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Published: September 10th 2005
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The Families, August 31, 2005 Arriving in Rome, I spent 1.5 days with my aunt, uncle and greeted my new baby cousin, Lorenzo. At dinner together at the house, Gioia and Andrea took turns holding and rocking the little one only 20 days old, while Gioia would nurse and the two, with exhaustion, expressed the life of new and young family. But the two are very tender and Gioia has taken a symbolic step many new mothers take…a wash and go haircut.
Metaponto, Italy My time in Rome was short, as 2 days after my arrival in Italy I took a 6 hour train/bus ride to Metaponto, Italy. After two months apart, I was to meet Klajd and his family, and my heart was beating twice its pace. Now, I have never been further south than Rome, and I’ll start by describing that the landscape was a subtle transition from the ocre yellows of Tuscany, to the dry, pale yellows of Southern soil. Instead of rolling hills artfully manicured, hills became mountains with steep rocky cliffs, which often flanked either side of our road, humungous, perpendicular and all within what seemed a hands reach. The three hour bus ride did not stop for embarking passengers in cities, but instead took exits off the “highway” that twisted and wound around small hills and led us to the station-a broken looking plaster building, half hidden by bushes and small, trees. No other cars. No houses or even farms for as far as the eye can see, but the few people that boarded were dressed in black Armani and their company waved ciao from their BMW’s.
Metaponto is a small ocean town, famous for Etruscan relics. Matera regione. South of Bari, which is the Puglia region. 1.45pm. I drop my bags when I spot the bright orange shirt and the smiling face and I hear my name. “Scimmia!!!!!!”
Klajd, his sister and her son (who at this point is quite shy), drive to Bernalda, a small, old city nestled on top of a hill 10 minutes from Metaponto. Like the medieval walled cities of Tuscany (Monteriggione, San Gimignano, Siena), we wind up the pin turn roads, and enter the city walls. Bernalda is small and I am already overwhelmed by its color-white. The streets are very narrow and stone and as we bump along, I can imagine we are only several centimeters away from the passing wall, gate, car, pedestrian. I am, as well, instantly aware that this city has a different history than those up north, and for the next 2 days I realize that this is the icon of Italian society. The main street is small and I rarely see cars. It is lined by older men, all fathers and grandfathers, with their chairs in rows facing the street-chatting and smoking, drinking and gossiping in the cool of the shade.(I forgot to tell you that we are still over 90 degrees Farenheit.) No large towers or a huge Duomo in the center. The main church is, in fact, quite simple and fairly recent. I see very few doors at this point, as with the heat apartment entryways are covered with sheets or curtains to provide privacy and allow some breeze simultaneously. Later in the evening, people have taken their chairs outdoors and sit in groups talking, eating fresh figs or grapes or plums (fiche, uve o prugne), or watching from afar the TV that still resides several meters in from the door in their living room. Kids run around the streets with soccer balls, in and out of houses, some that don’t and some that do belong to their parents.
Now other than the city itself, I must move on to describe Klajd’s family. Albanians love to eat more than the Italians. And I dare say that their cuisine can rival good ol’ southern food (we’re talkin’ America here)- rich tastes and lots of fat, of which you can not get enough! Thrilled to have Klajd at my side, and within minutes I was sitting at a table with his mother, father, sister and her two children. But this is no subtle, conservative family-no, this is more like my very own household…but extra energy spills out into the streets where it should be. Everyone is bustling about, making fun of me already for drinking too much water and not realizing that water takes up precious room in a soon-to-be-well-used stomach. His mother has made my favorite, a recipe which Klajd is superb at-pasticcio which is made with pre-cooked pasta, egg, butter, a cheese similar but stronger than Feta and cooked as a casserole. Next I was saved a piece of byrek (pronounced burek) from the evening before-a spinach-filled filo dough dish, and soon was served fried chicken and salad, before lastly a large dish of fruit and a rolled cake. (Whispered Klajd “Dovresti mangiare se non vorresti offendere la mamma!”) And that was only lunch. At 9:30pm or so, after a nice long walk and talk and visit at his sister’s house, we are back at his parents for tav kosi (pronounced similar to how it is written, but really Albanian has some sounds that we Americans have never experienced!) which is small hunks of meat (roast) baked in the oven covered with a home-made yogurt sauce (also with the feta-like cheese and some rice). After dinner his father tells me a secret and shows me a pan of refrigerated homemade yogurt that supposedly Albanians eat after dinner to help digest!
I see old photos of family, Klajd’s youth, weddings, etc. We spend the evening with the rest of the town in the streets listening to local talent sing, dance, etc. On Sunday, I attend his nephews Baptism in the town’s church and later am treated to a10 course lunch at a gorgeous hotel just outside the city walls (surrounded by fields) which lasts the entire afternoon and which is attended by close relatives on both sides of the family (about 25 in all with children). Cheeses and prosciutto, bruschetta, fresh seafood salad (octopus, squid, smoked salmon), grilled shrimp and salmon, risotto, pasta al pomodoro, fruit and the Baptism cake (which during the photos his incredibly genial, adorable nephew with a delightful, permanent smile and beautiful eyes grabbed a great fist-full which quickly sent him to tears). Later we (mother, aunt, cousin, nephew, etc) spend several hours in the playground area near the hotel pool area. They are affectionate, honest, comically lively, talkative and obviously very loving. It was hard for me to leave the next day and I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Klajd, who holds his family dear and close to his heart.
The trip back North lasted 15 hours from start to finish. We later learned that the grape farmers were on strike, blocking rails ways, and even that one person was killed in the mess of it all. So between waiting hours for buses to arrive, groups of people began forming coalitions at the stations, figuring out the options…which train when and where might arrive on time to catch another…It took us from 7:30 in the morning until 1pm to travel to a small town south of Napoli…which is usually about 2 hours away. The train station was filled with angry, tired crowds…and may I remind you that short-fused Italians are not a rarity. Trains north arrived sporadicly and even from a distance we all realized that their capacity was doubled. People stood in the halls, with the heads dangerously out windows. Doors could barely slide open to reveal children and elderly which had been standing for hours on end. Today was hot. Again. And these trains don’t have air conditioning. Some people push on and we could send the anger and exhaustion as crowds begin arguing with station agents. We wait for the next train, still crowded but feasible and arrive in Rome around 6pm. We eat with my aunt and uncle and unfortunately are soon back on the road, eager to be home. One more train ride and by 10:00pm we are in Florence.
Dirty. Tired. Klajd with never-ending patience. Florence my Florence. Hello again.
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Silvia
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Metaponto and etruscan relics!
Metaponto is famous for its Greek relics not etruscan!!! Etruscan remains are found in central Italy. Basilicata used to a Greek colony of the so-called Magna Grecia.