Okay – truth – we’ve been here for 7 days now and have done squat. We’ve eaten gelato, fine dinners, and pasta “fatto en casa” (homemade), yummy stuff with lots of pesto and multiple hands to make it easy. It is easy — we have five adults, each courteous and responsible for themselves. Nice. We like courtesy. Lew is doing the driving so far — also a nice thing, as he is the calm one and rolls those skinny hairpin turns with the best of them. One-car roads are being used for two-way traffic — no problem, hidden entrances — good reflexes — sudden motorcycles in the way — not a deal. We’re able to let him drive, and we chill.
Last evening (Saturday), we visited Robertone restaurant — a prix-fixe sort of dinner that brought out, we think, 13 separate small bites of tastes of all sorts. We came in at 8:30 and closed the place down near midnight, wandering out after a final limoncello for the folks and hearty blessing for their future and son Mario’s education. It was an all-evening experience on the side of the Mediterranean, waves lazily splashing up against the breakwaters, the moon a young crescent against the night sky. It was chilly, but outside was much preferred to inside. The large interior of the place was full of loud-speaking, laughing, animated Italians celebrating something. Our choice was to be able to hear and enjoy the location. It didn’t disappoint; our history with the owner brings us back to support him in his new restaurant endeavor. His doctor says he needs to get his weight down for his health. Like the rest of us…
Today, we slept in and then went to Romaggi, the old village of the 1000-year-old Roman outpost, now a small fraction of a town, with about 35 inhabitants total. It’s one village perched on the spine of a ridge, crowned by a (San Michael) church with bell tower, and surrounded by vegetable gardens. At some early time, my and cousin John Lavezzi’s ancestors began their married life at this church, and from there, we all sprouted some 150 years later. We celebrated our shared past and honored those who braved the challenges that eventually brought us into being. Our living, breathing, loving ancestors lived here where we spend our time. That and on the individual laptops doing and exchanging thoughts on “those people.” We have two main towns to scour for information and participation. The other one is this upcoming weekend.
The ceremony is a religious event celebrated in the small church that is totally updated and repainted over objections of the Holy Mother, the Church Fathers, et al. Here’s how this goes: The Church began this plan decades ago by sending its resources to outlying countries and pulling back from secure Catholic locations like Italy. They stopped investing in the ones that seemed solid, coldly spitting off those that did not. People wanted to care for their churches but were told “no.”
Come to the new millennium, and now there are few priests or nuns, and the thousands of existing churches need attention from smaller pockets with greatly limited resources. An American gave the money to update — maybe a quarter of a million dollars — and it’s now beautifully unmoldy and repaired. People love their churches’ art and take it personally to know who made what.
The new priests are missionaries from Africa. The lovely but African (Berundi ) priest seems in stark contrast to his white-faced congregation of souls. He has spent time here and considers Italy his home, having spent 22 years here. Is it ironic that missionaries are sent back to the country that operated as the cradle of Catholicism because the country in question has none of its own anymore? The priest — Don Salvatore — sounds Italian… and we like him, a warm and lovely man. We marched around the backbone road of this town, singing, praying, and praising God, the local men straining to raise the ‘portare’ (statue) high in blessing. We are Catholics for a day at least, honoring the ineffable mysteries that brought us here, the celebrations and rituals not yet lost in time. Then we eat like neighbors, with local residents, visit cemeteries, and admire the sunset.
We ended on a high note, of course — driving into the center of town for a cappuccino and various forms of gelati late toward the end of day. Peach and vanilla, violet and almond, chocolate and coconut, pistaccio. So good. One has to keep their perspective in the moment for the highest enjoyment of life.
We have lots of genealogy to do and lots of everything we need to get that done, but for now, it’s late, and we are sated. Thanks for traveling with us. We’re sleeping late, enjoying time in the presence of a view and water, plants, greens, etc., and generally doing nothing. Appreciative of this good fortune — yes!
Sounds lovely!