Part 28: Eating an entire boar with Kurdish refugees in Badolato

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I am in this tiny village of Badolato, a very, very characteristic mountain town. It’s kind of an odd arrangement. I arrived in town around 4:30pm, and called my host, Vincenzo. He is a very nice man, but doesn’t speak hardly any English. In a cruel twist of destiny, I believe I left my Italiano-Inglese dictionary at Francesco’s home in Lauria, so it appears to be time to purchase another. In any case, I called Vincenzo, and he came to meet me at the piazza just a few minutes later. He had generously set me up at a Bed & Breakfast only a few blocks down the road.
After Badolato, I will go to Bianco and look for a possible room to rent there. Then I plan to go and start knocking on doors in Sant Agata Del Bianco.
Before I left Spezzano, Mariella translated a note for me that explains who I am and what I am doing there. Apparently in the local government there are two of my relatives (Scarfones), one is a doctor, the other is a professor. It looks like it is an important family, which should help my cause.

Creepy death dream

I had a dream last night that was rather odd/concerning. I remember driving a car (like a Dodge Stratus or something), and it had no windshield. My legs were flapping behind me, as there were no seats or anything - my body was waving like a flag.
Suddenly traffic stopped and I stepped out to see what was the cause. There was a motorcyclist, and I couldn’t see his face. He was dressed as I dress when I ride, same jacket and jeans. Someone picked him up in their arms, cradled like a baby. I think he was dead. I don’t have any idea how to interpret this.

Dinner with a big, Italian family

I just returned from dinner with Vincenzo and his family. They are a full-on crack up. I really like them. I can’t understand hardly a word they say, and nobody speaks any English (except one of his nieces, I think), but she didn’t stay for the whole dinner. I think the 12 of us ate a whole pig. I saw someone gnawing on the skull. Luckily, they kept trying to give me the best meaty pieces, so I survived the encounter alright. This was crazy. They had a big bowl of bones and meat that we were all digging from. I am so drunk I can feel the room spinning now. This one guy kept refilling my glass and saying “salute!” and I tried to refuse, but you can only back out so many times. I really liked the guy; he spoke with such passion, whatever he was saying. I recorded a little of it.

There was a guy there, I think his name was Alto, who looked exactly like a 36-year-old Italian Norm MacDonald with no teeth. I think he worked at a gas station. That’s good stuff.

It was so funny how much we could communicate despite the fact that we don’t speak the same language. It is in times like these that my Italian is forced to grow a little. I need more of these situations.
I told Vincento that this was exactly the type of Italian experience I had been looking for, and that my hosts in Northern Italy had asked me WHY I wanted to go to Calabria. It was so that I could experience EXACTLY what I experienced tonight, with close families (three of them under one roof) dining together and laughing and sharing their experiences. I loved it.
When I returned to my room, I sat down and wrote a postcard to someone, identifying the state of total inebriation I was in, and damned them for not being there; tied up with another distraction.

Warnings

I had been warned about people in Southern Italy. Sergio in Torino said when I got to Southern Italy they would insist that I eat more and more. It happened at the dinner table with these folks. I was literally chewing a mouthful of food as fast as I could, and Vincenzo kept pointing at my plate and saying, “mangia, mangia!” I would point at my mouth and exaggerate my chewing to say, “how could I eat more than I am?”

Bed & Breakfast

I am the only guest at this B&B. It is an odd situation to be in. The normal sounds of a hotel are absent. The hollowness is slightly intimidating, and you feel like your privacy is jeopardized by the attention given to you. These people do not speak any English at all. Perhaps not even a word. It’s kind of funny too, given the fact that they work in the hospitality industry and their hotel is named, in English, “Green House Bed & Breakfast”; the building is red. Though the people are nice, I must say that this is the worst bed I have ever laid on. Somehow it is only about a fraction softer than a piece of wood; I laughed when I first laid down on it. I can’t imagine anyone even manufacturing a bed like this.

Cheapest place on earth

Okay, now I see that I am in the cheapest place in the world. I can’t really explain WHY, because it is all very desirable, by American property standards. It is like Hawaii, 50 years ago, a ticking realty time bomb. By the way, I hate my American/Californian impulse to look at things this way - especially because I disagree morally with market speculation.
Here is how I MEAN to look at it: This place costs what it SHOULD cost, and life is livable at a reasonable price.
Here is what I’m blathering about. I just visited a realty/rental office, and asked them about their inventory and the rates, just out of curiosity - and to compare and prepare for what I might see when I get to Sant ‘Agata del Bianco tomorrow/today. They said a rental for a single night may be about €30. To buy the properties here, many of them restored 1,000-year-old homes, the range is between €40,000 to €200,000. Peanuts. Imagine living in your paid-off home in an ancient village, with great weather almost all year long, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea…
I read online that the prices are clearly the result of a rampant depopulation problem. The problem is so bad that about ten years ago, when a boat of Kurdish refugees came ashore, the whole community welcomed them with open arms and invited these young people into the town. They were just happy to have SOMEBODY.

Attempted meditation in the hills

Before I visited the realty office, I hiked up to the top of the village, and looked out onto the cliffs above and the valleys below. I was in what must have been an orchard at some point, as the stems of some crop were all around in rows. I tried to meditate. It had been a while since I had tried, and the birds and rushing water down below would have mixed well with the otherwise silent scene. But I couldn’t meditate. Not yet. I need to relax a bit longer. To stop traveling longer. The road is too much inside me, and that makes it hard to find peace.
I wandered down ridiculously narrow passageways until I saw a sign that said “Le Botte,” with an arrow. I decided to follow. I saw a small restaurant, and I would have passed by because I wasn’t hungry, but the owner opened the door and essentially pushed me inside. I ordered a cappuccino. His wife, as bearded a woman as I have ever seen in my life, served it promptly. I walked around the restaurant to see its very classic décor. It is styled like a cave, with wine barrels and old pictures. It fits this town well.
I took a picture of two cats sitting on a recycling bin. There was an empty bin next to them, so they must have deliberately decided to sit next to each other. It was odd behavior from my perspective, because cats are often solitary creatures and rarely choose to be next to other cats.

Catanzaro

My fears were unsettled regarding the room and the cost. It seems Vincenzo pre-paid it for me, and told me that it cost NOTHING. He really is an amazing man.
He took me to Catanzaro today, which really didn’t impress me too much. I tried to appreciate it because it may be the last actual CITY I get to visit for a long while.
Catanzaro has a vertical “funicolare” train to get into the city, similar to Napoli. This one originates at the bottom of the hill, at a bus station. Down at the bus station there is a walking path, completely finished except for the shelter above it, essentially making the entire path useless. It was really strange actually.
The vertical train made a ridiculous noise every time it stopped or was about to start that sounded like a music box. I recorded it. Just outside the station at the top, I took my only picture of Catanzaro; a pizzeria titled, “Ho’o Ponopono” (to make right). I was really amused at this, and even sent a text to my Hawaiian buddy who would appreciate it.
Catanzaro is like most mid-size Italian cities. It didn’t impress me in any way. One bookstore was closed, the other didn’t have a small dictionary to replace the one I lost. I wandered around looking for something to eat. I went to three closed pizzerias, before I found an open one. The prices in southern Italy are incredible. They are really as cheap or cheaper than making your own food. I had an incredible Calzone and a Moretti birra for €2.80. Actually they didn’t have any change, so they took €3 from me. Later I was waiting for Vincenzo and his co-workers and had a glass of wine (with free appetizers) for another €3. I ended up eating more than I should have, later than I should have, so I wasn’t as hungry when dinner came around.

Enter Guiseppe the translator

I wish I could speak with Vincenzo directly in his language. Maybe soon. To circumvent this, he brought along his friend Guiseppe today, who speaks fairly good English. Guiseppe came to dinner with us, and with his help, we were able to talk about a number of things, including my opinion of the 9-11 attacks. Vincenzo has a difficult time accepting that it might have been a conspiracy plot. I told him that we had used a fake attack to predicate every war we have ever become involved in since the Spanish American war in 1898.
As I left, he gave me a bottle of excellent wine, and told me to call him if I have any problems while I am in Calabria. I added Vincenzo and Guiseppe to my facebook, and they will follow me now.
On another facebook note, I added to my status that you can buy a home overlooking the Mediterranean for just $60,000, and several people commented that they were interested.
Tomorrow I arrive in Sant ‘Agata, the first stop on the “finding home” express. We’ll see where this leads.

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Photos

Badolato view
Beautiful Badolato from above

B-Bado
Just chilling in Badolato

Cool Cats
Just hanging out on the recycling bin with my hommie.

VineyardVal
An old vineyard above the valley

KarmaKup
The is something very Kama Sutra about this emblem.

Love
This is divine love.

Old door
I love this old door.

texture
just feel the texture of this door.

vines
Old vines here.

Hooponopono
A pizza parlor in Catanzaro

Comments

[julia]

Badolato houses
We bought in the village a few years ago, and they are welcoming kind people. the weather fantastic, food wonderful. We are regulars at La Botte, the food is local home made and good. a little harsh on the description - medical condition I think- Beds are a matter of taste and what you are used to. harder in the south! Best thing we ever did to buy a second home there, and it is a home, the realty place is Costa de angli. they speak english german as well as italian, a bit of french too.