I'm in Demand!

First there was the filming with the crew from House Hunters International.  Then came an email from a Milan-based photographer who wanted to meet us and see our village.  Now I've been interviewed by two really cool sites.  I feel so *wanted*!

If you aren't already a regular listener to the Eye on Italy podcast, you should be!  It's a great show with insights into the politics and culture of Italy, always with interesting guests.  It was fun talking about Basilicata with Michelle, Sara and Jessica.  Thanks for having me on the show, girls!  Hop over and have a listen to me in all my Ohio-accentedness (I *really* hate listening to my own voice!)
Eye on Italy podcast

Italian Reflections is kind of like a general store - there's a little bit of everything.  Travel links, news and tidbits about all things Italy, interesting guest posts, and of course, food and wine.  It's a cool place to peruse.  But one section that sets it apart is dedicated to expats and expat-wannabes.  There you'll find links to blogs and websites and info on where to procure products from home.  There are also interviews with expats, which is great; when we were planning our move it was very helpful to hear from others about the joys and pitfalls of such a transition.  They emailed the questions and compiled my responses.
Italian Reflections Interview

Go.  Listen.  Read.  Report back.
:)

It's a Boy!

My family has a long history of naming cars.  I don't know how it got started, really.  It's just something we've always done.  As a kid I remember Blanca, the white Chrysler that happily toted us and the hibachi to the beach.  My mom kept that hibachi in the trunk all summer long, to be ready whenever the opportunity struck for an improntu picnic.  There was a Buick, whose name I can't recall.  Then there was the lemon of a Dodge Caravelle, whose name quickly became P.O.S.  It was a real rattle-trap, but did manage to transport my sister safely to New Mexico before dying an inglorious death.

I've told you about my cars before.  My first car was the Chrysler Cordoba, a gas-draining behometh that could easily take ten of my friends cruising.  He was named Juan, because of course a Cordoba deserved a Spanish name.  We had a Suzuki Samurai (Suzy- very original, no?)  that was a lot of fun in the mountains and for tootling around town in summer with the bikini top (on the car, not me).  And of course, you know all about Arnold and his unfortunate mishaps. 

Here in Italia we become the parents of Guido, a dependable little Fiesta who was miraculously resurrected from the dead to serve us well for another year.  But he is now good and truly infirm and we can't expect him to live much longer.  His doctor even said costs will outweigh the effort. 

And so we went in search of another car- something reliable, economical, with good gas mileage.  Bryan will fill you in on the search and procure mission.  I didn't have much of an opinion on make and model.  My only stipulation was that it not be gray.  The vast majority of cars in Italy are gray, for some strange reason.  It makes it difficult to find the sucker in a parking lot.  And it's just so...boring.

We went to Rome to pick it up, catch up with our dear friends, Giorgio and Francesca and see their son (my fratello Romano) Valerio perform in an open-air venue.  All the way back to Basilicata I tried to identify the personality of the car and give it a name. 

Like my parents when they named me, it took three days to decide.  It just didn't look like a girl to me, so we at least decided on gender.  But then the names...well, Italian names often have a way of sounding kind of elegant, noble even.  This car is a working-stiff kind of car; an average Joe.  I also couldn't give it any of the widely diffused names of the region.  There are just too many Antonios and Micheles already, and besides, someone might take offense.  They already think I'm a little weird for naming the car in the first place.  There was a bit of debate, most of it in my own head because Bryan tends to not give a dang.  His family has no such tradition.

In the end, we decided on Enrico.  Here he is - the new kid on the block.  He's kinda cute, don'tcha think? 

Weddings, Southern Italian Style

So if you have visions of My Big Fat Greek Wedding when you think of southern Italy and matrimonial festivities, you'd be pretty much right on.  Which sort of makes sense since this part of Italy was, once upon a time, part of Magna Grecia.  There are bound to be genetic traces and traditions still floating about these villages. 

It all started back in November at our festa di ringraziamento when Elisa and Giuseppe told us to mark July 2 on our calendars as we'd be invited to their wedding.  Elisa was the first to befriend me and introduce me into her circle of amiche.  Giuseppe did the same for Bryan, so his little gang of guys that meets at the bar for a beer is now Bryan's posse.

The festivities started just over a week prior to the matrimonio with the pre-wedding parties, one for the guys (a meat fest) and one for the girls (a little raunchier, with an {ahem} anatomical theme running through the evening).  No dancers, just good (mostly) clean fun to embarrass the bride and groom respectively and give everyone an excuse to get together and eat (like they need an excuse for that, this being Italy).

A wonderful tradition here is the serenata.  On the eve of the wedding, the groom and his guys gather in the piazza and, accompanied by musical friends, stroll through the village to the bride's house while playing folk music and gathering friends along the way.  The groom calls for the bride to come down and accept his hand, but she plays coy, while the band plays and sings to coax her.  Our lovely bride gave in easily and came down quickly; others aren't so merciful, we're told.  We heard of one sposa whose mother threw water on the groom, not a very noble beginning, I'd say.  Music, dancing in the street and - a nice touch by Giuseppe, fireworks - rounded out the serenata.

Bright and early, when I went for my cappuccino, the guys were dressed in their suits and on the street taking pictures.  Okay, maybe not that early, since I'm not a real prima mattina kind of girl, but you know what I mean.  About a half-hour before the ceremony, Bryan hung with the boys while I went to the bride's house where a crowd was gathering to accompany her to the church.  We all followed the beautiful Elisa in her bridely glory, walking through the village to the church.  Just like in a movie.  No one enters the church until the bride arrives, then the big doors are opened and everyone streams inside. 

The ceremony was like most wedding Masses.  Vows were exchanged, joyful tears were shed, rice was thrown.  The guests flowed down to the piazza to wait while pictures were being taken.  Nobody goes to the reception until the bride and groom are ready, then they follow along, forming a snake-like parade down the hill.  The couple stopped at the cemetery to lay flowers on their fathers' graves, as both padri had passed away, a lovely gesture, but the parade didn't want to pass them and so the windy road that leads to our town was completely blocked, a line-up of cars backed up about a mile of the hairpin curves. 

The reception hall in the next town over is rather fancy-like.  They  have ceremonies down to a science, and served up gorgeous plates in synchronated rhythm.  It was as well orchestrated as a Broadway production, but tastier.  Truly impressive.  We sat down to eat at 2:00 p.m.  We got from the table to dance at about 8:00 p.m.  But the food wasn't finished; because why stop at 3 plates of antipasti, 3 primi, 2 secondi and cake when you can also roll out eleborate tables of sweets and fruit and gelato?  After a couple of hours of dancing, they brought out pizza and porchetta. 

Everyone asked if "this is how you do weddings in America?"  Yeah, right.  None that we've attended, though some of the music and the old ladies dancing together did remind me of some of my cousins' receptions that I remember attending when I was a kid.

We departed at about midnight, but not before the happy couple presented us with a gift.  That's right; in Italy, the bride and groom give gifts to the guests.  We're not talking about kitchy party favors, folks.  We're talking a really nice pair of china espresso cups and saucers.    

It was a fabulous party, one that we're told is pretty typical for this part of the country.  The bride and groom will be departing for their honeymoon tomorrow...in America.  Nice; a couple of Americans celebrated their vows, and now they're off to America to celebrate their bliss.

Fame at Last!

I know, you've been hearing cricket noises around the Pinon Tree lately.  Sorry about that.  I've been a bit occupied becoming a TV star.

Yeah, okay.  Stardom may be too strong a word, but I've had microphone wires down my back and a bulky, professional video camera in my face for the past week, which sure goes a long way to making one feel like a star.  A film crew from House Hunters International, the popular show that airs on HGTV, was here to follow us around and tape our story.

I watched the show a few times while we were in the States but didn't realize just how popular it is until I posted on Facebook that we'd be participating.  Everyone of my acquaintance wrote to say that they are absolutely fanatical for that show.  That's really cool to hear.  You will be able to get an up-close glimpse of our town and our friends, and of course our little casa.  I think they even managed to get our kitty into one scene.

We clumped around the village and showed the crew the beauties of our area.  They are fantastic guys, and the whole town welcomed them warmly and made them feel like part of the place.  Friends even threw a barbecue one night.  Then it was off to our former home of Ascoli Piceno for some more filming and fun, where they got to taste arrosticini and enjoy a street party after the filming wrapped up.

I have to say it was a really fun experience.  I have no delusions of becoming the next Audrey Hepburn, but I had a great time hamming it up in front of the camera, and the guys were relaxed and fun to hang out with.  The tapes have been sent off for editing and I'll keep you posted about an air date.  Meanwhile, you can enjoy a little taste in my Flip video.  And if you're looking for an actress in southern Italy, have your people call my people.  I'm ready for more fame and filming.

Sweet Little Gifts

Our little casa is a bit off the main path, so to speak.  It's not on a street as Americans would think of one.  To get here you have to walk a stone pedestrian lane - which is considered a sort of main artery despite the lack of vehicular traffic.  But then you go under an arch, down some steps, under another archway, down more steps, and you basically dead-end where our terrazzo opens up to the sun and view.  It's encircled on three sides by buildings yet it feels sort of secluded.  Anyone coming down here has to be coming for a reason - to see us.

The openness of the view to the hills and mountains, coupled with the sound of the sheep bells and the chirpy birds, almost makes it feel like it's in the country. Because of that, during my first weeks here, I felt like the place was hidden away and was surprised when the first person came knocking on my door.  It was a neighbor bearing produce and I was mightly surprised yet pleased.  Since then, several people have come a'knocking, some to ask for English lessons, others to bring us gifts of home-grown or home-made goods.  None go unappreciated, I can tell you.

This week, though, we got some sweet little gifts.  Several of my students completed their catechism and were confirmed.  Such an occasion warrants a party, of course (we were invited to two).  And a party for such an occasion means bombonieri, pretty little packages of party favors filled with confetti, the sugared almond candies we like so much.  Since Italians like bling and style, the bombonieri are always as pretty as the treats they contain.  One even came with a little sachet of potpourri tied to the top. 

We had no sooner broken into those goodies when Sandro came by with a bowlful of cherries and a sack of strawberries.  Fresh-picked and still warm from the field.  I made shortcake for the berries and have nearly polished off the cherries.

Whenever someone rang our doorbell in Virginia, it was almost always a salesman or someone looking for donation.  Here they knock on my door bearing fruits and candies - how sweet it is!

Cantine Aperte: Wine, Beauty and Song

We probably should have been more culturally minded yesterday.  After all, it was the biggest festa day that Potenza has to offer - the feast day of their saint, San Gerardo.  It is celebrated with a big costumed re-enactment known as the Parata dei Turchi (parade of the Turks) to commemorate a Saracen invasion and the saint's intervention on behalf of the citizenry to save them from the marauding invaders.

The problem is, we end up spending more time in the city than we'd like.  I was there all day Thursday acting as an interpreter for a food-related convention, and Bryan is there every weekday teaching.  We also make trips for various and sundry services and products that we can't find in the village.  We get a little tired of Potenza.  Couple that with the fact that Bryan hates crowds - which were guaranteed to be thick and pressing at this event- and the beautiful weather that had us craving some time in the countryside, and we ditched any hint of a thought of culture and headed for the low, rolling hills instead.

It was the Sunday of the Open Doors - an annual event known as “cantine aperte,” a nationwide day of wine promotion when about 1000 wineries throughout Italy throw open their doors for tours, tastings, and a bit of “neighborliness”.  While there are lots of wineries in Basilicata, only five were participating in the event, sponsored by the rather grandiose-sounding organization Movimento Turismo del Vino (movement for tourism of wine).  We had participated in the Piceno areas and enjoyed the chance to see the process up-close and meet the vitners.  And taste the vino, of course.  It's nice to know which ones are great...and which ones aren't worth plonking down dollars for.

The first cantina was gated, despite being listed on the line-up.  Hmph.  The second was one of the more famous in the region, located in Rionero in the shadow of Monte Vulture, famous for its previous volcanic activity that now gives us fantastic mineral water and the most noted wine from Basilicata, Aglianico del Vulture.  This cantina was fabulous with historic underground chambers where the wines are aged.  The stone-hewn corridors wend underneath the town's streets.  Really cool!  The pretty tasting room was decked out with snacks and little tables for relaxing and sipping.

Winery Number Three was in lovely Venosa, an enormous, industrial-type cooperative that offers decent wines at good prices but zero atmosphere and even less cordiality from the wine expert on hand, who resolutely ignored us while we toured the facility and he directed all his comments and blabbery dry information at the two young woman who accompanied us. 

But the final winery -just outside Venosa- redeemed the day.  They had a gorgeous hedge-rowed estate with a picture-perfect villa as the centerpiece.  An arbored terrazzo provided tables, and local food producers handed out samples of their yummy goods.  A musical group pumped out energetic folk songs which got people dancing the tarantella and other typically southern folk dances.  The cantina produces only a few wines, all excellent (in our non-expert opinions).

We tasted, then sat in the sun with the generous food plates they handed out and enjoyed the warmth, the music and scenery.  Beats the crowded streets of the city any day!

Full Disclosure

I suppose it was inevitable.  I mean, I live in a small village.  Everyone knows everyone.  Nothing passes unnoticed.  Word gets around town faster than a teen on a scooter.  Everyone knows everything that is happening - or at least some snippets of it.  Like when a couple announced their wedding date and within minutes the whole town marked their calendars, or when the barber's girlfriend gave him a black eye and he couldn't try to pass it off as a sports injury or a respectable drunken, manly brawl.

Small town life is like that.  They know if you're out and about - but that also means they want to offer you a caffe or have a chat with you in the piazza.  And they know when you might need help with a project or procuring something like, oh let's say firewood.  They watch what transpires around them - and everything is done in full sight.  The entire town has seen my bed and they're still talking about the day it was delivered; how the fools from the furniture store sent a big truck that couldn't make it up the medieval street to the upper piazza.  How they sent only one guy (che scemi!) and how friends had to be tracked down and enlisted to help carry it, because it had to be toted from the main piazza to my house along the pedestrian lanes.

So it was probably inevitable that someone would read my blog and notice that I never mentioned the name of the town outright.  "Ma che cavolo e' questa Lucanella? Perche' non scrivi il nome del nostro paese?" I was asked.  (What the heck is with this Lucanella business?  Why don't you write the real name of our village?)  I explained my reasoning.  It was quickly shot down with a loud and firm "MAH!"  Of course we want you to tell people where you live.  We don't think you're patronizing.  We know you love living here and we want others to know why you love it, too.  Remember, we want new residents!"

Okay, okay.  Trivigno.  We live in Trivigno.  The rest you already know (or can learn by reading the archives).  It's a special place -not because it's a cultural or architectural city like Ascoli Piceno was for us-  but because of the people who live here and the traditions they maintain.  What makes it special is the hospitality, the genuine, honest-to-goodness food, and the natural beauty.  The sheep bells and the church bells and the bird calls.  Trivigno is home.

It was also inevitable that with our first American visitors people started asking if our visitors would be buying property and moving here, too.  Several folks approached us to tell us they have homes for sale, in case perchance we know anyone interested.  We started accumulating a mental list, which turned into an actual list - which turned into a business idea.  We started collaborating with a friend, who used to be mayor and who happens to know every resident, every stradina, and every house in the village.

My Bella Basilicata is our new website, offering property listings for our fellow townsfolk who have houses for sale, with some homes in neighboring villages, as well.  We also offer trip planning assistance and fantastic activities that will enrich a visit to our beautiful region.  And because we were drawn here by family ties and heartstrings, I'm thrilled to be able to help others who are on a genealogical quest, too. 

So there you have it...true confessions and full disclosure.  My life has been a pretty open book since I started this blog, so it feels good to release the secret.  I had good intentions towards the town, but it turns out they didn't want to be kept secret in the first place.

Please visit My Bella Basilicata and help spread the word!  We're open for business!

http://www.mybellabasilicata.com/

Travel Consulting and Property Listings in Beautiful Basilicata Italy