Back to Pietrastornina

Today we woke up to a cloudy day, but the rain held off for the most part the entire day. After breakfast and photo uploads, Vito picked us up at the hotel for a second trip to Pietrastornina. This time was to see his house that his father built for them when he was alive.

We headed south through Formia toward Naples and then took the expressway to Avellino where we exited, a familiar site to us now. Up the mountain we went and this time we knew exactly where we were going. About halfway between Avellino and Pietrastornina, we stopped for an espresso and Coca-Cola for me as I was thirsty. It was a bar in the style of a Swiss-chalet and very quaint.

Moving on to Pietrastornina was a little slower this time so that we could take better photographs along the way. When we entered the city we turned on the same road behind Urciuolo’s restaurant, past the Boccia house, and down the mountain a few more twists and turns. Along the way, Vito pointed out the church where he and his mother, Rosetta where married. He also showed us olive groves that belonged to him; land inherited from his father Aniello Coppola. Finally we arrived at Via Coppoli, Vito’s house that was named Casa Rosetta (signed in iron on the entrance gate pillar) in tribute to his mother.

We parked in a space across the road that was on property of Vito’s and walked to the electronic gate where Vito entered a code to get in. Two olive trees sat in the front yard on either side of the steps leading to the arched entry. The house was beautiful on the outside, decorated with flower pots on the covered front porch made of tile.

Vito motioned for us to go to the side of the house where the driveway ended at the top of a hillside. A few years earlier, part of the hillside had slipped down the mountain about forty feet taking a log railing and some accent lighting with it. Vito had not had the yard fixed and it was sad to see that something that Aniello had worked on so hard by hand falling victim to nature.

The back of the house was beautiful as well and a similar phrase was mounted in iron on the stucco wall of the back of the house that said “L’importante è amore”, or “the important thing is love”. All this was built by hand by Aniello for his bride, Rosetta. A stained glass window caught my eye about halfway up the house that was stunning. But the spectacular sight was the view from the back yard. One can see the countryside for miles-and-miles.

On the opposite side of the driveway was a caretaker shed with a terra cotta roof and clay pots for garden flowers. It was built into the hill that also had a moss-covered stairway up the hillside with wooden log railings. On either side of the stairway path were dozens of rose bushes, each growing up an arched trellis, all with different varietals planted to honor the mistress of the house, Rosetta (which means Rose).  The pathway leads us to a stone patio at the top of the hill on the property with a statue of Jesus and another log shed.

At the base of the hill was a brick patio with an engraved fountain (Tutti vince l’Amore, or Love Conquers All) and a pond with coy fish. Vito checked the fish food in the automated feeder that was occasionally filled for him by a paid caretaker.

Olive trees and a few palm trees dotted the yard. And the front porch floor was made of porcelain tile that was colored to complement the stucco on the house nicely. Shutters covered most of the windows.

We entered the house through the side door next to the driveway. Inside was dark, but once Vito flipped on a light switch the interior was gorgeously decorated. The house was immaculately maintained and the furniture, vases, paintings, and accessories fit the style of an Italian mountain home. The walls were made of stone and plaster, and decorated with paintings of fruit, while the roof was supported with large, dark, wooden beams.

A stone fireplace sat in the living room and the furniture was made from real leather. A wooden chest sat behind the sofa and I wondered to myself what treasures it must hold. There was a china cabinet on one side of the living room that held glass and clay knick-knacks as well as hand-woven, lacey doilies. Vito saw me admiring one and gave it to me to take back to Susan. I became emotional to have something special of sentimental value to take back to Susan. It embarrassed me to shed a tear in front of Mark and Vito, but I could not help it. Vito, a sensitive, but not outwardly emotional person put his arm on my shoulder to comfort me and let me know it was alright to take this token of his family memories back with me to Susan.

In the far corner of the room was an old, tall safe. Vito said his father used it for valuables – liquor. Mounted on the stone walls on either side of the fireplace nearby were musket pistols.

The kitchen was small, but well equipped for cooking with a green, tiled countertop that wrapped around three sides. I was struck at the antique, counter balance on the countertop that was used to weigh food, something one would not see in most kitchens in America. Even the nearby laundry room and downstairs bathroom, though small, were well decorated.

Vito took us into his father’s office/study. The room was full of notes and books. On the wall was a shelf with a balance that his father had built for weighing the mass of small items. As an engineer, he was always full of ideas to make things better. The walls were lined with diplomas, certificates, blueprints, and old photographs of family members. There were dozens of carousels of 35 mm slides of family, including Vito, growing up in Pietrastornina. What I would not give to be able to convert these to photographs. He showed us a booklet of his father’s associates business cards he had kept, and even his own.

It was in this office Vito gave me a sample of literature that his father had kept about Pietrastornina, a document kept by his father for several years, another gift that Vito hoped would be appreciated by his American cousins.

The bedrooms upstairs were roomy, and felt like a home. One room he showed us is where my mother had slept when she visited there. Vito’s room was facing the rose bush hill and also had a view of the valley below. A white stand had a globe of the world on it and on his desk was an opened book on astronomy in Italian. He reminded me that one time he told me he was a dreamer and he often dreamed of the stars. There was also a baseball glove (hardly used, I might add as baseball is not popular in Italy).

At the top of the stairs was an old, Singer sewing machine. The stairway was lined with clay pots, glass bottles, and photographs of him, his father, and his grandfather on the walls. And there were shutters that opened from the inside to reveal that stained-glass window I had admired from the back yard.

Some museums would love to have a chance to come into house and search for treasures that were part of everyday life growing up in their family’s mountain retreat. I glanced at Vito every once in a while and could see that he was playing back memories in his head of times past spent there with his mother and father. He seemed almost forlorn at times.

We took one last look in the house and then went back outside as Vito secured the door. Then, we took one last look at the view from the back yard. I will forever savor the sight of this place in my mind.

After getting in the car, we proceeded down the mountain into the valley. I had no idea where Vito was taking us, but I would soon be very pleased. At the bottom of the mountain, a light but steady rain began, enough to wet the roads.

In the valley below we could see other mountaintop towns above. The winding road carried us along a riverbank. Soon we began to see cement walls on the berms of the road where the road had been cut into the hills. After rounding a bend, we saw a sign that said Tufo. I remembered that Vito had told us that the white wine whose grapes were grown here and the wine that was made here was called Greco di Tufo. This was the town where the wine originated. And up on the hillside above us and below us were vineyards full of new growth of leaves that would produce grapes for this pale, yellow wine in the fall.

Tufo is a small town with narrow streets barely big enough for one car, but somehow two cars managed to squeeze by each other. We passed through town from one side to the other in a matter of minutes and then turned around. A few feet later we stopped on the side of the main road where space permitted and parked before getting out in front of a butcher shop and market.

It was time for some lunch and we were all hungry, so we put our hunger in Vito’s hands to satisfy. While he placed an order for some pannini sandwiches with prosciutto, Mark and I shopped for a while. There were lots of different kinds of pasta and I was particularly looking for Pastina, small star-shaped pasta our grandmother had fed us when we were young kids. I was unsuccessful in my search. Mark found a large bottle of lemoncello and purchased that to take back with us to the hotel. Vito’s order was served to us wrapped in paper. He also purchased a package of chocolate, cookie wafers with small white stars on top to accent them. The sandwich and cookies were delicious and hit the spot for us.

We left Tufo by the same road we entered and proceeded northward to Benevento, a fairly large city on the north side of the region of Campania. A ride through a tunnel and bypass kept us away from the city traffic and took us past lush green fields and vineyards as far as the eye could see. The houses seemed much more lavish near the larger vineyards, all in the style of Italian homes with terra cotta roofs. Occasionally, the sun would peak through the clouds and make the green fields glow near Sassinoro. The mountains became increasingly numerous and steeper as we entered the Lazio region on our way back to Gaeta. These were some of the prettiest farm landscapes I had seen to date.

At one stretch of straight road, we found ourselves following four large tractor-trailer trucks that were slowing us down, so Vito hit the gas hard on his Volvo and we passed all four like they were standing still. Typical of the driving style for many Italian people (aggressive), it was a first for us as passengers with Vito. Yikes!!

Eventually, we arrived back in Formia, familiar roads to us. And then we were in Gaeta, just in time to arrive at the hotel for another spectacular sunset enhanced and accented by rainclouds over us, but sun over the ocean.

Before dinner, we went to Tapas for some espresso. Paoli was working and gave us each a shot. I asked if he would give me a shot of limoncello also, and he poured one for both Mark and me. We joked about tasting grappa (Italian moonshine) and while Mark declined, I had a shot just for a taste. Vito suggested a Belgian beer for me us try as well. It was called Blanche de Namur and was delicious, very smooth.

While we were there we met some more of Vito’s friends. Stefano Muto and his girlfriend Leda Viola were there. Alex Milone came from Terracina to spend some time with us, and Marco Iannotta, another broadcasting friend came to meet us. A short time later, Erasmo DiPerna and Massimo Tajani came to spend some time with us. We had a great visit with all of Vito’s friends with a few drinks.

Hunger got the best of us, so we walked to Via Indepenzia to a very small pizzeria called Pizzeria Rustica at the entrance to the street. The pizza was fantastic and the owner was glad to make some special for us. We spilled into the street with pizza in hand to eat and share some time together. While we were there, I noticed an old gentleman with a cap and raincoat walking away from us. His dark profile was in stark contrast to the light from the street lamps. It was a rare occasion that I did not have my camera with me, but Mark did. I took his camera from him and photographed the man in the light. This turned out to be one of my favorite photographs from the trip. I said it was very European

When we were finished and everyone started to go their separate ways we got into the car and headed to the hotel where Vito dropped us off for a night of sleep.