Going to Sicily - Rumination on Immigration and Loss (Part 6 of 7)

 If you will note based on the title, I think I am going to stop this series as seven posts. This post will be about my visits with family, and the next post will be about my hopes for the future. 

To reiterate, my daughter and I travelled to Sicily, and flew into Catania. We managed to get some sight-seeing in, but she was very jetlagged. I, weirdly, was not. After a day in Catania, we drove out to Troina. I would not recommend anyone drive in Catania if possible, but if you do, you will know that you can handle just about anything. 

Upon checking in, I was told by the front desk that I had an appointment to meet the mayor at 11 a.m. the next day, that I should absolutely not miss it. I was also advised to contact Basilio Arona. That evening I learned that driving in Troina at night can be a bit harrowing, and managed to scrape up my rental car when driving through a too narrow corner (I had about 1/2 inch of clearance). But with the help of locals, I managed to make my way up to the square, and saw the World War 1 memorial with the names of people we were sure were relatives. 

The next day, the professor arrived. As I noted earlier, Basilio is the town's historian, and absolutely passionate about Troina and it's history. As we talked, he provided me with a booklet describing the family history, who my great-grandparents' family members were, and who were surviving members of the family. And then he confirmed that, yes, a number of my relatives died in World War 1, including my great-great-uncle. 

As an aside, the history of World War 1 makes it absolutely clear that the Italian officer core, particularly the generals, were completely incompetent and got millions of their countrymen killed. This was done through multiple FRONTAL ASSAULTS on Austrian entrenched positions IN THE ALPS. But, again, my family were peasants, and probably disposable in the minds of these incompetent buffoons. My great-great uncle died in the Battle of Caporetto.

Now, we finally made it to the Troina town center, and got to visit the mayor. Now, I had no expectations of this meeting. Having worked in politics, I assumed that it would be a photo op, and a handshake. But given my luck with mayors (hi Todd!), I should probably have expected more. What we got was a family reunion overseen by Basilio Arona and the mayor, Alfio Giachino, and the entire city council. This was a not a short meet and greet either, but a legit two hours of the mayor's time, followed by lunch, and seeing the homes of my great-grandparents. 

And while there was a language barrier, these individuals were definitely our relatives. You know how I said that my oldest daughter was the most Italian looking? As it turns out, my assumption was wrong. I saw my middle child's face in a number of my Sicilian relatives. And her eyes, and those of my youngest daughter, are definitely Troinese. 

Had the trip ended at that moment, I think I would have been happy. This was the moment of connection that all of us had traveled all the way to Sicily to have. And while we were complete aliens (my Italian pronuciation and grammar was judged highly, but my vocabulary is bad), this was a place we can go, and point to a house and say, we are from here. This is where we are from, and these are our people. A family trauma that has begun to heal.

But, of course, we did more while in Troina. As it turns out, one of my cousins and his daughter own a bakery called "La Bonta del Fornaio" - which translates to "The bounty of the oven." On Saturday evening we went to the bakery to meet with our cousins and try the local delicacies. Of particular note were the cookies made with a "fig" filling (more on that in the next post), and cannoli made with a baked shell instead of a fried shell. Absolutely delicious. 

We also had pizza at the bakery. I mention this in a separate paragraph because I did not grow up near my grandparents and didn't get to see them that often when I was growing up. So, the one lasting memory I have of my grandmother was her making pizza on Christmas Eve. This was the family tradition of making and eating pizza every year on Christmas Eve, and so, what could be more fitting for a meeting with her relatives than eating pizza? But interestingly enough, the pizza we ate at the bakery is a completely different style from the pizza she made. And like those of us who grew up in the United States only speaking English, and our cousins only speaking Italian, the crossing of distance has not ended all barriers. But we're closer now than we have been in some time.

The next day, we met with more relatives. This time, it was the grandchildren of my great-grandmother's favorite sister, who my great grandmother named my grandmother after. Here again, we were struck by familial resemblances. Our cousin Elvira was a dead ringer for my great aunt Marie, and her grandchildren (who were with us) immediately started bawling at seeing someone who looked just like their grandmother. 

While there were other experiences, it was these moments that stuck with me. Meeting and being with family, the irrepressible Basilio Arona, walking the streets where my ancestors walked. We are a family somewhat reunited (we still have Argentinian cousins out there).