Weekend in Calabria
SATURDAY
As much as I tried to employ logic in getting myself to sleep, it didn't happen. At all. I gave up and showered around 4. But man; today hurts.
As I walked into Mariella's kitchen, she whispered that she hardly got any sleep; Vincenzo coughed up a storm all night.
I'm pretty sure I also have a bug. Not from him; he's been careful. I blame it on the three groups of wedding Texans on my flight. Why do I always catch a cold when I'm traveling!
All that aside, we are off to Calabria! The day started with a light drizzle, but the skies brightened, and in no time, the sun was out.
We took the "Pullman" to Messina, to catch the ferry. On it are a joyous group of a few people who know each other, and many who don't. No matter. Cheery greetings and hugs filed into the autobus. Once in Messina, the bus driver pointed out the lounge, and said we had 20 minutes to go there then get back on the bus. I've since learned that really means 45 minutes. A few minutes after my incredible cornetto (hear the thigh-o-meter?) and a caffe, we re-seated on the bus. I puzzled as to why the sea was on my left. A quick peak at GPS told me it's because I'm in Calabria already! Smoothe!
I forgot how much I love these friends, with special affection for Marisa and Carmelo. Marisa teased me, because she said Carmelo and I are the same person. We both love architectural design. And Vincenzo gave me a hat tip--I mentioned to him earlier that I had looked up a few interesting things about various Calabrian cities, some of which we visited today. One was regarding dreams the King would receive, where the original Madonna came to him, warning of earthquakes. The painting of her was to be evacuated, along with the townfolk, before everything crumbled. He scratched his head, saying he hadn't heard such a thing. After asking the guide, he came back with a big grin, and proceeded to lay out the whole story for Mariella. Carmelo got involved, and that's when Marisa made her proclamation.
We drove the stunning coast up to Tropea, the village with a few nicknames: The Paris of Italy's Coast, The Most Beautiful Village in the World, The Coast of the Gods, etc, etc. it's a charming borgo with white sands and crystalline water, along with noble palaces and, of course, beautiful churches.
From Tropea, we headed back down the coast to Pizzo (which keeps auto correcting to pizza), which hosts an imposing castle, tied to the death of Gioacchino Murat (King of Naples, married to Napoleon's sister, Caroline). He was a brave and honorable King, searching to reconquer his reign after some turbulent times, and instead found his death. Again; no good deed goes unpunished. Also, I have no photos, because there were costumed mannequins in castle/fortress jail cells, and I thought it looked too much like the fun house at a county fair.
We took what I would call a child's choo-choo to the next stop. We were on it a solid 20 minutes. Music was piped in, so Marisa, who often just sings to herself, burst out in song, swaying and clapping included, and not only did the other friends join in, but bystanders we passed by on the street and sidewalk temporarily swayed and sang along! I love this life.
I hope this video plays for you. I often have trouble loading videos:
Now to descend what seemed like a thousand narrow steps, to the second-most popular Calabrian attraction, after the Riaci Bronzes, the Chiesetta di Piedigrotta. That literally translates to the tiny church of the feet Grotto. This place is impressive. Created entirely out of the surrounding tufa, it was built to enshrine a painting of the Madonna that was in the Captain's cabin of a ship. The painting somehow remained totally intact, though the ship was smashed to smithereens. I believe two sailors, perhaps brothers, were survivors, and carved and created this shrine. I was, as you remember, very tired, and the details in that last sentence were somewhat blurry in translation. The time to visit, if you should go, is in the afternoon, when the western exposure brings in oblique rays, which highlight the colors of the mineral salt deposits. Nestled between cliff and shore, it's pretty cool no matter what or if you believe.
Now to the pretty hotel for the night, where and elegant supper was unfolding before us, while I, unfortunately, was crumpling in. I made it to one bite of my secondo, and just couldn't eat or do anything else. I apologized profusely to Mariella, said I was feeling a bit off, when in fact I was nearly hallucinating. She touched my face and said I was on fire. So, being Mariella, she whipped some Tachiflu out of her purse-of-many-things-inside, told me to take one immediately, and one in the morning. And now I plan to go to the pharmacy and buy about 30 boxes, because my fever certainly broke. I woke up at 1 am, thinking I fell into a swimming pool. I sweated every fever molecule out of me. Now I just have an annoying but manageable cold. Btw; I slept great!
SUNDAY's details will be added soon. I'm, as Elena would say, KO'd (how does she come up with all these expressions?!)
A domani.
SUNDAY:
I felt pretty good after a hot shower, but felt even better after a cappuccino, an enormous Nutella cornetto (tick, tick, tick; more pounds), and the espresso bump Vincenzo brought me later. Humanity rejoined!
Off we go to Paravati, another place of religious mystery, where we learned of the strange yet incredible life of Natuzza Evolo, also referred to as Mamma Natuzza. She never went to school, as her father left for Argentina to find work and never returned. Natuzza helped raise her many siblings, and with no schooling, was illiterate. She married and had 5 kids, and was poor her whole life. She dedicated her life to helping all the poor, especially the elderly and the infirm, and in fact, began an institution to do just that. It's a well-run, modern facility.
It's important to note that she died in 2009, so was a woman of modern times, and was studied and scrutinized by religious authorities, scientists, and townspeople alike. Testimonials abound from hundreds of camps of thought.
Natuzza had visions of Jesus and Mary, as we've heard multiple times about a number of people over our courses of stay in Italy. And like many, she was known to have healing powers. But what's different about Natuzza from them is that, in addition to these visions and healings, she had hemographic episodes. Over a thousand of them. Hemography, you ask? Your Latin lessons will tell you it means blood writing. She would experience spontaneous stigmata, the blood of which would form words in Arabic and Hebrew, always of religious character (remember; she was illiterate, even in her native Italian language). This could not be done of her own will. For example, I couldn't have walked up to her and said, Hey, Natuzza, make some blood writing for me. It happened, as I said, over 1000 times, at random, but certainly always for one hour on Good Friday at 3 pm, the time of Jesus' death, and throughout the Easter season. I don't know how the hour of Jesus' death was known. Sundials were around then?
The other unusual thing is that people from all over the world came to see her, and she could speak with them. Japanese visitors? She suddenly spoke Japanese. From Germany? Sie spreche Deutsch. Et cetera. I was jealous of that gift. If only. Magari.
Ok. Swinging the pendulum to the other side, we move from religious torment to the juicy naughty torment recorded in Homer's Odyssey. Sidebar: Kids in school here read Dante's trilogy and Homer's Odyssey, starting at around age 12.
Ahhh, Scilla (pronounced Sheila; a pity for some Irish women). Or Scylla, as some of you may know her; with a melodious voice and mesmerizing beauty, was a siren who sang and lured the sailors to their deaths. She raked the ire of Circe (if you ever want a delicious read about Circe, check out the book of the same name, by Madeline Miller), who had the power to trick Scilla and turn her into a "gorgon"--an ugly, horrible monster--whose destiny was to live in a slimy cave. Scilla was so pissed off about it, she ate people alive and her alluring song manifested in wrecked ships against the rocky promontory (read about the Labors of Hercules; she shows up there as well).
On this particular day, the wind was fierce. But as we got to the fishing village (again; a steep descent of about 1000 steps, but Marisa knows for sure, because she counted them the whole way down), the air was calm. Not because the wind had stopped, but because this forceful vent has been commonplace for eons, and an enormous castle-fortress (they were often both) was built on its particular spot to shelter the fishing village. Ingenious.
Our guide ("guida," whether masculine or feminine) spoke clearly and at a great pace; I was relieved and a little surprised that I understood at least 75% of his lecture!
Scilla takes the shape, map-wise, of an eagle. From the town's main piazza, you can see where the Ionian and Tyhrennian seas meet. There's a line of demarcation, more visible on a full sunny day. What's particularly interesting about this, is that the currents in each sea at this meeting point, are strangely vertical, and incredibly forceful (all turbulence accredited to Scilla). The density and temperature of the waters are vastly different, and for this, they will never meld. Hmmfff. Like some people I know. It's also what causes, basically, aquatic tornadoes beneath the surface. God; I'm glad I'm not a sailor.
Scilla was, for quite some time, an abandoned village. Once mainly a fishing village, the simple homes hosted only two rooms: a place to sleep and a place to cook. As times changed, these places were left for those providing more comfort and convenience. Eventually, its position in Calabria offered plenty of touristic opportunity, and those abandoned homes were reinvented as shops and B&B's. I like Scilla; it'd be fun to get a B&B there. Although yes; Tropea is a gem, I prefer the laid- back personality of Scilla.
One thing I've noticed about Calabria, food-wise, is that it's all about casareccia or gemelli for the pasta, pomodoro passata, chili pepper, tuna, and swordfish. Sometimes pork, but the aforementioned take the lead.
I also noticed that the men, especially, have a Neopolitan look. It makes sense, as Campania and Calabria are neighbors. My husband definitely sides with the Sicilians with regard to looks.
We made a beautiful return passeggiata, all uphill, to our ride. Our time in Calabria, for this moment anyway, was coming to an end. Arrivederci!
Back on the ferry, another "20 minute" lounge stop, where I strolled the decks, then went inside to take part in one of my favorite sports: people watching. From the bar to the Bar, to a kids' play area, the lounges, to the open decks, I genuinely love this method of travel. When I'm on a ferry, I notice that everyone on board seems happy. Who wouldn't love that?
The Pullman is another great invention. Pretty much a bus with La-Z-Boys and A/C, it's far more comfortable than a train or a car. And on our ride home, several screens dropped down so the whole bus could watch "Andiamo a Quel Paese," a charming film I'd like to see again with Joe.
As we bid ciao-ciao-ciao-ciao-ciao to all our friends, Vincenzo, Mariella, and I hopped in the car and headed home, where Agnese greeted me with a "Ben tornato" and a huge hug around my waist, and where we all ate pizza later, courtesy of Alessandro. I must get him something as a thank you.
After supper, Ettore asked if we could sleep together. Oh; if I had a dollar every time a guy asked me that! I guess I'd have $2.00 now. I said I have a bad cold, but we can do it soon. I told him how my kids and I would have Book Parties; everyone piled into my bed, along with dozens of books, where we'd read until we fell asleep.
His smile was huge... almost as big as my heart.
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