Under the Bridge

Under The Bridge

In most instances, “under the bridge” is not where you want to be.  Wasn’t it under the bridge where the ogre lived in the Three Billy Goats Gruff fairy tale?  And who hasn’t seen, either in pictures or in person, tent cities set up under the bridges of major metropolitan areas, places where the homeless and hopeless gather for shelter and community?  But here in Santa Maria di Leuca, “sotto il ponte” has a whole other meaning.

Today I went with cousin Rita and her husband Angelo, our gracious and generous hosts here in Puglia, to their favorite swimming spot.  In Leuca, there is a long road that hugs the shoreline, with beautiful views of blue water, white sailboats, and yellow sun.  In one area, there is a bridge that spans a rather long gap in the coastline.  It is a typical Roman style bridge with five big arches that support it.  It’s less than a quarter mile long, but it’s an impressive bridge.  I’ve driven over it before, but never noticed all the activity that was going on down below.

Just like in the old song, Under the Boardwalk, “people walkin’ above, people havin’ fun, people fallin’ in love”…..all the good stuff is happening under the bridge.  There is a long but gentle staircase that leads down to the water and once there we found a whole world lazing and relaxing under each of the arches.  There are broad steps that go under each segment of the bridge on which people were spreading their towels and opening their beach chairs.  We found our spot and got ready to dive in.  “Dive in” isn’t really what I should say, because there’s no diving here.  Getting into the water is always a bit of a challenge because the Puglia coastline has so many areas of rocky outcrops and slippery spots.  But the town thought of wobbly folks like me and provided us a sturdy steel stairway with four steps down which we could ease ourselves into the water.

Once in the water, it’s a short walk across rocky ledge to find deep water, perfect for swimming and floating around.  I’m cursed with a very buoyant body (would that I had the heavier muscles that I’ve always wanted), but I’m able to float and tread water with no effort at all.  I bob around and flip from belly to back at will, never covering lots of territory but always enjoying the relaxing water and sun.  Since I had slathered myself with sunscreen, I was able to spend an hour or so just floating and bobbing around, feeling very lucky. Getting out is another challenge, with those same slippery ledges awaiting the unwary swimmer, but fortunately there were no unfortunate mishaps with that end of the operation either.

 Relaxing under the bridge is an insider’s game here in Leuca.  Those who come down for a week spend their time on the sandy stretches of beach, basking in the sun with no shade to cool them and with grit in their crotches.  But under the bridge it’s clean, cool and social, where the elite come to meet.  Of course, we ran into an old friend and his buddy, and we spent a nice time chatting and catching up.  When the fellows decided to go back into the water, the buddy asked if I were going in too.  I said no, that I had to stay out of the sun.  “Ma devi andarci, signora.  Altrimenti rimani una donna tutta bianca.”  (Oh but you should go signora.  Otherwise you’re going to stay a very white woman.) 

Yes, I am a very white woman in a sea of bronze and burned bodies.  Because even under the bridge, there are places for people to lay out in the sun and get a George Hamilton tan, and I was definitely the whitest of all the bodies there.  But I choose to shield my old skin from the hot Puglia sun and that is why “sotto il ponte” is where I’m going to stay!

Woodstock Nation

Woodstock Nation

We are back in Cervinara after a long absence and it is just like coming home!

After an uneventful flight to Paris and a short hop from Paris to Naples, we were the first to get our luggage and were on the road within 20 minutes.  This was a record!  It was lovely to see all the in-laws, nieces and nephews, but then it was time for us to take our car and head east into the mountains of the Valle Caudine, where our home away from home awaited us.

Not much has changed in the old town; the same faces smiled at us as we drove up the long hill, the baker still waved us on as he checked for oncoming traffic, the barista at our local circolo greeted us with big hugs.  But there was something new and unexpected on the horizon….

In the vacant lot where many of the houses destroyed in the 1999 flood used to be, there was a huge stage set up, with spotlights, amplifiers, and techs doing sound checks.  We found ourselves in the middle of the “Non solofolk” music festival, an event organized by a variety of very talented people dedicated to the eradication of prejudice, the celebration of music, and the remembrance of those lost in that tragic event of 14 years ago.  As is always the case when there is any kind of street festival, the whole Ioffredo neighborhood was lined with vendors of food, beverages, toys, t-shirts and other mementos.  Festival attendees had pitched tents in the woods behind the concert venue and port-a-potties were lined up in a corner of the piazza.  The joint was jumpin’!

This would normally be a great opportunity for us to be out and about, schmoozing with the neighbors and enjoying some sausages and beer.  But with a major case of jetlag hanging over our heads, I was none too happy at this turn of events.  And indeed, I was right to be worried.  The program was scheduled to jump off at 9, but sound checks and setting up didn’t end until 10 pm.  The music started just as we were ready to crash into bed.  I am not exaggerating when I say that from our bedroom balcony, we could see the lights, hear the crowds, not to mention the music.  It blasted non-stop from 10-1:37 am.  I know the exact moment because I was awake and watching the clock, counting the minutes for the Red Hot Chili Peppers clones to finish their last set.  None too happy, rest assured!

Saturday….same scenario.  Only this time we knew what to expect and we closed up all our windows and turned on the fans to keep some air moving.  This helped to muffle the head-bangers’ ball music somewhat, but not nearly enough.  Again, the music finished at almost 2:00 am, and this time we had a 5:00 wakeup call so we could get on the road for our drive to “alt’italia”.  I managed to cobble together a couple of hours of very restless sleep and by 6:30 wewere on the road again.

So now, we find ourselves outside of Modena, in a very nice hotel, and at 6:30 in the evening I can’t wait to lie down and close my eyes!  The restaurant opens at 7:30 and we will be there with bells on to get the earliest dinner possible only to go back to our rooms and pray for a good night’s sleep.  I’m getting desperate! 

That said, it was nice to see our old neighborhood so lively and full of excitement.  More and more outsiders are coming to recognize what Cervinara has to offer, and this event certainly will help with the revitalization efforts in town.  I don’t want things to change too much….the old ways are fine with me, but knowing that a new generation is learning to enjoy the simple pleasures of our hills ensures a vital and lively Cervinara for years to come.

Cervinara Roots Around the World

When I started writing this blog, my only goal was to share an interesting lifestyle change with a few friends and relatives.  It's a pretty unusual situation, being able to spend extended time abroad, particularly in a non-touristy town where we would become absorbed into the community and become recognized as permanent residents rather than temporary visitors.
As time has gone on however, it has become apparent that this blog has begun to reach folks from all over the world and when you Google "Cervinara", a link to my essays pops up fairly high on the Google list.  Who could have imagined?  As a result of this phenomenon, I have been in touch with people whose roots reach back to Cervinara, usually a couple of generations back. 
Life was hard in many areas of Italy, and Cervinara was no different.  Many Cervinaresi emigrated to the US, Canada, England, Australia and South America in an attempt to find more opportunities for a good life.  Now,  2nd and 3rd generation Italians are searching for their roots, using the internet to try to reconnect with their ancestors.  A need to know and understand one's origins seems to run deep in the children and grandchildren of immigrants, and now I am trying to help folks whose ancestors were from this area to find their way back to Cervinara.

On Facebook, I have formed a group entitled "Cervinara Roots Around the World".  My idea is to provide information about what Cervinara has to offer the genealogical tourists who might want to spend a bit of time retracing the steps of their ancestors.  It's not always easy to find your way here; it is not on anyone's radar for tourism, there are no hotels in town, no TripAdvisor forums to offer advice.  Even the town and the Chamber of Commerce (Pro Loco) websites are only in Italian.  If you are looking for help in getting to this hill town, you will not find it easy to access, particularly if you don't understand Italian.
Before I left Cervinara this fall, I met with the mayor as well as with a young man, Francesco Viola, who serves as a link between the administration and the Pro Loco.  Francesco  is as ardent in his support of Cervinara as anyone I have ever met and he publishes a well-written blog about day to day life there as well.  My thought was to provide direct links on the town website, in English, where someone trying to research a trip would get some needed guidance.  But as is so often the case, it's difficult to deal with bureaucracies and the response wasn't as enthusiastic as I had hoped. Therefore, rather than attempt to put things directly on links offered on the municipal website, I have decided to try to get the information out to people doing their research by offering the group on Facebook.
So, if you are interested in talking to someone about Cervinara, or are interested in getting nuts and bolts information about how to get to Cervinara, where to stay, what to do, etc., drop me a line or post a question and you will get a quick and speedy response.  My goal is to bring Cervinara to the world, and to bring Cervinara's descendants back there.  I hope to hear from you soon!

Seasonality

There is something sort of comforting about living according to the seasons, something natural and reassuring in eating what comes from the fields next door rather than across the ocean.  There are times, of course, when it would be nice to be able to eat out of season.  I have missed asparagus (available for only a few weeks in the spring).  I have had way too much of peppers, zucchini and eggplant.  But overall, eating locally and seasonally here in Cervinara has proven to be a healthy and happy way of life.
We know when the seasons change here by what is on our plates.  When we arrived at the end of May, we were able to enjoy the strawberries and cherries that were bursting with juice.  I remember picking strawberries in Connecticut as a child.  Those sweet red gems would stain our hands and lips as we ate as many as we picked.  What a treat to have homemade strawberry shortcake for supper as a reward for our hard work!  I fear that children in Connecticut now have no idea what a real strawberry tastes like; those hard, dry berries from California will never measure up.  I would rather have the real thing for a few weeks than the genetically modified version that we get now.  Well, the strawberries here are like those of my youth; imperfectly shaped, but full of juicy sweetness. 
Come summer, the peaches come into season.  For us, a peach is a peach.  For the folks here, every peach is different and worthy of its own recipes.  There are red peaches, white peaches, and percocche to dunk in a glass of red wine.  There are fuzzless peaches and tiny early peaches that are sweet and satisfy that need for peach flavor before the big ones are available. Then there are the melons.  Oh the melons!  Long watermelon, round watermelon, cantaloupes, yellow wrinkled melons (these have been superb this year), melons that are hung to dry to be consumed at Christmas.  The melons are amazing!
For veggies, we are never lacking.  Green beans in early summer, and then later in the fall the second crop comes in.  In between, they can't be found.  Summer squashes, peppers, and eggplant abound through the hot months of July and August.  Mid-way through September, we start to have broccolini, those bitter greens that go so well with orecchiete and sausage.  Orange squash, similar in color and flavor to our butternuts, but shaped more like a pumpkin show up on the fruit trucks.  Fall is the time for those rich, comfort foods that everyone craves.
But the true sign of the change of seasons, and of the local produce we love, are the mushrooms.  When it rains in September, the mushrooms begin to sprout.  Folks trudge up and down the mountains, wearing Wellies and flannel shirts, carrying baskets for their prizes and special sticks to pry these treats from their hiding places, all in search of the wild mushrooms.  I've never been brave enough to try to identify the good ones from the poisonous ones, so we rely on the generosity of our friends to satisfy our cravings. 
Yesterday, Giovanni Raviele, a distant cousin, came by with a big plate of these treasures.  There were "tuorli" (egg yolks) that look just like a hard boiled egg.  These are best sliced very thin and marinated in lots of fresh lemon juice.  There were porcinis, that are best sauteed up with some garlic and onion.  And there were other kinds, of unknown name but of stupendous flavor, that I have chopped up and frozen so that we will be able to enjoy these treats a bit longer.
Today I made a mushroom risotto that was pretty darn good, if I do say so myself.  Just a bit of onion, a cup or so of the mushrooms, a hot pepper and some broth was all we needed to make a creamy, yummy risotto that really hit the spot. 
I know that in Connecticut we can never really live according to the seasons.  When I go back to my Stop & Shop, I'll be buying asparagus all winter and will enjoy it too.  But living here in Cervinara has given me a sense of how our forbears used to live, how they carefully preserved whatever came from their land and how every season was special.  I appreciate now how the authenticity and origin of our food really do matter.  Buon appetito!

911, Italian Style

There are so many wonderful things about living in Italy, far too many to mention.  There's the food, the weather, the new friendships, the opportunities for travel and the quirky little things that lurk around every corner.  But, there are some downsides too.
Last week I wrote about my distress with the litter and graffiti that plague much of southern Italy.  It's an eyesore, but in general not life threatening.  I don't think I can say the same about Italy's emergency response system!
In many ways, Italy takes better care of its people than does the United States; it provides good health care at little to no cost, the law requires that a pharmacy be open 24/7 somewhere in every town, there is a "guardia medica" in every town for drop in visits after office hours and on weekends.  The guardia medica office is staffed by local physicians who take turns being there on call.  So, even in a small town like Cervinara, there are lots of options for health care and for emergency services.There are however, serious weaknesses in the emergency response process, and I would like to share a recent event that, while funny, showed up some of the holes in the Italian system of responding to emergency situations.
My sister Mary and her husband Bill were visiting us at the end of June and, on our way home from the market we decided to stop at the cemetery to visit the Salvatore Raviele family chapel.  It's part of our weekly routine to stop in on our way back up the hill to sweep things out and to light a candle for my in-laws and relatives.  On this fateful day, I unlocked the chapel door and left the keys in the keyhole, as is my normal habit.  The four of us entered the chapel.  The door opens in, and it was rather crowded in the small space, so we closed the door.  It latched.  It locked.  We were trapped.
Normally, this wouldn't pose too much of a problem because there are always people around the cemetery, cleaning the graves of their loved ones.  But it was lunch time and everyone was home preparing the big noon meal.  Our cries of "Aiuto!" went unheard.  It was time for more drastic measures.  The day was very hot and the temperature inside the chapel was heading up over 100 degrees.  My husband took out his phone and dialed 118. 
There is not a universal 911 number for all emergencies in Italy.  There is a special number for each need: highway accidents, fire, police, water emergencies, etc.  Since Cervinara is in the province of Avellino, it was that city's emergency squad who answered our call.  "We are trapped in a chapel in Cervinara.  Can you please send someone to get us out?"  We assumed they would contact Cervinara's police department to send a rescue squad....but no!  That's not how it works here.  We were told we would be rescued by the Avellino fire department that is located over an hour away!  And they hung up.
We waited a bit, it got hotter and hotter, and we called back.  "Can't you call Cervinara and have them send someone?  We are getting overheated and are feeling unwell."  No....that's not how it's done, we are told again.  At this point my husband's Italian temper got the better of him and he threatened to sue the town, the region, the province, the country and Jesus Christ himself if someone wasn't here to let us out soon.  No response.
Finally, we asked for the phone number of Cervinara's town hall.  At first they were reluctant to even give us that information, but after some more persuasive words from dear hubby, they relented.  This time I got on the phone.  In my slightly accented Italian, with a voice quivering with false tears, I pleaded my case with the Cervinara phone operator.  "Oh signora, don't be afraid!  Someone will be there soon! Please stay calm!"  It was funny because they were so concerned that I was afraid of being locked in the cemetery, when in reality it was just the heat and frustration that were getting to us all. 
True to their word, within ten minutes a young man was at our chapel letting us out.  All it took was an hour, half a dozen phone calls, some serious threats and a semi-hysterical American to get the job done!  Shortly after we were out, Avellino called again to check on our status.  Told that we had been freed, they radioed their rescue squad to return to their base, they asked me if my husband had calmed down, and then were happy to be rid of us!

I know that ours wasn't a life-threatening situation, although it could have been if we had been forced to stay inside that oven-like chapel for much longer.  We all had a good laugh over our adventure and we now no longer leave the keys in the door.  But I sometimes wonder how  this byzantine bureaucracy survives.  There has got to be a better way! 

Why Italy Makes Me Cry

I love Italy.  I love the people, I love the natural beauty, I love the history, I even love the quirky bureaucracy that drives everyone crazy.  But there is an ugly side to Italy, one that I hate to acknowledge and yet one that is unavoidable, like a huge zit on the nose of a beautiful woman.
Italy is dirty.  And too many Italians contribute to this blight.  Not inside their homes.  No!  It is rare the Italian home that is not so clean one could eat off the floors.  Italian housewives are obsessive with their cleanliness, scrubbing and bleaching, washing windows and dusting...all on a daily basis.  In my world, window washing is a once a year event, if I'm lucky.  Here, it's not unusual to see women washing down windows and walls every week.  If a woman works or is too frail to do the chores herself, there is no shame in bringing in outside help for these jobs.  Seriously, Italian homes are pristine!
But once you step outside your door, all bets are off.  Here in the south particularly, litter and graffiti are blights on the landscape.  Graffiti of the most inane kinds mar the walls of most public buildings, both inside and out.   Schools, train stations, walls, even churches: nothing is immune to an idiot with a spray can.
Good graffiti doesn't bother me so much.  Graffiti can be public art at its best.  Driving into NYC, I always enjoy passing the trains with great graphics and original designs.  But here, it is more in the nature of "Maria and Immo went to Naples on 6/12/12", or "Angela, you are my life!".  Worse is the profanity, much of it American, I fear, with FU becoming part of the lingua franca here.  So, we find lovely buildings, or even not so lovely ones, rendered ugly and marred with ridiculous and pointless phrases.
And then there is the litter and the garbage that have become an unfortunate part of just about every landscape.  Everyone has seen the famous sights of piles of garbage accumulating on streets in Naples.  This is an occasional and unfortunate occurrence that is due to a variety of factors, from lack of landfill areas to the Comorra organized crime families.  That doesn't bother me so much.  Naples is a huge, overcrowded city with hundreds of narrow streets, many too narrow for cars let alone a garbage truck.  The act of collecting the refuse of these millions of people is difficult to say the least.  They are getting it done, and this year there seems to be fewer issues with the garbage.
No, what makes me cry is the litter, the thoughtless dropping of papers, bottles and cigarette butts with nary a thought to finding a bin or waiting until you get home to dispose of the refuse.  Here in Cervinara, there is a campaign to keep the town clean.  Public announcements are placed around the city, reminding us that "If you love your town you will keep it clean".  But they don't work!  People who are our neighbors and friends will drop a wrapper or a paper napkin without a thought.  And the litter stays on the street until the street sweepers come along once a week or so to clean up the mess.  Worse is what is found in the fields and vacant lots.  Street sweepers don't head into those areas, so plastic bottles and bags, papers and boxes all get blown into the grass and there they stay.  When the big mowers come along every couple of months, they just chop the junk into little bits, making it even harder to collect.
We have garbage pick up on a daily basis, with recycling being done by about 75% of the population.  Then why as we are driving along the road do we see bag after bag of garbage that someone has tossed out a car window?  Why can't it be put out with the rest of the trash and be picked up as it should?  And why are tires and mattresses and old appliances left out to blight the landscape when all it takes is a call to town hall to arrange for a pick up of bulky items?
This is not just a Cervinara problem.  Oh no!  Cervinara is pristine and spotless compared to some of the other areas we drive by.  This entire region is known for its cavalier attitude towards public cleanliness and it has got to stop.  It boggles my mind how the same people who maintain such spotless homes are willing to live with such filth outside.
OK, so I have spoken my mind.  If I have offended those of you who love Italy, so be it.  No one loves this country more than I do.  She deserves more respect than what I see around me. 

Local girl makes good. Congratulations Ketty!

Cervinara is a town that has sent out its children into the world; if you have followed my blog you know that there are pockets of Cervinaresi all over Italy, into the US and Canada, and down into Australia and South America as well.  As lovely as Cervinara is now, it must have been a very harsh place, back when food was scarce and central heating and plumbing unknown.  But the products of this small town have made great contributions to the world in many venues, from science and research to the arts and literature.  Cervinara has begun a program to honor some of her native sons and daughters and recently we were able to share the joy and pride of this honor with one of our dear friends.

The Onorio Ruotolo award is given every year to a deserving citizen of Cervinara who has met the abovementioned criteria.  Ruotolo was a sculptor who was born and spent part of his childhood in the Ferrari section of town, who then moved away and became recognized as a great artist and poet.  One of his sculptures is found in our Villa Communale.  He spent most of his adult life in the USA, doing many public and private projects in the Hudson River Valley.  It is in his honor that this award is named.

We have become fast friends with our neighbors, Bianca and Lello Valente.  They are with us for only two months of our time here, but July and August are always much more fun when they are around.  We swap recipes, share treats from our kitchens, and enjoy pre-prandial chats every evening.  When we pulled into our courtyard after our 10 days in Puglia, Bianca came running out of her door with her usual energy and joie de vivre.  She grabbed me with a force uncommon in most 80+ year old ladies, hugged me fast around the neck, and then shared her great good news.  Her daughter, and our good friend Caterina (known as Ketty to those who love her), was to be the recipient of the Ruotolo award!

Ketty has had a significant career in the political realm, which wasn’t always easy for a woman to achieve back in the day.  Born in 1952, she has struggled with the same glass ceiling that most women of our generation have faced, and she has done it with grace and class.  She is currently vice-prefect for the region of Isernia, a position of great responsibility and with many demands on her time and energy.  She was originally hesitant to accept this award, and it was only with significant arm-twisting that she agreed to be honored by the town of her birth.

And so, on the evening of August 17, Mike and I, along with about a hundred other friends and family, came together at the town hall to honor Ketty Valente.  There were of course many speeches about her achievements, but the crowning moment of the evening came when Ketty addressed the audience.  Her acknowledgment of her humble beginnings and how she would have been nothing without the hard work and support of her grandparents and parents moved everyone in the audience.  It is so important to recognize that we are not wholly responsible for our own successes, but that we owe the majority of what we achieve to our forebears and the lessons that have been carried down to us. 

For me, the most important part of Ketty’s presentation was a gift she made to each of us in the audience; a parchment with the following quote by Luigi Sturzo.   “Il cittadino deve essere educato non con I favori, ma con la giustizia, non con le pretese di privilegi e vantaggi individuali, ma con l’assistenza nel far valere I propri diritti: non con le raccomandazioni per ottenere quell che non e’ giusto, ma con l’equa valutazione dei bisogni e delle esigenze collettive.”

Roughly translated, this says “The citizen must be educated not with favors, but with justice, not with the claims of privilege and individual advantages, but with assistance in asserting his or her rights: not with recommendations to get that which is not just, but with a fair assessment of the needs of the entire community.”

After the ceremony Mike and I were invited back to the house where we shared a nice supper of pizzas and antipasti, and some great wine provided by our good friend Maurizio Zollo, founder of the Rocca dei Sanniti vineyard.  We were so honored to have been able to share this evening with the whole Valente family and to know that we are recognized as family as well.  Congratulazioni a Ketty!