My trips to San Donato Val di Comino, Italy make my heart skip a beat. It is here where I can see the Italian street festivals,flea markets, or "mercato", hear the Italian bands, and share the white and red home-made wines! Sometimes there are traditions and routines, or things you remember about travelling to a particular place. Take a walk with me through Fumicino airport and on to San Donato val di Comino!
This is dedicated to the Tramantozzi family of New Hampshire and Massachussetts. I met them in San Donato, Italy in July 2007. I had decided to take a walk that afternoon, and was headed in the direction of the compagna, or farmland. My journey to the compagna was great excercise.
Suddenly, I heard a woman in San Donato saying, "Ecco l'Americana, Ecco L'Americana". I was a bit worried at first, as I thought that the caribinieri, or police were looking for me. My mind wanders like that sometimes. There was a tour bus filled with Americans, or should I say, Italian-Americans. They were the Tramantozzi family.
Their father, Frank Tramantozzi,a generous and kind man, moved to the United States as a young boy. He wanted to know about the town, but the bus driver was from Rome, and was not familiar with San Donato. Maria was the name of the Italian womanwho kept yelling, "Ecco L'Americana, Ecco L'Americana." She explained to them that if they wanted to know anything about the town, the "Americana" could show them around. The Americana she was referring to was me!. I walked on to the tour bus and I was so happy to meet the Tramantozzi family, as they were warm and friendly. Plus, it is always nice to meet people who speak English while in San Donato. I showed them the old San Donatese church, and, of course, the biggest necessity, which was food. I decided to take them to Fernando, a local trattoria in the Piazza di Liberta. I suggested that they order some of the traditional, San Donatese dishes.
The waiter brought over complimentary, mini pizza fritta and home made ricotta for starters. Yes, of course, we had Coca Cola, especially since their children were with us. It is always comforting to have a taste of America while in San Donato. We had a couple of different types of pasta, and some of the soppresata salami and cheeses. Then, I had to investigate. I wondered, "Who would know something about the Tramantozzi family in the town of San Donato?". It was my friend, Vincenzo, the owner of Bar Europa in San Donato. He knows everyone. Suddenly, he mentioned a few names, and there was a man, walking down the street, who was also a distant cousin of the Tramantozzi family.
They began to hug each other in the street. While that reunion was forming, I grabbed the mayor of the town, who happened to be walking by. His name is Antonello Antonellis. I asked him to take a picture with the Tramantozzis, as this was their first trip to San Donato. I enjoyed giving them a tour and a mini sampling of the delicious foods. Also, I made sure that they received a good deal on a large photo of San Donato, from my friend, Melanie's photo shop in town. We we were reunited back in April 2008 in the North End of Boston. Some of the Tramantozzis live in New Hampshire, while others live in the Massachusetts area. We went to the North End of Boston and had a fun night out.
The name Tramantozzi is common in San Donato, so if you do not know the nickname of the family, it is hard to locate some relatives. I was glad that Mr. Tramantozzi was able to get a hug from a cousin. Now, my trip really had meaning. They were only in San Donato for a few hours, but I hope they go back to spend more time there, and maybe we can dig through some paperwork at the local town hall to find out more about the ancestors that Mr. Tramantozzi had never met. I hope you will enjoy the rest of the story about my travels in San Donato Val di Comino, Italy.
The funny thing about routine and tradition when you are an Italian, or an Italian-American, is that you can do the same things over again, and never get tired of it! That is how I feel about my trips to San Donato, Italy.
Recently, the beauty of the hiking trail in New England brought my mind and heart back to the piazza, and the "tiny town with a soul". After the leaves have fallen in New England, I will be planning to visit the tiny town. My suitcase filled with my jeans and trendy boots.
Most of all, it will be filled with gifts for my extended family, everything from Levis, to Nike sweatshirts, anything with the "red, white, and blue".
It will be the same, without a doubt. My relatives will wait for me at the Fumicino airport, and as usual, we will stop at the "Agip" station for an espresso, or "aranciata". I always offer to pay, as they all took a day off from the Fiat factory to pick me up. The thing about my Italian family is that one relative will never come alone. They travel in packs! There is always a cousin, his wife, and maybe one of the Great Aunts. It is a day trip for them! It will be the usual discussion, as my family wants me to eat a calzone, or some other fattening food. The parma prosciutto panini will look me right in the eye from the display case, but I will turn my head and look the other way! The debate will take about 15 minutes until I convince them that I have to eat healthy, and I do not want the ricotta cheese to settle in the wrong places on my body. The parma prosciutto is the devil that will land on my hips!
Those jeans in the suitcase have to fit me well for my vacation! My relatives will try to convince me that olive oil and ricotta do not make you gain weight! After much discussion, I will have only my cup of espresso or cappuccino. Of course, the suitcases will be held together with rope on top of the fiat. My family has it down to a science. We call the rope, "la corda". La corda is a long, white, plastic coated cord, similar to a clothesline, but thicker. I always will look back to make sure that my luggage has not fallen off the hood of the car. Each time, it is the same tradition...I will hear a thump, and I will always look out the window, or my relatives to pull over to make sure that my suitcase did not fall out. After all, I really need those 10 pairs of shoes and 20 pounds of cosmetics! As we drive to the town, I will look at all of the tiny towns nestled in the green mountains. It is funny how all of the towns, bars, restaurants, and stores all have remained the same since 1978. Nothing changes in the small towns, except the size of the family!
I know all of the names of the towns by heart, and I can predict which town is coming up next around the corner. It is a fun game to play in my mind! The street signs are all the same, just a little more faded now.
My favorite sign is the one that reads "Benvenuto", which is the welcome sign of San Donato Val di Comino, just around the corner from my family's vacation home. (It is still Nonna's house, even though she passed away several years ago) It is funny how I will keep saying "Nonna Philippa and Nonno Antonio's house", no matter how long ago they have passed. As an Italian-American, I just can't let go of my grandparents. It will always be their house. I am stubborn that way.
Just around the bend, I know the "tornante" sign in front of our house will be there to greet me! It is an appropriate name for the vacation house, as it means, "sharp curve", or means that there is a bend in the road that loops back around where everyone can do a u turn.
The mopeds will speed past the house each day as the teenagers take their joy ride. That old, rusty, green, iron gate ( a little lop-sided now ) will be left open for me. Of course, the doorbell of my grandmother's home does not work, because we never replaced it since 1985. Now, my relatives and friends just do the civilized, Italian thing, which is to scream my name from below the balcony window, or just pound on the door until the windows rattle. Oh, that knock on the door at 8:00am to wake me makes me jump from the bed. I always think there is a fire or something, but it is only my relatives inviting me to lunch at 1:00pm. They worry about these things at 8:00am. My name, "Giovanna" echoes up the street and up to the green mountains. My neighbors are used to it. They know the commotion is because the "Americana" is here!
I look forward to the tranquility of the house, and the stack of firewood that will lay next to the fireplace. This is the fireplace where my grandparents roasted chestnuts, and baked potatoes. I still see nonna taking the large potatoes, wrapping it in aluminum foil, and roasting it to perfection. Also, I can still see my grandmother in her white apron, making dish towels or knitting me a sweater on the old, wooden chair next to the fireplace. The leg on the chair is wobbly, but I won't throw it out. It is Nonna's chair.
We do not have luxury furniture in our vacation home, as my grandparents were quite simple and frugal. The red couch reminds me of furniture you would see on the "I Love Lucy" show, and probably was purchased by my grandparents in the late 1940's. Each lump in the couch fits my body perfectly. The little refrigerator will be filled with a drink called Bitter, always one bottle of white home-made wine, and a bottle of red. The lady down the street will leave me a plastic bag with fresh eggs from her farm. Oh, those eggs have a bright orange yolk, and will taste perfect in the morning. I will cook with a little bit of olive oil. (no one brings me margarine or butter on my first night there) My first night, my relatives know that I will be very tired, so they will drop off Italian bread, Sprite, and my favorite...Asiago cheese. Let's not forget those juicy figs or red oranges!!! The refrigerator is small, but it is plenty for a single woman.
My first morning, I will always sleep late, then make my way to the piazza. The piazza is "hug central". Everyone from the mailman, to the baker, banker, teachers, and relatives will have a warm hug for me! They will offer to buy me a cappuccino, or ask me when we will all go out to dinner. That bell tower will be chanting in the background, and fresh posters will be displayed announcing the flea markets, street fairs, or theater productions in the town. I anxiously will await the flea market. Where else can I buy trending sandals or flip flops for 10 Euro? Those lupini beans will be swimming in water and packed nicely for me in those little plastic bags. The green and black olives will be scooped into another bag, and all of that provolone and asiago cheese! I know that the leather pocket books will be staring at me, trying to tease me, saying "?Buy me, buy me...." but, I will look at the euros in my wallet, and how many days I have left and say, "if I buy that handbag, I will starve the rest of the trip."
I usually do not have to bring a cell phone, because my friends and family are so easy to find! We will start the day with an espresso or cappuccino, and a coronetto, or crescent shaped pastry filled with fresh, strawberry marmelade. After reading the "Messagiero" newspaper, another relative will invite me to their house for lunch. Ahhh, I will smell the garlic and marinara sauce as I walk up the cobblestone hill. The kids in the neighborhood will play bocci, or will be kicking the soccer ball around the yard. My favorite station, RAI will be on! I remember watching the San Remo Festival on Rai TV during the winter. Maybe I will get a glimpse of the , or some other type of interesting show. Ahhh, RAI television. It would not be a vacation without RAI television. I will offer to help my relatives prepare the meal, but it is a sin in our family to help. As their Italian-American guest, they insist on doing all of the cooking! They will appreciate my neatly wrapped, and decorative tray of Italian canoli's and rum pastries! I always have enough euro for that!
After filling my family in about my job, friends, and life in the United States, I will always have some type of gift for them. Their eyes light up like Christmas trees as my TJMAXX gift boxes come out of my duffle bag. Levi's for Leonardo, sneakers for Ginevra, or maybe a trendy hair band from the states. I love giving small, religious medallions to my older relatives. This trip will be the same as the others, as I take out the Padre Pio medallion for one of my relatives. Tears will fill her eyes, as she prays to Padre Pio often. Marietta is a religious woman, so I know that I have touched her heart in some way.
Other goodies such as Nike Sweatshirts, or t-shirts will be given out that night. They love anything American, the way I love anything Italian!
As the town gets quieter later in the day, I know I will hear the campanile. If there is a death in town, the campanile ( bell ) will ring a certain way. The thing is that my family always seems to know who it is that has died, the age of the person, and how many grandchildren or children he or she has in the town! They even know the nickname of the family. In the United States, I sometimes read an obituary, and say, "Is this the person that I think it is?" Funny how in Italian towns, everyone knows everyone, and they don't need to read the obituary. Paying their respects to the dead is a big tradition in the town. Even if you only met the person once, you must go to pay your respects. The mourning period of Italians seems to be much longer, and very different from the United States. Usually, black cloth covers the furniture and mirrors in the house. All of the family's jewelry and luxuries are removed from site, as it is a sign of disrespect to have such luxuries during the mourning period. Most people in the town will walk from the deceased home to the cemetary, wearing black or dark colors. The widow or widower will wear black for several years, while some want to wear it forever. This is the typical Italian custom, which is very different than the United States.
As many tourists, you want to do the right thing and pay respects for the locals who have passed away. But, the next day, you are anxious to do something a little bit brighter. So, to brighten my day, I will get a ride to Cassino, hop on the train, and go to Rome. I will go to the colliseum, or get lost near the Vatican. The best part is eating that thin crusted pizza, drenched in cheese and sauce, and wrapped in brown paper, as I stroll down the street. Today is my only day to have a gelato. Remember, my outfits have to fit me well, so maybe one scoop of nocciola gelato will do!
There is always a friend for me to meet in Rome. They always find the time to join me for a cold glass of juice, Birra Moretti, or limonata. We have a lot of catching up to do, so there will always be one or two friends who have the scoop on everyone! No matter who I ask about, they seem to know, who is getting married, pregnant, divorced, cheating on their girlfriends or boyfriends, or who plans to move to the United States. We always stop in at the music store, and I am sure that I will pick up an Eros Ramazzotti cd, or my friends will introduce me to some other popular cd. They will all be coming to see me again next week, back in San Donato, for the Festival! I know we will sit under the stars, hear the local concerts, buy our roasted nuts or porchetta sandwiches, or stop in at the restaurant for roasted lamb or polenta.
The music in Italy always touches my heart. One night of the festival, there will be Rythm and Blues, another night, there will be a local rock band, or traditional Italian songs. The festival of San Donato will bring color, animation, and festivities to the town, including fireworks, artist displays, la bancarella, or a mini flea market of pottery, or other goods. The town will not sleep that week. It is always the same, but my heart still skips a beat when I think of the street festivals.
My heart really can be in two places at once, as I experience the joy of being an Italian-American.
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