Passive Architect
To Piazza della Republica where a carousel was set in the center of rich hotel restaurants. Wealth shone everywhere, in the guild of the Medici family court, the castle we could walk in for free. Azalia pink blooms made everything bright.
April 28th, Monday. Florence is lush, crowns and crosses. The first night there we walked to place the city. We touched and discussed the heavy doors outside the Duomo in piazza del Duomo and the bands of statues in the façade. Because it was five o’clock, there weren’t any lines to walk into the church. The Dome was one of the most beautiful we would see. Painstakingly painted from Heaven to hell. The colorful marble floors, side altar statues and tapestries, all of it leading up to this magnificent dome painted by Viccoli, Giorgio Vasari, or Frederico Zuccari.
We took a train along the glistening Adriatic Sea. Without assigned seats we shifted, stood, read and awaited Florence, my favorite city. It was raining and we got a little lost in the streets with many people. My husband and I were returning to the hotel where we’d honeymooned 4 years prior.
Rain in Florence made the buildings glisten at night. We got a little lost trusting our instincts to find our hotel, but were soon there and taken in by the marble railings, high ceilings, terra-cotta tiled floors, and warm company.
Mom, Dad, my husband and I rode with Ottavio to the mall. The parking garage was full of small cars that we could see over. This must be the thing Italians do when it rains.
We found one another at the entry and from that point on went together in a crowd -into small bookstores, into a teenager’s clothing shop where Eugina bought a jean jacket asking Zia what she thought. We felt absorbed into their culture, the five of us along for the ride. The family walked around an appliance store similar to Sears. Books, electronics, the entire family as one pack went through the store. My brother, husband, Roberta, and Gabrielle discussed CD’s and Gabrielle bought a Red Hot Chili Peppers one. Some things were called a constant like facebook, and not face di libro, which they got a laugh out of.
Our whole group was tired I think. We drove from the mall along the coast of the dark tropical high pine trees, the giraffe type that looked pruned 30’ into the air. Ottavio drove us by Beta Fence, his place of employment, and drove so fast down that road. He talked of biking the hills, su, ju, up, down, up and down. We all met at a little barista, this Sunday evening on a parallel street to the beach, in one of those shops we saw when we walked into town Thursday. So I had coffee. The Italian relatives had lattes. Americans had beers. Our lunch had been so filling we all nibbled on appetizer snacks, which were enough. Roberta asked again why we’d come to Italy and we’d said to find family.
They had hosted us all day long, all of them. It was hard to express how grateful we were! We stood, went back upstairs, outside, then swapped numbers. Maybe someday we could skype. The two young girls, Gabrielle and Luana walked us home back to our hotel. Luana in her thick heels just as Maria Pia had done through the cobblestone piazza at San Gabriele. Gabrielle hugged Luana. The beach sounds were lovely and I wondered how often our families visited their own shore. Luana, Sivana, Maria Pia, and the two girls were so loveable. I’d always think of baci, baci, kisses, kisses they would say. Our entire last two days were like a dream and I didn’t want to let it go. We had to go? We all knew we’d be back to our family, the town, the mountains becoming us. We watched our last few relatives walk back to their cars a few blocks away. What a lovely two days that we couldn’t have planned. Gabrielle had even said himself that surprises were better.
Photo of mall by Progetto CMR Massimo ROJ Architects
My brother rode with us on the way back and laughed along the toll road mishaps. Later we would learn that one time, twenty years ago, late at night Maria Pia got onto the wrong side of the highway and drove that way for twenty minutes into oncoming traffic! They told the story while also feeding her the bone of the lamb over our supper! She took the jokes well and I imagined that she may be the baby of the family.
Once close to the Ferroni’s house, where we would have the traditional Easter dinner, Maria Pia stopped along the street to chat with an oncoming car. Nadia and her husband, Alfonso, who would come to Sivana and Ottavio’s home later, were also our relatives!
We met Sivana and Ottavio’s children, Domenico, the architecture student in Milan and Allessia. Once in the Ferroni’s home, where lunch smelled delicious we noticed the long table set for fifteen people! (Paolo, Pietro, Luana, Sivana, Domenico, Roberta, Eugina, Allessia, Ottavio, the genuine host, Gabrielle, and the five of us.) I remember the entry, the interior, how the land would fall off in the back, into gardens that Domenico said he tended while he was at home. The attic room had views to the sea and then to the mountains. The laughter that pulled us from the road came inside. The sheer fact of finding one another in the first place hadn’t worn off me yet.
We all sat down. Anyone who hadn’t come with us to San Gabriele had been helping to prepare lunch. A small kitchen off this dining room had more beautiful views. China plates were stacked and a napkin over our first course of this traditional Eater meal of spaghetti pasta and lamb. From the time the church bells woke us up to this moment back in Giulianova my mom was like a little girl. So small, so innocent, so happy to be whisked away by our relatives. It seemed every twenty years or so one of us from the states would come to Giulianova and find our roots.
Ah, so our meal began. The olives, the fried cheese (the brie cheese lightly breaded), the procutto (and the pate tasted good alongside of the spicy meat) was so delicious! What Dad would soon find out was that the sooner you finished your plate the quicker you got more food. Gabrielle would jump up to give Dad more Procutto, cheese, spaghetti…Dad was so full but he just couldn’t stop eating.
Later on in the afternoon Sivana would bring more pictures down from upstairs. Gabrielle in the 80’s looked hilarious with lots of hair, fluorescent clothes and big glasses. They had pictures of Mom’s cousins, Aunt Irma’s kids when they were there in the 90’s.
We had water, sprite and a little wine. At different times during our meal we’d get up to look at something, our houses on google earth for instance. Maria Pia had prepared desert and before it arrive don the table everyone made a sound like thunder… awaiting the dish. Tiramisu I think. During dinner Andy would grab Maria Pia and to her look genuinely happy and gay, but then behind her back he made the crazy loco sign with his hands and crossed eyes, which made everyone continue on laughing even more.
We had a long meal and as it came to an end so did the sunshine outside. So, what did we do next? Go to the mall of course.
With his hands behind his back Gabrielle led us into the old church of San Gabriele. The church was baby blue, with understated, intimate vaulted ceilings for an Italian cathedral. San Gabrielle was the patron saint of youth and in the atrium to this old church there was a stairway that led to the museum above celebrating the young 24-year-old saint, Gabrielle. We would enjoy mass in the new much more modern church momentarily.
Case per Vacanza photo above
Beneath the sanctuary of the new church a life-like model of San Gabrielle laid in a glass casket. Three sides of it were surrounded by a few pews for praying. We were in silence then for a while when Gabrielle again told us that mass was starting. Above us, in a very large contemporary church, the congregation was filing in and we found a place in the front row for all eight of us. Mass began and I was enamored by the crucifix mosaics that flanked either side of the altar. Again, it was difficult to decipher much more than the rhythm of mass. Communion was a free-for-all once again as was the exiting at the close of mass. We took a photo and then decided it was time to go back to Giulianova.
We’d leave Giulianova after having found our family after all and I’d still be curious as to whom else in this 20,000 person town we were related to. Addresses that had come out of our searches tended to be our great aunt’s second homes, those that were within the historic city and semi-abandoned. These brick homes held ground nearby to the central duomo, the ancient dome, as seen from the Adriatic. That dome bore a lovely ancient holding to the land above the ocean in Giulianova di Paesa, city center.
But, this Sunday would be the day we’d been dreaming of for the last two years. This would be the day we’d tell all of our relatives about in the U.S.
We were all excited for our day to begin anyhow. Gabrielle and Maria Pia would be picking us up soon after breakfast and they showed up on the dot as welcoming as ever, with hugs and kisses.
My husband and I got in the car with Maria Pia while my brother, Mom and Dad got in the car with Roberta and Gabrielle. Then off we went. It was going to take probably 45 minutes and we tried to communicate with the only Italian words we knew with Maria Pia. She put on the radio, got phone calls and drove fast. To Teramo, the thin highways guiding us back into the mountains, away from the two Giulianovas, Giulianova Pesante and Giulianova al Mare. Maria Pia was a crack-up, said she’d follow Gabrielle through the EZ pass equivalent toll lane, thought not having an EZ pass herself she had to reverse to go through a proper one. This began the laughter between our cars. This happened twice on our trip. What was even scarier was the two time she pulled into oncoming traffic lanes at the toll booth! We were almost in pain from laughing. Gabrielle, the car ahead of us, noticing what was happening behind him would put an arm out the window with a raised fist asking verbally and joking, what are you doing!? She was light-hearted and laughing too. We did though make it to the church in one piece. It was a quiet Sunday morning up in the mountains of fog.
No, this woman about is not our family. She is the proprietor that we were lucky to meet while eating in her restaurant establishment (or at least trying to) the night after we met our Italian family.
So, I didn’t take many pictures because living in the moment was so much more beautiful. My mother was taking plenty for all of us anyway. Unfortunately, somewhere between a hotel, and a bus though, we lost her camera. Someone took it, we left it, it’s a terrible mystery. We only have a few iPhone photos and our memories. It gives us even more reasons to go back to make sure it was all real!
From Giulianova to Mosciano back to the Adriatic in a day -we were tired with excitement and decided to grab a slice of pizza on our walk from city center back to our hotel. That’s when we met the lady we could never forget. The one who continued to say our entire dinner ‘Family in the Water, Family in the Water!’ I think she meant family on the water, but we couldn’t be sure.
‘Manga, manga, manga’ the proprietor called to us as soon as we entered the pizza place. It should have been the first clue to us that if she was so interested in talking the last thing we’d be doing was eating. Alas though, we each ordered slices from behind the glass and a woman behind the counter grabbed them to stick them in the oven. We sat down at a long wooden table. The place was quaint but without any more customers. A gentleman came in to rest and read the paper while he awaited his pizza to go, but when the owner wouldn’t stop talking to him, he left. She continued to chat to us. Fifteen minutes had passed and the first person’s pizza came out from the oven. The rest of us were still hungry. She hovered over our table talking, asking questions, cutting us off and waved her hands signaling and stating again ‘manga, manga, manga!’ Then, would be back the next minute without our food to start all over again.
We didn’t ever figure out what happened to the slices Dad and my husband had selected for the oven. We did squeeze in telling her that we were in Giulianova to see our family, which meant that along with the manga proclamations the woman still had something else to chant: Family in the water, family in the water, manga, manga, manga! When we asked for the bill, figuring we’d need to find food elsewhere she said to wait, the woman behind the counter was preparing something special for us and out came a nutella pizza desert. That was nice, maybe she felt sorry for us. But, I felt sorry for her. We asked both ladies to jump in a picture with us before we left the restaurant laughing and still hungry.
My husband went out to take a walk and see the view form the sloping roadway outside. It wasn’t too long after he left that the came back in with Pablo and Rosie in tow. Rosie was 70, quiet and reserved. Pablo was 90 something and very quiet, annoyed perhaps because it was very difficult to converse. Rosie, after realizing we had old photographs of her was quick to have a kind heart and hug. This was the homecoming we couldn’t’ have even hoped for! She said someone else would be coming to drive us to their family home and that’s just when Maria Pia arrived.
Hi! We’re your family! She gave great hugs and when we showed her the old pictures she exclaimed Io sono, it’s me, it’s me, I was fat! To which we all exclaimed no! She was laughing and such a joyous person, then we were whisked away into two cars and probably left those few people still in the restaurant in a shock. What we found a quick five-minute drive down the mountain must have taken at least half of an hour to prepare. It was only reflecting back on how long it took us to get from A to B that I realized how quickly our family must have moved.
We were brought to the Palandrani home and when Maria Pia pulled up Gabrielle ran to greet us from beneath the open porte cochere next to his home. He shook our hands, kissed our cheeks and from that point on never stopped smiling. He was the hospitable, Italian, Uncle Bob.
So, beneath the porte cochere our family was gathered –Sivana, Luana, Paolo, Ottavio. We were flush with emotions as we went inside, through the beaded drapery and up the wide marble stairway. Later the next day, our family would lead us to the attic and they would explain how it was built, out of concrete. Once back in the states Luana and Ottavio’s son, Dominico, and I would correspond and he would say we were welcome to stay in that attic.
We came up into the entryway foyer on level two, a space at the top of the stairs that was like a sunroom, set with a white table cloth, sweet treats and cake, fanta, coke and water. All of this was awaiting us? Imagine that in half of an hour two generations of families gather with one another to host our family in a sunroom for a Saturday afternoon. Trying to speak over language barriers, we determined we were at Pietro’s home, that of Gabrielle and Luana’s home now too. Their two girls were called down from upstairs, Roberta at 16 and Eugina at 14. Roberta helped us translate, as she was taking English lessons in school. Mom and I said ‘I think’ a lot – ‘penso.’
We were excited and I was soaking it in. All of us were excited. I don’t know how long we stood and talked and tried to communicate. Maybe two hours. The house along Via Colledoro had fields of olives behind. Food and new beverages continued to be brought out. Luana and Sivana said come back into the kitchen –a large square room with a lovely view and a bank of appliances to one wall. It felt comfortable and much less pretentious than American homes. Sivana liked me, linked her arm in mine to show me the rooms of the first floor, and let me sit on her lap when we took pictures. She led me around the house on a quick tour (was it her childhood home?) and we determined that I was an architect and that excited her very much for her son, Dominico, was studying to be an architect too. He went to school in Milan and was luckily home for Easter break for a week. All of the students would go back to school on Monday and this would prove to be expensive for us who were traveling at the same time.
At a certain point we all figured we’d go somewhere into town. We couldn’t really know. Ottavio, Sivana’s husband and I talked a little. He worked for Beta Fence and would later the next day drive us by his plant. He worked in Dallas for a time and was even-mannered and fatherly. Luana and Gabrielle liked to salsa dance and probably would have done that with their two girls that night if we hadn’t shown up. Instead, they talked about having us over for lunch the next day.
We drove down the mountain and parked outside of Santuario Maria SS dello Splendore, a church that had a piazza with a colonnade to one side, and a view of the seaside down to the other side. They were showing us the sea and would, in a timely and perfect manner, be soon leading us to church. We just couldn’t understand what we were doing and it was comical. Gabrielle led the show, led us across a piazza with an arcaded side and into the lovely little church where we heard our first mass in Italian.
Throughout the service people walked casually around and in front of the alter while we were all sitting. This was different. The excitement of the day had left me and our family a little tired. At communion every Italian crowded the altar at once. It was so funny to us Americans who held back to a default. After mass we filed out in the same way. Gabrielle leading the way again. I explained the lack of lines to Roberta while we all filed out the door at once. The five us of weren’t able to understand what our Italian family was talking about, and continued to wonder and want to know what we were doing.
Gabrielle’s family was opening up secrets to the city. Behind and beneath Madonna Del Splendore was a baptismal pool, and a small tiled room for people to gather fresh water. We tasted it as did Gabrielle. We looked downward again over the landscape as it was close to sunset. Our little group was trying to communicate about what we should do tomorrow. We understood that they would take us to the mountains near San Grasso, to the famous church of San Gabrielle. I feared it was too much and finally figured out how to say ‘we do not want to disturb you’ in Italian. But they said no, no, we’ll pick you up at 9 and we will go there. I worried about it later that night, but really for no good reason. I had to trust my mother’s instincts that told me it would be fine. They bid farewell and we walked the ancient streets of Giulianova trying to bring together where our day had begun and ended.
The homemade nature of the food at Anitchi Sapori was apparent. We were just going to enjoy our meal, the wine, and the Italian dubbed Simpsons playing on the TV overhead. Our waitress was stationed behind the welcome counter and mid-way through our delicious meal we decided to show her pictures taken twenty years ago in an effort to jog some other memory. Poor thing, she didn’t’ know anyone but she offered to go fetch the cook because of our disappointment and relentless nature. The cook came out and flipped through the pictures and at last he spoke out –just as we were hoping, that this one boy, Andrew, was his friend and that was Rosie, his mother!
The cook knew where Andrew’s mother lived, though Andrew was living out of town (they called him Andrea) and he would go see if she were home for us! Really? So, he left his station, we were the only ones in there anyway, and he went out of the front door. We never saw him again, but for the next half an hour or so the waitress would give us updates from her phone. And then, she told us: Rosie was at home and she and Paolo were coming to the restaurant! What? We didn’t know what to expect and were sitting on the edge of our seats when we noticed a woman in her 50’s come into the restaurant and address us with an Italian greeting!
Mom and I probably jumped up from our seats. Mom with her pictures and me with only my language of hello, ciao, mi piacere, nice to meet you. Mom instantly started flipping through her photos, pointing to people, looking for recognition in the woman’s face. Then the woman said ‘one minute’ while she went to grab her husband who was still at the door. About this time our waitress came to see what was going on and that’s when we noticed her confused expression and her head beginning to shake no. ‘No, these people are not your relatives –they just want to eat here!’
Oh! Well, boy we started laughing a laugh that would just not stop. All five of us, we were cracking up so hard, apologizing to the couple who were laughing too, and we just sat back down to keep waiting.
