Up Close and Personal

One of the best things about travelling is having the chance to get up close and personal. I am not just referring to the driving, which remains a constant topic of conversation during dinner with our fellow travelers.  One gentleman from England commented yesterday that Italians learned to how drive by reading cereal boxes as children.  The boxes always contained coupons which could be redeemed for prizes and each coupon instructed the reader to “tear along the dotted line”.  Apropos!  Apparently the Italian children took this quite seriously. 

Bus vs. Motorcycle in Amalfi

And certainly the extraordinarily narrow streets make it quite easy to “reach out and touch someone”  --  if you are brave enough to put your arm out the window and risk amputation as you pass 500-year old stone cottages within 3-5 inches of either side of the car.
 
But traffic aside, what I am referring to is the people we have met on our trip, and the opportunities we’ve had to get to know the local customs and traditions at a level that is not possible without staying in their homes and eating in their kitchens.    One of the benefits of travelling through Croatia and in the interior regions of southern Italy is the lack of Americans tourists.  From the time we landed in Dubrovnik on May 23^rd until we reached Positano on June 6^th, we only saw two Americans.   The absence of familiar company forced us to seek companionship from the people of many different countries, and we had a great time doing so.

Most of these roofs are new, after the war

On our kayaking trip, we had the opportunity to spend a lot of time talking with our guide Vedran about the war between Croatia, Bosnia, and Montenegro in the early 90’s.  Vedran’s family is from Zagreb, which is a very large city and the capital of Croatia.  He was five or six when the war was in full swing.  He remembers the air raids and the need to sleep in the bomb shelters, but his recollection is that it wasn’t that dangerous – the bombings were more a symbolic show of force than an attempt to conquer and destroy.  Southern Croatia took a much more severe beating, with actual street combat  (as evidenced by the bullet holes in the city walls), and other atrocities of war (as depicted in the memorials showing soldiers killing women and children which we saw on our day trip to the Pelanjac peninsula).  Over 80% of the homes inside the walled city of Dubrovnik sustained either collapsed roofs or other collateral damage as a result of a 6 month bombing siege just before the end of the war.  We asked Vedran whether people of his parents’ generation and his generation had a strong hatred for the Bosnians and Montenegrians, or for Muslims in general.  He surprised us by saying that generally this was not the case, especially with the younger generation.  People just want to get on with their lives and get back to the things they enjoyed before the war. 

In Matera, we had the pleasure of getting to know Vincenzo, whose family has been settled in the area for a very long time.  Vincenzo bought his B&B in the Sassi (cave) district to be close to the homes of his two sisters, who live on either side of him.  Despite the cultural differences, we shared laughs about You Tube and spent part of the afternoon discussing art, history, and raising children.   Vincenzo confided he will be turning 40 soon and we talked about the good parts of getting older. 

When we took the hike on the Sentieri Degli Dei, we ended up in the little town of Bomerano and met a really nice man who owned the pizzeria across from the bus stop.  We had approached his son seeking assistance with the bus schedule and the son did not understand English well enough to help us, so he ran and got his father.   The father was a very warm and charming person who was genuinely interested in helping us out, asking where we were from and just wanting to chat.  In the end, he arranged a ride for us back to Amalfi.  While we were in Bomerano, we saw the most hilarious sight – a man “walking” his horse.  The man was riding down the street on his motorcycle and he had the horse’s harness in his hand.  He was driving about 20 miles per hour and the horse was running along beside him down the main thoroughfare.  Hilarious!  It reminded me of Carena’s trip to Mexico when she saw the farmer transporting his horse in the back of his pickup, trying to turn a corner without the horse toppling over and out of the truck.  (Carena also told us that in Puebla, people walked their dogs similarly to this man in Bomerano - they drove up and down the road in their cars with leashes in their hands, their little dogs running along beside the car).

One of the nicest persons we met was a stranger who helped us in the town of Filecchio, a little to the east of Castelnuovo di Garfagnana and south of Barga, up in the Lucca region.  We were trying to find our B&B for the evening and thought the town had only one road based upon the viamichelin map and directions we had printed and brought with us on the trip.  However,  after we reached the village, we saw roads forking to the right and left and they were so narrow we were terrified of going down one and having no way to turn around.  A group of men was standing outside a little store, so I approached them for directions.  “Parla Inglese?”  A long response followed, none of which was in English.  I tried again -  this time showing the map and asking  “Dove il Hotel Fabbro?”.  More confusion – they held the map right side up, upside down, and then convened a town council to try to interpret it.  Although I didn’t understand what they were saying, I am sure it was something like “Oh, that’s what our town looks like on a map!  Hey Giacomo, here is where your house is, and this is where your mother and sister live!”, to which Giacomo responded, “No this is where  my sister lives, over here.  She used to live there but moved last year, remember?”  I interrupted, “Cual direccione?”  “Ah, si, si” – and then about 5 minutes of unintelligible directions, with much hand gesturing -- left, right, up, down, left again.  Giacomo interrupts – “No, no, no!” His hands move right, left, left, up, down, right!  Finally Paolo got into his car and motioned us to follow him.  All the rest of the men nodded their heads in agreement,  “Yes, this is certainly the best way!” We gratefully followed, but could not keep up with Paolo as the road became narrower and narrower.  We pulled in our mirrors to pass between ancient stone homes that look as if they had numerous close encounters of the automotive kind over the past years.  Paolo slowed to wait for us at each turn and led us out of town, into the dense woods.  Hmm. Maybe this was not such a good idea.  Maybe he and Giacomo actually were saying, “Let’s take them to the woods and rob them. We’ll split everything 50-50! “  Maybe that was why they all seemed so happy with Paolo’s suggestion. 

Instead, we arrived safe and sound, and thanked Paolo profusely.  We parked in front of the sign for Hotel Fabbro, at a carport on the top of a somewhat muddy dirt road (it had rained earlier in the day) leading down a heavily wooded hill.  I called the hotel, “Hello, this is Jeanne Schmidt.  We are up at your carport – do you have a shuttle to get down the road?  A British woman answered the phone, “Oh brilliant!  Walk down the road and I’ll meet you on the portico!”  I was hating my baggage after 24 days of travelling.  “With all my luggage?” I whined.  “Is it possible to drive down?”   “Well, you can drive down if you like, but to get out you will have to back up the hill since there is no turnaround.  Most people prefer to walk.  But don’t worry. I’ll send Geran with a wheelbarrow to carry your things!”   

Geran was a cheerful chap who quickly met us and walked us about a hundred yards down to a quintessentially charming  B&B.  The two story stone building dates back to the early 1700’s.  It has a graceful veranda heavily planted with hydrangeas, geraniums, and wysteria, and offers views of the forest and distant mountains which today were covered in clouds but often are dressed in a blanket of snow.  The sitting room is huge and decorated with homey antiques and very comfortable overstuffed chairs.  A bookcase is full of Italian cookbooks and Tuscan-themed interior decorating guides and I quickly decide I am going to sink into the couch near the bookshelf and not emerge until dinner time.  Bob is pleased that the internet is working and pulls out a bottle of 2008 Poggia Castegnano Rossi di Montalcino  and we quickly start to melt and unwind from the stress of travelling all day (7 hours of drive time from Positano, plus all the sight-seeing stops we made along the way).  Geran and his wife Karen come by to chat with us and tell us a bit about their home and their life in Tuscany.  They were originally from the UK and now spend time in both places, after having lived all over Europe in their past lives.  We talk about religion but avoid politics, and then Karen leaves to prepare our dinner. 

Sitting room at Il Fabbro Hotel

The Hotel

Our bedroom window at Il Fabbro

We are joined at dinner by another couple from the UK who have children just a bit older than ours.  Dinner conversation includes discussions about the cost of college and how nice it is when the kids become independent and land firmly on their feet after graduation.  Their youngest son has just enlisted with the R.A.F. for a 16-year commitment.  Apparently, in order to qualify for fighter pilot training, which costs the Royal Air Force over $3 million GBP per recruit (assuming you don’t crash your plane), you must agree to serve a 16 year term.  They were very proud of their son, and he was very excited to pursue his passion for flying high and fast.

I appreciated meeting all sorts of friendly and interesting people on the trip, and I realized that their company staved off the spells of homesickness I was beginning to feel.  I will cherish the memories, but in the end, there is no place like home.