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Email Bonnie & Sara

12/17/00
DonaMaria
Donamaria@comcast.net
My Dream Becomes a Reality
In November 2000, DonaMaria's dream came true when she visited Roccamorice, the paese of her grandfather, Salvatore Cafarelli, and met relatives still living there. What follows is her moving account of this trip, illustrated with photos she took.

DonaMaria

25 November 2000

Although I didn't know the exact date, I came to know I'd lived most of my adult life for the morning of 25 November 2000. At 6:00 on a cool morning in Roma, Italy, I left my hotel for the Termini treno station to begin my journey to Roccamorice, the little town of my grandfather in the province of Pescara on the Adriatic coast. My ticket was purchased in America, however, reservations are not permitted on Regionale trains and I needed to arrive in good time to secure a seat. You can purchase a ticket, but in reality it is strictly on a first come first serve basis.

As I write, I realize it will be a shame if I don't offer the reader some details about the actual train trip and my feelings associated with the experience of crossing Italy as I chugged along to the Adriatic coast. This is why I came became my mantra. My need was to be within each moment - focusing on the well-used phrase life is a journey, not a destination. I would pinch myself several times during the 3-½ hour trip while taking in some of the most breath-taking landscape I'd ever be blessed to experience.

As the train pulled out from the station at 7:40 my heart was filled with enormous emotion I shook my head back and forth in disbelief, wiping away a few tears. I really was on a train in Italy, embarking on a momentous journey to see the little town where my grandfather Salvatore was born and raised. And, If I were especially lucky, I'd have the opportunity to meet his nieces and nephews who stayed on, in part to carry out his and the Cafarelli family legacy.

Once out and away from Rome the train began to climb gently and the fog became thick. Because I planned to see the towns along the way, this was a concern. After going through a very long tunnel (5-10 minutes in duration) we came out only to find the fog lifted in that area. In fact, it was mostly sunny and I thought, God is blessing this journey with a miracle. Fog clung to trees and to the mountainsides, still hovering over and around some isolated areas, and each patch seemed to sway as the train passed, as if to dance for my amusement. I thought "I was meant to see this, and this is why I came"...

The train was electric and smooth and no where near half full. I felt it effortlessly glide along the rails, and the word "butter" kept springing to mind as I noticed it. When the train curved around the bends the pitch was so that it seemed to flow with fluidic motion - no rigidity what so ever. Each time we approached a town I could hear the train whistle blowing ahead, a calling out announcing our arrival and passing. I was surprised because this was not a fast Pendolino EuroStar, or even an IC train, but a simple regional train with comfortable, upholstered individual seating. Although I was in "Primo," I am quite sure "Secondo" class would have been comfortable as well. The only differences I saw were the number of seats to a car, and in Secondo they all faced forward. The train, which was only about 5 or 6 cars, passed through perhaps 15 to 20 small towns but made only about 9 or 10 stops though the mountains winding it's way to Pescara. At most, the stops lasted 1-2 minutes, and only occasionally we stopped on the tracks to wait for an oncoming train. At several stops I instinctively jumped up--as if propelled by some unknown energy within me, urging me to grasp one of two handles and pull the large lock-less window down. I needed to take in the view of the train station by looking up and down the sides of the train, sometimes through a camera lens. Opening the windows at stops is common practice in Italy. It strikes me that travelers like to watch and see who is coming aboard, and perhaps wave goodbye to those left standing on the platform. Here's as good a place as any to note--I saw very few if any tourists on board. Opening the windows as the train moves along is also usual, and I did that several times to breathe in the cool, crisp mountain air.

Stopping at a station along the way in Abruzzo; note the grafitti.

View of a valley town in Abruzzo, from the train.

My good friend Pamela was my traveling companion for this trip. She visited Italy previously and went to some of the major cities, but not to the mountains or Adriatic coast. As was her usual traveling fare, she began to rest after boarding the train. She says resting makes the traveling time pass quicker for her ... I, on the other hand, was in no hurry. Half way through the trip I got so excited I woke her up and asked her why she wasn't taking pictures! Still not rested, she dismissed me with a wave and said that it was beautiful but she came for the people. I know she thought I was nuts as I looked at the panoramic view of more than one small antiquated town built into the rocks on the side of the mountains, snapping my pictures. I mean, just how many pictures can you take of landscape, rocky cliffs with houses that are centuries old, expansive valleys below and greenery? Clearly, I was a woman focused on a mission and I told her, "But, this is why I came"...

Two of the many Abruzzese towns seen from the train.

It was obvious to those in our comfortable car that we were tourists, and because there was only a handful of people, I was able to move about freely from one side of the car to the other, taking in the view. I fondly remember one young man who heard my gasp after rounding a bend to a clearing...the sight was awesome--a bridge on the autostrada. With camera in hand I tried to get the image before the scattered brush along the tracks blocked my camera's view. He recognized that and very softly said, "Please, you can try from here" in English, as he offered his seat space to me. At that moment I was envious of him and of course, thanked him for his kindness. I thought the people were very warm and gracious and as tourists we were stared at a lot! Also, I shouldn't forget to mention the man who stood outside our car's door, face pressed to the glass. He stood there for quite some time trying to make eye contact with me, and every time I glanced in his direction he winked several times and smiled. Who said Italians aren't friendly!

A young man volunteered his seat to DonaMaria so that she could take this photo of the autostrada that crosses Abruzzo. High bridges like these, as well as tunnels, are frequent--they serve to keep the road level in this mountainous terrain.

Pescara Centrale Station

I arrived in Pescara with great anticipation for what was to come next. Before leaving for Italy I was in close contact with Valentina Donatelli from www.Regione.Abruzzo.it. This lovely woman located a driver, Antonio DeAcetis, who is from a town near Roccamorice. He agreed to be our guide during our visit there. Antonio doesn't speak English but has a friend and co-worker who does, and his name is Horst Fassbender.

We got off the train and looked around--we had no idea whom to look for. We stood on the platform in a foreign country unsure of our next move. We decided to go downstairs to the terminal in hopes we would be found. I spotted 2 men holding a sign with my name printed on it. When I shrieked with sheer excitement, "THAT'S ME!" they both looked at me and smiled, realizing they were successful at finding us. I immediately began talking to the man holding the sign, unaware that he might not be the one who speaks English. He wasted no time advising me he didn't, through the motion of his hands on a steering wheel. It became apparent he was Antonio, our driver. Horst, our interpreter, introduced himself and Antonio to us. After the introductions and a few moments of brief awkwardness, we headed out of the station towards Antonio's car.

It didn't take us long to get acquainted and comfortable with each other. I can say with certainty ...they felt as comfortable with us as we did with them. I told them why it was important for me to take the train to Pescara and go to Roccamorice. These gentle men were genuinely warm, considerate and charming. They were at our disposal and inquired about our itinerary. In the flash of a second I realized any "agenda" I might have had was either left at Roma Termini, or it flew right out one of the train's open windows. I told them we were there for the experience and since they live there, to please show us what they love and think of as important. From that point forward they did just that.

Antonio is from Caramanico Terme, a beautiful town just a few miles from Roccamorice. He's a soft-spoken, considerate professional driver. Years ago he drove the school bus from La Rocca to Pescara and back, which is about 70 miles round trip! Horst, who went to school in Pescara, joked about how difficult it was for him to get on the bus during the very cold winter mornings. He resides in San Valentino, is of German descent, and has lived in Italy since he was a toddler. His stepfather is Italian and that is how he came to live there. He too is warm, considerate and professional, not to mention linguistically gifted with 3 languages. I was very impressed with his knowledge of the English language and I could tell he was very flattered when I told him so. He claimed English was not his strong suit. I grew very fond of both of these people, and we could not have asked for a more perfect duo to share our time with while in Abruzzo. Both men are employed at a hotel in Caramanico Terme called "La Reserve." Antonio is a driver for tourists, Horst is an interpreter. Their employer is closed for a few months this time of year so they were temporarily "out of work." Again, I feel we were blessed to have Antonio and Horst available during our visit. The "fates" were clearly on our sides...

Onward to Roccamorice

The trek up to La Rocca was filled with conversation and laughter. I thoroughly enjoyed my new friends, and had no difficulty communicating with Horst. I was in awe of the many little towns snuggled into the mountainsides, and stopped many times to take photos. Reaching Roccamorice was just as I had imagined...narrow winding roads that seemed more like paths at times. Antonio and Horst were thrilled because of the weather and told us we were very fortunate. Normally this time of year is quite cold and very rainy, but it was a beautiful brisk and not too chilly day, with a high in the low to mid 50's. The sun was shining and made everything look so alive. Above, the snowy peaks of the Majella and Gran Sasso glistened, and I knew this must be heaven. As I breathed in Italy I confided to Horst, "This is why I came"...

Left: A view into the ravine from via Ventura in La Rocca. Above: A view into the Majella from La Rocca

Our new friends decided the best plan of action was to take us to the azienda agritouristica "Tholos" where we would be staying the night. The "Tholos" is a new agritourism farm in Roccamorice, owned by Gabriele Pavone and his wife, Maria Marsilii. Gabriele, who did the cooking while we were there, is a fantastic chef. He doesn't speak any English but he welcomed us with open arms, and offered to prepare us "a little something" for lunch. We encouraged Antonio and Horst to eat with us, and they gladly obliged. I ate the best spaghetti I've ever had (that's a credit to Gabriele's cooking) and the vino was excellent -- Filomusi Guelfi Montepulciano D'Abruzzo, a full-bodied red wine -- and Gabriele said it is made approximately 10 miles from Roccamorice in Tocco da Casauria. With napkins tucked under our chins and glasses clanking with "salutes" we settled in for what proved to be a well prepared, delicious lunch. Finally, a meal in the land of my grandfather with my glass raised in his honor, I knew immediately, "This is why I came"...

Horst, Gabriele and Antonio at the Tholos.

After lunch my traveling mate and I followed the little path on the side of the Tholos, which lead to a separate entrance to our apartment - complete with kitchen, 2 bedrooms, and bath. We unpacked and freshened up before going out to explore Roccamorice and the surrounding towns. What more could we need? The price for 1 night and half board was unbeatable -- 40.00 US. Valentina Donatelli had said I would be happy at the Tholos, and she had encouraged me to stay rather than going back to Pescara that night. She was absolutely correct, as I was very happy and I actually felt that in some unexplained way, I was home...

The tholos (stone shepherd's hut) on the property of AgriturismoTholos, from which it takes its name.

Antonio and Horst told Gabriele we'd be gone for hours exploring and visiting my family, and they would deliver us some time early evening for yet again his well prepared dinner. Besides meeting my family, I knew I wanted to visit the hermitages Eremo di Santo Spirito and San Bartolomeo. Much to my chagrin, I was unable to visit the latter since I twisted my knee on our flight over, and the footpath was at least an hour to the hermitage. Next time...

S. Spirito was more than I imagined, and the photos do not offer it due justice. We drove up and Horst advised us that the state ordered it closed about 6 months ago. Up until then the monks lived there and hosted visitors through while explaining the history of this incredible 8th century hermitage. We were told that there was no real reason given for it's closure, and the people of Roccamorice and surrounding areas were not happy about it. It was good for tourism, and beyond that there was no one to welcome the visitors. The town's people liked that the monks were on the mountain. We spent a few hours mulling around in awe, taking photos, and hanging on every word interpreted through Horst, as Antonio and Horst were full of knowledge and facts about the area. I was surprised to learn that the monks used the stairs on the side of the rocks, which were quite steep, to pray. They climbed the steps on their knees and prayed until they reached the top. I stood below on the bottom step and tried to visualize the monks on their knees climbing and praying. With a sore knee in tow, I climbed up the stairs with my friends. As I did so I felt emotions stirring and rising from deep within me to a swelling which caught in my throat...I knew the energy I felt was that of the ancients, and that I was indeed on holy ground. I took it all in, time stood still, and it was good. I thought to myself, "This is why I came..."

Eremo di Santo Spirito, Roccamorice.

Above: The prayer steps at Santo Spirito. Right: Antonio, DonaMaria and Horst at Santo Spirito.

Paying absolutely no attention to what might be going on around us, we headed down the path/drive to the car and noticed a man below with a red truck, a couple of mules, and two horses. I asked Horst to inquire if it would be OK to take his picture, and that of his animals... he was kind and obliging. He said he uses his horses and mules to haul dead wood out of the forest on the mountain, and he sells it down below to the town folk who need it for firewood. The mountain is so steep, the only way to get the dead wood is by animal.

Antonio with the Roccolano and his work horses and mules, just below Santo Spirito.

The animals had worked up a sweat under the harnesses, which the man was removing before offering them each a feedbag of oats. He leaves them in a fenced off area at the foot of the hill, where we saw them, until the weather gets too bad. Then, I believe he uses a trailer (different than the truck he had with him) to haul the animals home. I also remember Horst saying the man said he owns land nearby. Heading back down to LaRocca we encountered several rock climbers geared up and attempting to make their way up the side of a rocky cliff--apparently they too thought it was a great and glorious day for adventure...

**Continued on the next page; Click Here or on the link for Pg. 7A, below.

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