26: The robots of Lauria; hailstorms and reflections from the Freezer

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Shrunken and shivering

"I don’t think my nuts have ever been so shrunken," I wrote in my journal.
Shivering and wet after another four hour rain ride, I arrived in the village of Lauria.
Lauria is truly just a stop on the way to nowhere. It is a beautiful mountain village. I couldn’t see it when I arrived at nightfall, but the shadowy outlines of high mountains promise a great view in the morning.
As I write this, my jeans are drying against the heater in the room. My clothes are taking turns being dried. I think I soaked everything I own again. It’s the same kind of heater I used to use as a kid in the old yellow house my parents rented in Corvallis. I would sit upstairs and start fires and melt Ninja Turtles toys with it.
When I left this morning, it was very difficult. I love Napoli, and my host family was the sweetest I had met in the whole country.
I remember Marisa asking, “shall we cry now, or cry later?” I told her to cry later if she must. That woman ... she paid for my parking. I think it was 30 Euros. She took me out to dinner at least twice. Took me to try every pastry in the town. Honestly, what a wonderful, wonderful person.
I emailed her to tell her I had arrived just fine.

Reflections from the freezer

There is a robot staring at me on the counter. I am slightly embarrassed that I did not notice it before. I mean, it’s a ROBOT. Yeah, I can’t tell what it is for. Probably just to run around and amuse you.
When I got into town, I wasn’t sure where I was and it was dark here. I called my host, and luckily his son Stefan spoke good enough English to direct me nearer to his home. I was really in no shape to follow directions or struggle to find mini streets.
Stefan is leaving on the bus tonight to return to his university in Pisa. That must be 10 hours or so on the bus. As I head south, I am starting to hear the common refrain I had read about - jobs, jobs, jobs. Stefan says when he finishes school, all the jobs are in the North of Italy. He will likely have to move there.
For dinner we had a tuna salad that blew my mind with its simple ingredients. We also had water bagels with Southern Italian-style paprika oregano and ricotta. There was also a chocolate cake for dessert that was shaken with sugar in a bag.
My host, Francesco has several styles of meat hanging in his garage… very interesting.

Active cultures

Should I be concerned after eating homemade yogurt?
“You can see the active cultures,” said Francesco, my host. “It usually takes two days, though sometimes faster if the milk is warm.” It is thin and has a bitter note to it, but is actually quite good. Francesco advised me to dip the biscuits into it. I did, and they were phenomenal. The biscuits were also homemade.

Dark skies and generous people

It has been raining all day. Scratch that - all day except for a five-minute break. I looked out and noticed a patch of blue, went to get my camera and set out. Approximately 3 ½ minutes after I set out, I was pelted by a hailstorm.
After fighting the twisting, swirling wind with my folding umbrella, I ducked into a tobacco shop to save myself. Inside I found a postcard rack, and found a card I could send to my grandparents who I have been neglecting accidentally. I filled out a classic card that looked like something from the 1940s, and then went to buy it and some international postage. When I pulled out my soggy €5 bill, they recoiled and asked if I had another. When I didn’t they told me to just take the card and not worry about paying at all.
This really works into my opinion of European vs American practices. People in small villages are settled with their lives. They often round the change off in your favor with small transactions. A couple of days ago I bought gas and the total came to €10.80. They didn’t have any change, so he gave me back €10 from my €20 bill. That was a full 80 cents that they just wrote off. It just amazes me to find people who aren’t trying to take every cent you own. Things were different at New Years’ Eve in Florence. It seems particularly odd that I get ripped off in the prosperous north of Italy, and yet the people in the poorer, southern part of the country people are far more generous.
Earlier, I was at the supermarket with Francesco, ogling the cheese display, and an old woman pointed at me and very clearly indicated she’d like me to grab a cleaning agent for her off of the top shelf. It was fun, and seemed like a very regular thing in this part of the country. I would like to think people are very comfortable asking for each other for help around here.
In my case, both times when I fell off the scooter yesterday, the nearest driver stopped and helped me pick up my bike. It is actually VERY helpful when they do that, because it is hard to balance the bike upright and straighten the luggage at the same time.

Great hospitality

I have to say it is possible that, no single person, perhaps in my entire life, has introduced me to so many different types of foods. I already mentioned the homemade yogurt, but he has also introduced me to local cheese, this incredible tuna salad (which I could hardly imagine EATING in anyone else’s home), a rare type of peppered sausage, the Southern Italian paprika, a type of fruit called a chacchi, natural licorice candy from Calabria, and probably something else I have forgotten. I noticed something familiar in the licorice, and realized it was a flavor you can find in the sugary caramel of Cracker Jacks. Very good in small doses.
We played chess earlier today, and Francesco smoked me twice. I’m rather embarrassed by my lack of chess skills. After dinner I played against his 16-year-old son, and found that my head wasn’t in the game at all. Claudio also beat me.
In this part of Italy, young adults attend school six days a week. So when Claudio wasn’t feeling well at school today (Saturday), Francesco and I drove 30 minutes to find him at his technical high school and pick him up.

Hillside towns

We drove past a characteristic mountain town of Rivello, with all the buildings piled together dramatically on a sloping hillside.
All the towns in this region seem to be built into hillsides. According to Francesco this is to make them more difficult to attack (and get into/out of, or do ANYTHING in), and also so that they would be above the “malaria line.”
In our town of Lauria there is a higher portion and a lower portion. They call the upper part “Lauria Superiore,” and the lower part “Lauria inferiore.” Locals from up top enjoy emphasizing their superiority whenever possible.

SNOW!

Francesco is trying to keep me. He is discouraging me as much as possible from leaving. However, it can’t possibly be worse than the other weather I have been through already.
I spend most of my time here sitting in the basement writing and trying to dry myself out.
I will leave as soon as he returns from church. I can’t wait longer because the sun will go down by the time I get to this place in the middle of nowhere, and that could be very very bad.
Last night Francesco introduced me to his mother, who lives above him in this 150-year-old home. Each of the houses are built above each other, and there are vertical ladders that take you from each home to the next. His mother is an adorable and frail 87-years-old woman who smiles a lot. She made me espresso and talked about her home village, just 25km away. Francesco told me that he used to visit occasionally as a child, when the complicated transportation of the time made it a three-hour trip.
Generous to the end, he also gifted me with information about Lauria, which I tried to refuse because it will undoubtedly become soaked and ruined, and some local food delicacies of the region, including bread and cheese. In the information packet he gave there is a picture from the local church, showing a metallic altar frame that he said his grandfather had constructed.
When Francesco returned from Church, he insisted I stay for pranza with his family. The food was incredible, but I was watching the clock the entire time. He took photos of me with his mother, and, as I watched the snow falling outside, I wondered if these would be the last photos ever taken of me.

An extreme departure

It was rough, but I had to leave. I didn’t believe him when Francesco told me that the road could be covered with snow at the top of the road. He insisted on escorting me all the way to the highway. I appreciated this, as I was confused by the roads up to that point.
I glanced at the position of the sun repeatedly, like a jail-broken criminal checking over his shoulder for the sheriff. There was a long way to go, and no time to spare to arrive before nightfall.
I followed Francesco through several inches of snow. I kept expecting him to pull over and physically refuse to allow me to continue. In my mind I kept thinking that if I stayed, winter would only get worse. I didn’t want to stay. I wanted to be in warm, sunny, South Calabria. Francesco didn’t stop me. He treated me as an adult who was prepared to play giocare d’azzardo di mi destino. I was, and I won. As soon as I hit the main highway, the snow cleared up and it was sunshine all the way to the coast.
When I reached the Ionian Sea, I knew I would be alright. Blue skies and fair weather. A few hours later, I was back in my familiar situation of being lost and frozen in a new city, calling on a new host to come and save me.
And that’s exactly what Mariella did.
To be continued…

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Photos

Lauria
The town of Lauria, during one of the five minutes of sunshine I got there.

Rivello
Hillside town near Lauria