, tennis rackets, rings – the usual and when he dropped them all applauded and laughed. He raced off to the applause of tiny hands.
The clown skirted in with a baby carriage – the baby cried – he picked up the baby. He showed us the baby. The baby squirted water on all of us – including my new white pocket-book. Well it was Il Circo Acquatico. H’mm he kind of looks like the ringmaster/juggler guy too.
Next a chef appeared with a stack of plates – wait he looks familiar. Ahh, the burly blonde guy who took the tickets. Plates, rods, balance – you’ve seen that schtick before too. Nary a plate broke, all were spinning madly and the audience cheered.
Burly ticket taker guy is also the balancing plate guy.
A platform was wheeled out and a sexy lady with the usual boobs on a plate outfit appeared. She bent into a back bend and walked up the platform steps on her hands. Wait – she looks familiar? Ahhh the girl in full make-up who sold the tickets! She was a modified contortionist – think yoga and gymnastics with a little double jointed tossed in for good measure. It hit me. Everyone looks alike! They must be a traveling circus family.
Sexy ticket taker and contortionist gal.
What could top a contortionist! The bored five year old member of this talented circus family that’s what. She came out with silver hula hoops and whirled them on her waist, feet and arms. Since she couldn’t be seen above the ring wall, we all stood to watch this tiny tot perform. I figure she is probably on the payroll for tax purposes and needs to do something entertaining. Or the family insists that all earn their keep.
Soon the juggler/ringmaster was back dressed as a magician assisted by ticket taker/contortionist lady. How did she escape from that sack after being locked in a black box? How did he get from the audience into the sack? Whoa! Cheers went up.
Damn, more water from Il Circo d’Acqua – this time the clown tried to clean the audience and sprayed us all. Ugggg
During intermission most everyone exited to go and lood at the tank of piranha and something else that I couldn’t translate. Maybe the contortionist/ticket taker/ magician assistant girl climbed in the tank? We missed that.
Take filled with creepy fish has its own truck.
We decided to watch the show happening by the popcorn and candy corn vendor – who was obviously the mom, sister or aunt of the performers. Hoping to be discovered by the fathers/uncles who were in charge of sound and lights I entertained the kids around me with my silly faces and freeze game. Well, I thought it was entertaining.
Burly ticket/dish guy is also the hot fire guy.
Suddenly the lights dimmed and the music was foreboding. With muscles bursting, burly ticket taker/ twirling plate guy appeared juggling fire! Soon the fire was in his mouth and racing up his arms. He burned up the audience with pyrotechnic surprises. He actually stroked his arms with lit wands – we could see the charcoal black swaths cut over his biceps. The women went ugggg, the kids went “can’t wait to get home and try that mom”.
Indian Jones music floated through the tent. Roustabouts – the burly fire eating guy and clown guy – dragged out big mysterious black boxes. The frame of a coffin was set center stage. Clown guy returned dressed all in black. He became the animal trainer guy and slowly opened a box. Shouts of fear went up as he took out a four bazillion foot white snake. Screams from all as he walked closer and closer to the audience! The magician/juggler/ringmaster guy pulled out a huge unhappy iguana. They kept pulling out creepy crawly things and bringing them into the audience so all could see these fierce creatures. Adults pulled back. Small children reached up to touch them. I gotta tell ya, snakes for a finale – now that is something I have never seen.
Did I mention the snakes were enormous?
This revealing of a different snakes and having them dance, hiss and crawl went on for about fifteen minutes. Ticket lady/contortionist/magician’s assistant girl came out sexily dressed and stepped into the coffin. She laid frozen still as all of the snakes were plopped on her and slithered all over her. I must admit, I got a little turned on from this – don’t tell my husband. But no – I don’t want to try it.
H’mm slithering serpents! A devilish good time.
The crowed cheered, the lights came up and the incredible cast of four bowed for all. Ooops, I forgot the little girl – cast of five. Their versatility is what makes them incredible. Everyone doubled and tripled so that the show could go on.
This is a theatrical family that is doing what it loves to do in small towns across Italy. Frankly, I am a little jealous. Wafting nostalgic over my children’s theatre touring days, I wondered if I was too old and feeble to buy a van and tour a one woman show…
Remember that scrumptious ravioli Carmela made for my birthday? (Check the May 15 blog – Pumpkin Ravioli.) She used an incredible Tupperware ravioli mold – former – thingy. I had to have one.
The Tupperware Lady told me that they don’t ship the stuff made in the USA here – cost too much. There are Tupperware factories in Belgium, France and Portugal. H’mm do they make special EU stuff that we can’t get – like great large ravioli former things????
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 