Pietrastornina

The next morning, we awoke early to shower for the planned day’s events. The Boccia’s, minus Giuseppe who had to work again, were taking us to Pietrastornina, about a one hour drive from Naples. Pietrastornina is the home of our grandfather and seeing this place was one of the primary reasons we came to Italy. Our grandfather immigrated to America and left his farm abandoned in this community. His house is now owned by Tina and Guglielmo, but they were very secretive about sharing details or allowing us to go into it to see our grandfather’s old home. When our grandfather left Italy, he sold the property he owned across the street to the city to have the money to travel. There is now a cemetery on that property that even has some relatives buried there in the mausoleum. Tina and Guglielmo paid the taxes on the house for years and claimed it as their own. I have no problem with that, but wanted to see the inside. We were told it was run-down and in ruins so we would not be able to.

Getting a shower was an experience to remember. The bathroom was small. It had a sink, commode, bidet and the shower head was installed over the mentioned fixtures. So when you showered, everything got wet. Even the toilet paper was soaked. And there was nowhere for the water to really drain. The floors were wet standing in front of the sink to brush your teeth, etc. It was funny, but different and very confusing to us. But apparently that is the way it is in much of Europe.

After showering, we had some time to wait to leave for Pietrastornina. I watched a little bit of Italian television to see if I could pick up on the language. A soap opera was on that was rather risqué and the language lesson I had hoped for did not happen as they characters talked too fast. The news channels were a bit easier to understand as there were pictures as part of the story to help with illustrating what the commentators were saying.

Mark went to the front bar and was able to get some espresso and pastries for us to have for breakfast. And soon after eating we were summoned to the car by Antonio.

The drive to Pietrastornina took us by the north side of Mt. Vesuvius and along the expressway to Avellino. We exited there and started up into the mountains on a very narrow and scenic roadway to Pietrastornina. Arriving in my grandfather’s home village was emotional for me. To think that I was on land that he once was on made me proud and sad at the same time since I was very young when he died.

When entering Pietrastornina, there is a hotel (Urciuolo Ristorante Pizzeria Hotel) on the right where my mother has stayed on visits in years past. The Urciuolo family is also related to us. The road that turns right behind that is where Luigi and Gianna own a home. If you do not turn there and go straight toward town about ¼ mile you will see the cemetery that is on my grandfather’s old land and right across the street is his old house. Further on and you would come into town.

We made the turn to go to the Boccia house which was about 100 yards down the road from the hotel. Luigi parked the car and we carried food inside for meals later in the day. It was getting chilly and threatening rain, but I did not care as I wanted to see my grandfather’s house from the outside at the very least.

Across the street from their house was a scenic overlook of the area and a bench. I sat alone for about 30 minutes photographing the area and thinking about my family roots. This is the land where half of me originated since both my grandfather and grandmother came from Pietrastornina. I became very emotional and shed some tears thinking about all that had transpired in the century that made me who I am today.

The area was beautiful, even under clouds. And from the overlook I could see the top half of my grandfather’s house. Mark joined me, and within a few minutes Antonio and Gianna also joined us and suggested we walk up the road to see our grandfather’s house.

We set out on foot as the temperature dropped significantly. Gianna was too cold to proceed after we were about half-way there, so she returned to the Boccia house. We arrived at our grandfather’s house. Again, I was emotional just seeing that this is a house that was built by his hands. It was disappointing that we could not go inside, but I had to deal with it. We walked around the sides (the back was fenced in and inaccessible) to look in, but the curtains prevented us from doing so.

I had a plastic bag that I had brought so that I could get some soil from the property to take to mom. I filled it up and placed it into my pocket knowing that she would love to have some.

We walked across the street to the cemetery only to find it closed. We wanted to see where some of our family members were buried, but that was impossible on this day, so we started back to the Boccia house. A short way down the road was a store and I wanted to buy a souvenir or two. I bought a scarf that was made there as a gift and some postcards. We then trekked out again, but ran into Armando Urciuolo, the owner of the hotel and restaurant on the street. My mother had seen him last when he was a teenager on a visit and stay there.

We explained who we were and how we were related. He invited us into the restaurant even though it was not opened. That meant more photos with my camera. The restaurant was great inside with lots of seating, a large kitchen, televisions for watching futbol (soccer), and a bar with lots of varieties of wine. We visited for a few minutes and then his son Biagio joined us. Another cousin to see! When we were ready to leave, Armando gave us six bottles of wine to take back to America with us, all locally grown grapes and wine. We were very happy to have seen this place were our mother once stayed and ate.

Antonio called Luigi to pick us up and take us into town by car. When we arrived into Pietrastornina we saw narrow streets, multicolored houses tucked into the mountainside, some shops, a piazza (town square), and the Pietra, a rock mountain structure that stands in the middle of town like a pointed tower.

The town was quaint and we parked and walked through much of it. One store we saw was run by the Urciuolo family, so we went in to inquire about some of our relatives from that side. The language barrier was a hindrance to us even with Antonio translating. They people were very nice, nonetheless. We bought some post cards and a few other items and left to tour the rest of the town. Luigi went into a butcher shop to buy some meat. Again, the emotion overcame me as I was walking the same streets that my family has walked on for more than a century. I wondered if the people I saw there were related somehow to my grandparents, and thus to me. After taking several photographs, we left town for our temporary home base.

After arriving at the Boccia house, we all agreed that it was very cold. The temperature had dropped outside about 30 degrees in just a couple of hours. Antonio took us to the back of the house and showed us his basketball hoop surrounded by a very tall fence. Thank goodness there was one or a stray rebound would have traveled down the mountain for miles and miles.

We all ate a hearty meal of pasta fagioli, mozzarella di bufala, prosciutto, and strufoli (a dessert made in Italy for Christmas) made special by Gianna just for our visit. And of course, Luigi made us each an espresso.

The wind and the rain had picked up outside and on the mountain top it was bitter cold. Inside was as well as they had no heat on prior to our arrival. Antonio used the bathroom and took a nap (a great defecation and forty winks as he calls it) while we all sat around a gas stove in the living room all bundled up with our coats on to keep warm. After about an hour we packed up the car and left to go back to Naples.

The drive down the mountain was as exciting as going up. I even took video of the trip back to be able to capture more. You don’t capture a lot in a car riding around the turns. And we were happy to get back to Naples, if nothing more than to warm up.

At night, we went to an authentic pizzeria in Pomigliano d’Arco, thankful that Giuseppe could join us after work. Oh, and he brought us pasta from where he worked! Pizza margarita is as close to authentic as it gets in the city where pizza was invented. Great pizza, great wine, Coca-Cola, and futbol on the television. I could have stayed much longer and eaten more, but everyone was ready to call it a day, so they dropped us off at the hotel.

Tired, yet anticipating a great day tomorrow visiting Pompeii, I was still hoping to sleep much better than I had since arriving in Italy.