Roseto Valfortore: Rooting for My Roots

One of the things I said I had to do if I came to Italy was visit the town that my grandpa was from. He loved his town and would always talk about the goats that had the "biga, biga, teats...and then they'd milka the teats...and the teats would get small, and then the goats would chew on the grass...and then they teats would geta big again!"

Well I didn't think I'd make it. I went to the train station and bought my train ticket to Foggia. From there, I was told I would need to take the bus to Roseto, but I'd have to get the bus ticket in Foggia. I scoured some websites on Roseto and found a taxi service with an English phone number. An English guy answered and told me that taking the bus would be a very daunting task, that he actually could have someone pick me up directly from the train station and drive me to Roseto and have a room ready for me when I got there. That sounded perfect and I didn't care that it would cost 50 Euros. Sure enough, I arrived and there was a guy named Leonardo and a girl named Antonella waiting there for me. I was amazed as we drove through the mountains at the hundreds of wind turbines that dotted the hill tops.

Neither one spoke any English and I discovered after arriving in Roseto, that pretty much no one speaks English. There was a man whose house was next door to my apartment that said, "I speak English, so if you need any help, you let me know. So, Franco and Antonella showed me this place where I could order food. I asked if anyone knew the Cotturo family. The consensus seemed to be that there were no more Cotturos in that town. After I ate, I decided to walk around the town and take some pictures and then maybe head out in the morning.

It only took me about an hour to get around the whole town. I guess the goats are long gone and have been replaced by wind turbines. I got back to my little apartment and was about to enter, when the guy that said he spoke English asked me how I was and if I was traveling alone and why I came to Roseto. Told him my name and explained that my grandfather was from that town. He said, “Did you have an uncle Joe and an Aunt Bibiana?” I said, “Yes! That’s the family!” He said, “My name is Domenico DelGrosso and your great-grandmother, Celeste Policelli…” yadda yadda yadda…anyway we’re related.
Everyone in the town was so friendly, the population is only about 2000 people and it was established in the 1400s. Everyone says, “Ciao” or “Buon giourno” to each other. We walked around the town and he showed me some of the historical landmarks. In the main piazza there is a statue dedicated to the memory of those killed in World War I. I think there were about 40 names and that is a lot coming from such a small town. The star at the top used to be made of stone, but broke during an earthquake. Domenico’s family were blacksmiths and he made the stainless steel star that now sits on top of the monument so it would never tarnish, and as he put it:"...so shouldn’t the memories of those that died."

Note: It wasn't until a few days after I originally posted this that my dad sent me an email with a picture showing a "Filippo Cotturo" on the monument. I'm not sure who he was or how he was related. There seem to be several Filippo Cotturos in the family, including my grandfather. Hmmmm.

NEW note: Turns out, this Filipo Cotturo is the great-grandfather of another Cotturo I know in Montreal, but we can't figure out if or how we are related....hmmmmmm again.

Later that night we were invited to a cook out. On the Policelli property, there is a garden area with an old stove canopied in grape vines. We had pasta, chicken, bread, potatoes and 3 different kinds of grapes. There was plenty of wine and beer to go around as well. One bottle was from a nearby town called Troia and one bottle was homemade by the Policelli's. There was some conversation and all I really understood was, "Dolce and Gabana." and then a lot of laughing. Gregorio explained that, apparently, "The priest wears Dolce and Gabana underwear...so he is not a good priest!" They really got a kick out of that!
The question has come up as to what does the name "Cotturo" mean or where did it come from. Apparently a "cotturo" is a large pot made for cooking things like stew. There are Italian dishes called "spaghetti al Cotturo" or "la pecora al cotturo."
That's about all I know.

The next day, Domenico and I took a hike to the Fortore River for which the town was named: Roseto, for all of the roses; Val, for valley; and Fortore. We walked down to the old water mill that is still standing. The river looks more like a creek, but you could see the evidence of the power of the river in full flow by the large boulders that had been carried downstream. It got really hot and we hiked our way back up to the town.

Domenico and his wife Bibiana invited me for lunch. We had Minestrone soup, prosciutto, tortellini, fresh cheese and tomatoes and homemade ricotta…and wine of course. Bibiana is great. She said, "Make yourself at home...and if you don't then that's your problem." I wanted to laugh.

My cousin Gregorio took me around the town that evening and showed me where my great-grandmother's house is, and then we took a couple of pictures around the town. We saw the oldest house in Roseto, built in 1481. He showed me the original streets, and places where people kept their horses. My father sent some old pictures from Roseto, Gregorio recognized those places and we took some pictures of what those places look like now. My time was now up in Roseto. I thought it was Leonardo that took me back to the train station in Foggia as we listened to AC DC on the radio...but it was actually his twin brother Franco! Franco also gave me a free watch that is bigger than my wrist. Thanks Franco!

Franco dropping me off at the train station in the wee hours of the morning.

Domenico, me & Gregorio.

Drinking lots of wine from Troia and getting purple teeth!

Map of the town.  You can walk it in less than an hour.

Here is a picture taken from my grandfather's photo album of Roseto in 1929, the year he left for America. (80 years ago)This is the same spot today (2009).
Philip Cotturo and Friends. Roseto 1929. (He's the one standing on the left).