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"My Dream Becomes A Reality" ...continued

Back in La Rocca we drove through the narrow streets, as Horst interpreted Antonio’s tidbits about different buildings and the area.  Along the way people stopped to speak to Antonio, who seemed to know everyone and we surely got the impression that Antonio was  well liked in the area.  We learned that Horst’s brother delivers the bread from one of the towns below, because there is no longer a bakery to make the bread.  I felt a certain sadness for the town folk because such a beautiful little town didn’t have a bakery to call it’s own any longer.  I told Horst I was sad about my grandfather's town not having a bakery, and if I baked good Italian bread I would move there to open a bakery.

We drove to and around the towns of Caramanico Terme, San Valentino and San Tommaso, where we walked around and visited churches.  I thought it a very humbling experience to visit churches older than anything we have in the America.  Antonio was rich with historical knowledge of many of the area towns and their beloved churches.  We entered the very beautiful church of S. Tommaso near Caramanico.  The main portal was magnificent--carvings of Christ and the apostles with an ancient fresco resting above them.  Antonio told us a story about one column inside that was visibly unique and different from the others, and how it was "miraculously" hoisted onto its resting-place.  We also went down into a crypt directly underneath the main altar.

The early 13th century church of S.Tomasso Apstolo, near Caramanico Terme.

The main portal of the church is an art treasure, with romanesque/gothic carvings of Christ and the apostles, and the remains of an ancient fresco in the lunette.

I was awe-struck at this church, but the one thing that stood out above the rest was a life-size figure of Jesus laid out in a glass coffin, with a statue of Mary guarding over him.  It was magnificent, and I told Horst that I have never witnessed anything like this in America.  He explained that it is a part of their religious culture in Italy, and is very commonplace.  I was so envious of both his knowledge and residence, and I imagined living in one of the small towns we visited…

Speaking of gelato – both Horst and Antonio told us that the town where Horst lives has the very best gelato in the entire area, and did we want to visit and have some?  ABSOLUTELY!  We arrived next to the gelateria where there were no parking spots available.  Antonio pulled up behind a few cars in what appeared to be the middle of a side street and turned off the ignition.  Of course I asked about the parking and was told “this is the way we park in Italy.”  Both Pam and I had a good chuckle…  no need to worry about a parking ticket from roving policemen!  We entered the quaint La Gelateria di San Valentino, a charming little shop complete with tables and chairs and video games.  Several young boys from the town were playing games, and I felt like a child all over again, giggling in anticipation over what I was about to experience… hands down, it was absolutely the very best gelato I’ve had the pleasure of eating.  We four adults sat around a table licking our gelato like little kids.  I tried to get my bearings on how each town related to the other geographically, and because of the language barrier, Antonio drew a map on a napkin illustrating the area for me.  I still have that little napkin and I imagine I always will.  While enjoying our gelato we taught Horst the word “yummy,” and I don’t think it’s a word he’ll soon forget!  It was a long day filled with wonder as our hosts kept us touring till well after darkness.  My heart was warmed by their commitment to showing us what we came to experience.  They knew without a doubt, “This is why I came…”

Antonio's napkin-map.

Meeting my Family It was about 7pm when we decided to go back to Roccamorice and attempt to meet my family.  Our new friends spoke with Gabriele from the Tholos, who knew the name of the street where my cousins lived.  We parked the car and as we were getting out, Horst saw a man he knew who told him the exact home of the Ferrari’s.  My cousins Tonino, Aldo and Lydia Ferrari are the sons and daughter of Grazia Cafarelli, sister to my grandfather Salvatore. As we walked down the street a wave of panic struck me – what if they were not home, or what if they didn’t like surprises?  You know, all those things you think of when you think you could have done it differently, struck me then and there.   Horst rang the bell and knocked loudly.  I noted to myself that my knees knocking loudly too.  The moment had arrived!  From the second floor we heard a voice--we instinctively looked up and found a woman speaking to us with her head poked out a window.  As was only natural, she was inquiring about us, and Horst patiently interpreted my frantic words so she would understand the nature of our visit.  Another woman appeared in the window, and when I mentioned my grandfather Salvatore’s name, she became excited and left the window to come down to let us in.  I knew in that brief moment, with still-trembling knees, “Indeed, this is why I came…” We were escorted in and went upstairs where my cousins Armida and AnnaRita then greeted us.  We hugged and kissed cheeks and I think they were as amazed about me as I was about them.  Armida is Tonino’s wife, AnnaRita their daughter.  They told us that Tonino went to the barber and would soon return, and invited us into the kitchen for an aperitivo and fruit.  I think the first few moments were a bit awkward for everyone but that soon passed.  It’s not every day they have strangers knocking at their doorway in the dark, announcing they’ve traveled from America to meet them!  My Italian family hasn't met many of us from America, as I am only the 4th to make the journey.  Twenty or so years ago my Uncle Tot (Alberto) and his wife Marion stopped by during their travels through Italy.  My cousin Nina, who now resides in England, has visited twice.  The first time was 5 or 6 years ago with her husband Tony.  The second time, a couple of years later, was for the benefit of her father and mother (my Uncle Biase--Bobby--and Aunt Jean), who were on holiday to see her in England.  From what I could glean, my relatives have never been to America, so they are just as inquisitive about us as we are about them.

Shortly after our arriving Tonino came home, and cousin Lydia came over.  Introductions were made and we all sat in the kitchen while Horst worked his magic interpreting for both sides.  My cousins were stern with me for a few reasons – I didn’t come sooner, I wasn’t staying overnight with them (they have 10 rooms!), and lastly my Italian was quite poor and next to none, and they wished I was able to speak directly with them.  I was embarrassed about not speaking Italian, but we all laughed and I promised that when I return to Italy I would know the language much better.  That is a promise I plan to keep… We got all the family information straight--them, our relatives who emigrated to Toronto, and those of us back in America.  Through Horst I was surprised to learn something no one in my family seemed to know back in the states.  The collective "we" thought Salvatore had 2 siblings, but they told us there were 6 in all!  Besides Salvatore, Grazia and Giuseppe, there was Maria Concetta, Carminella, and Angelino!  This was where I felt the lump in my throat thicken and widen… the very same one I felt at Santo Spirito as I climbed the prayer steps.  We in America have lived our entire lives up to this day unenlightened about our own people.

DonaMaria with her Ferrari cousins in La Rocca.  Left to right: Tonino, DonaMaria, Lydia, AnnaRita and Armida.

I am not aware of any of us who consciously realized that grandpa had five siblings.  I think if one family member had known that, it would only make sense that we all would have known it too, and we didn't.  I was both saddened and elated with the information that was being offered to me.  By asking about Grazia and Giuseppe, I was blessed with the knowledge about the others.  I was so very grateful to have met people who were alive and well, who could share important history with me about my grandfather's immediate family.  I vowed to pass that information along in America... We laughed and hugged and took pictures together.  I felt like family to my geographically distant relatives and that I, DonaMaria, mattered.  Lydia is the baby in her family… and my mother Helen (Elena) is the baby in ours.  It wasn't always so though--the youngest in mom's family was Arthur, who was killed by a car when he was about 12 years old.  I told Lydia she reminded me a lot of my mother--the resemblance was strong and they could be sisters.  Unfortunately, I did not get to meet my cousin Aldo and his wife.  I must admit that because it was such an emotional meeting for me, I neglected to ask about them, and they neglected to mention him.  So, I have something extra to look forward to on my next visit…  We stayed only a few hours, as we didn’t want to impose any longer since we called on them without warning.  As we were leaving, Lydia put her coat on and followed us downstairs.  She told Horst she wanted to show me the house of my grandfather, which she now occupies.  Somewhere along the way in life I heard mumblings that Grandpa owned a house in Italy, which amazed me--he was only 17 or 18 when he emigrated.   I have inklings he must have always been that mature white-haired man I knew and loved.  I was about to see where Salvatore spent his youth.  “Oh my,” I thought to myself,  “This is the reason I came…”

We walked into Lydia’s home and it was simply beautiful.  The family spent much time renovating the interior.  Again I felt my emotions rise into my throat as she talked about her mother Grazia raising 10 or 11 children in that 3 or 4 room house.  She repeatedly told me it was small and I told her it was perfect.  I took pictures of the inside for our family back in America, as I knew my mother and her siblings would also want to see it.  My Uncle Bobby,  who, also had the benefit of seeing it after the extensive work was done, told me that originally the floors were made of dirt.  While we were there Lydia said Grandpa still owns land, or field, not far from the house, but we knew it would be impossible to view it in the dark.  I knew my family in America would be as proud as I was to see Grandpa's house come back to life, and to see life still being lived within its walls.  I knew and loved my grandfather my whole life, but I don’t think I ever felt as close to him as when I walked into “his” house in Roccamorice.  I am very grateful to Lydia for caring enough to share her home with me, and to the Ferrari family for keeping my grandfather’s home alive.

Horst, Lydia, DonaMaria and Antonio in the home of DonaMaria's grandfather, now occupied by cousin Lydia.

Again we said our good-byes and walked back up the street to Antonio's car.  We climbed in and I thanked Antonio and Horst for taking me there, and making it possible for me to meet Tonino, Armida, Lydia, and AnnaRita. It was late and we were exhausted when we arrived back at the Tholos.   We would see Antonio again the next day since he was driving us back to Pescara to catch the train.  We knew we would not have the opportunity to see Horst again – he plays league football (soccer) and had a scheduled game the next day.  Once back at the Tholos, Antonio remarked on the “sounds.”  I stood there and heard the sounds of silence, which sent shivers down my spine.  It was so very peaceful and quiet on that mountain--a complete stillness I'd never quite heard before.  We stood very still and listened to the sounds of La Rocca, and I instinctively knew, "This is why I came..." Our friends came inside to drop us off and say goodbye to Gabriele.  I dreaded that moment because I truly did not want our time to end.  Pam and I decided that had we thought well, we would have chosen to stay in Roccamorice for the remainder of our trip.  As it was, we had left our luggage with the hotel in Roma and we each had traveled to La Rocca with only an overnight bag.  I’ll never make that mistake again... We gave our ciaos and hugs to Antonio for the evening and to Horst till next we meet in La Rocca.  After they left we sat down to one of the most magnificent, memorable meals of my life, prepared by Gabriele.  Our friends told us that people come from as far as Pescara just to dine at the Tholos, and I believed it.  We had a 7 course meal that was simply out of my world, and many of the dishes were foreign to me.  While we dined several couples came for dinner.  Gabriele and his wife have teenage children who served us, and they were professional.  Pam asked one daughter, who was about 14 or so, if she spoke any English.  She indicated she did, then, as Italians love to do, she put her fingers to her lips and kissed them.  I'm not sure if she understood Pam's question, but she was adorable.  My meal was a real treat and I knew I came all the way to the mountains of Abruzzo for this memorable occasion. After Gabriele’s feast--complete with the local vino--Pam and I realized we were well beyond exhausted.  Gabriele gave us one of his cell phones to use as an alarm clock the next morning, so we would be sure to make it downstairs for breakfast before Antonio came to take us back to Pescara.  We made our way up to our apartment, found our rooms and went to bed.  It didn’t take long to fall asleep – my mind drifted off with beautiful images of everything I experienced in Roccamorice and the nearby towns. The Next Morning – 26 November 2000 We had a nice breakfast and took a few pictures inside and outside the Tholos.  Gabriele was kind enough to allow me to purchase 3 bottles of the wine that is made nearby.  I could taste my grandfather’s wine when I drank it.  I’m not sure if it is the region or the grapes, but it doesn’t matter – what matters is that I can taste the wine my grandfather made in his wine cellar in America.  My memories became vivid--Grandpa and his wine, and how he let me quietly slip between his legs from under the table when I was very, very young… reaching up and drinking from his glass when my mother turned her head.  “Pa!  Why do you let her do that?”  His reply?  “Because she likes it!”  As adults often do, I moved away from my childhood home in Syracuse NY.  When I returned to visit my family, I also went to visit Grandpa, and sometimes we just sat and drank his wine...

Pam breakfasting at the Tholos.

DonaMaria's friend Pam in front of the Tholos.

Antonio was punctual, and Pam and I hugged Gabriele as we thanked him for his gracious hospitality.  I told him about this website, and asked him if he would mind if I put his picture on the Internet, and wrote some about him and the Tholos.  He didn’t mind – in fact he seemed very pleased.  I hope if anyone who’s reading this journal goes to Roccamorice, they look up Gabriele and tell him DonaMaria sent them.  And, both Horst and Antonio also seemed pleased when I mentioned to them that I would like to add their names and photos. Heading back to Pescara Well, we waved good-bye to the Tholos, and headed down the mountain to Pescara.  It was a quiet ride since Antonio hardly spoke any English and both Pam and I were sad to be leaving.  Along the way Antonio let me out of the car to take a few pictures.  It was a relatively clear, cool day, and beyond the towns I could see Pescara and the Adriatic coast.  What an awesome sight…  Once we arrived at the Pescara train station, Antonio surprised us!  As we thanked him for his kindness, and hugged him for our wonderful time, he told us in English that he would be there, and that he was happy!   He knew my plan was to return next year, and he was saying he would be there again, to drive.  I really look forward to next year.  Antonio was willing to drive us back to Roma and we regretted pre-purchasing our return tickets.   Next time I’ll know better... Back in the USA I’m home now.  The Christmas season is here and I am happy to say I put my Christmas tree up on December 8th this year.  Normally it goes up the weekend after Thanksgiving.   But while in Roccamorice, Horst told me that everyone puts his or her tree up on the 8th since it’s the holiday of the Immaculate Conception.  I decided to follow that tradition here at home, and it helps me to feel a little closer to the people in Roccamorice. Horst and I e-mail each other and he told me that he played his soccer game "under the water" and that in England they call it "raining cats and dogs." I'm scheduled to take my first "formal" Italian language lesson next week... I spoke with Uncle Bobby (who is Grandpa's oldest son) on Christmas day after his son Carl showed him my story.  He told me he always loved me, and if it were even possible, he now loved me more.  I knew what he meant. In closing:  Although I was not born in Roccamorice, my roots are surely there.  They are scattered about in the towns of all my grandparents--Roccamorice in Abruzzo, Campobasso in Molise, Scagliano and Reggio Calabria in Calabria.  I'm proud of my Italian heritage, and as I write I am reminded of a conversation with a friend from my youth, where in my own feeble way I attempted to tell him how I felt about being "all" Italian: "I'm a purebred!"  With his worldly wisdom he replied, "No, you're a thoroughbred." I needed to see and experience the place where my grandfather began his life.  I needed to exchange a dream for reality.  My hope is that I've assisted in some minute but significant way to bridge my family's gap over land, ocean and seas... I love my grandfather wider and deeper after having had the opportunity to feel his essence, and that of his ancestors, on the mountain in La Rocca.   I know Salvatore was with me there, on the mountain--I felt him gently prod me with every step I took, and that he was happy I cared enough… Thank you Grandpa Sam.  You are the reason I went… Thanks for listening, DonaMaria Copyright 2000, All Rights Reserved                             (**For more information about the azienda agrituristica Tholos, Click Here )

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