Calabria

View from my apartment in Bovalino.

So, my goal this trip was to repeat the success I experienced on my last trip to Italy in 2009 in Roseto Valfortore.  My strategy was the same as the last trip.  Wing it.

Michele Policelli gave me a ride to Foggia to catch the 9:15pm train.  I arrived early and tried to buy my ticket.  Unfortunately, one of the trains for the trip was full, so getting to Calabria by morning was impossible.  I got a hotel room across the street and would have to

Beach across from my apartment

catch the 4:30am train, arriving in Italy around 2pm.  Ok fine.  I had spend several hours securing a hotel as close to Portigliola, Calabria, Italy as I possibly could. Yes, a 10 1/2 hour train ride.

The problem is that I heard Calabria was full of mafia and bandits that will rob and shoot you.  So, I decided I at least wanted a good (safe) hotel near the beach and close to the train station.  Hotels in the area were almost nonexistent, According to the map, Locri looked like the

Ground floor of my apartment

closest town to Portigliola, but I couldn't find a hotel.  The closest thing I could find online was a place called Palazzo Reginella Hotel and Residence in Bovalino, which was only about 10 minutes from Locri by train.  It was a beautiful hotel.  I paid 80 euros per night which I thought was a great deal.  The only downside was that is was literally right next to the train tracks.  I stood on the balcony and waved at the people going by. 

I had 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms a living room and a kitchen.  The best part of all was that there is some Italian music video station that was playing all kinds of randomly great classics.  Duran Duran, David Bowie, Cat Stevens, The Trammps, and then some randomly weird German videos.  I opted to sleep on the couch, although I had two nice bedrooms, just to bask in the gloriously retro music all night.

Random graffiti

I felt it was too late to try to explore too much because I had no idea how dodgy the area would be at night, so I stuck close to the hotel and just hung out at the beach.

The next day, I got up early and headed over to Locri in hopes of finding a bus or taxi or something that would get me to Portigliola.  After arriving in Locri, I decided I had better get my return plane ticket because I needed to be in Rome by Friday afternoon for my flight to my new job in the UAE.  A train station attendant told me I would need to go over to the travel agency across the street to get a long distance train ticket.  Ok, fine.
I went over there, and using my pathetic Italian I told the lady that I needed a train ticket to Rome for Thursday.  She pointed to a calendar and basically told me I would not be able to get to Rome until next week!  I said there must be SOME want to get to Rome by Friday!!  I ended up having to buy a plane ticket from Calabria to Rome for 300 euros more than a train ticket would have cost.  Oh well, it cut over 7 hours off of my trip back to Rome, so fine.  While I was there, I asked the lady how I could get to Portigliola.  She pointed over to the buses right outside.  I approached one and asked to go to Portigliola.  I jumped in.  I was the only person on this huge bus, I gave him 1 euro, and off we went.  We arrived around 9:45am.  The driver told me we would head back to Locri at noon.  Perfect.

Cemetery of Portigliola

I was pissed at myself because, I realized, being paranoid about being robbed, I left my new Samsung Galaxy S4 with all of my pictures I was ready to show people in Portigliola in my hotel room.  Curses.  I decided to just check out the cemetery for the day and come back the following day to try to talk to people.

Condelli Family

I walked up the hill to the cemetery and scoured every grave just as I did in Roseto.  Finally I found a mausoleum of Family of L. Condelli!  This was it!  The problem was that the door was locked.  I peered into the glass and could see a memorial for my great grandparents:  Francesco Condelli and Giuseppa Ciano.  I could also see what looked like the tombs of Leonardo Condelli and his wife Palma.  I wanted to get in and see more.  I asked the caretaker in Italian if there was a key.  He told me the family would have a key.  I asked him if the family was still in Portigliola and he shrugged his shoulders.  I had seen enough.

I was fascinated by these ants.

I headed back in to town and decided to take some pictures of some houses.  I had hoped to find the Condelli house, and took a few pictures of one house that I thought could be it.  I was now ready to head back to Locri.  I went over to the bus driver who told me I still had 30 more minutes, so I walked off to take a few more pictures and wander around a bit more.

Some people had noticed this red-headed,

I was "discovered" after taking this picture

pale stranger by now and were eyeing me suspiciously. A woman noticed me taking pictures and approached me and asked me, presumably, what I was doing.  In Italian, I tried to explain to her that I was looking for the Condelli family.  She beckoned me to follow her down the winding, narrow streets over to a house.  There were some people there who live in Pittsburgh part-time, so they spoke English.  I explained to them in English what I was doing.  They invited me to sit down, and then they pulled out their little address book.  "Leonardo's daughter Lina lives in Locri!  Let's call her."

They picked up the phone.  Lina doesn't speak any English.  They talked to her for a minute and then asked me, "Are you Antonio or Frank's daughter?"  "I'm Frank's daughter," I replied.  I heard some excited chatter through the receiver.  They hung up the phone and announced, "Lina will be her in 10 minutes!"  The wife proclaimed, "I'll  put on the pasta!"

While we waited for Lina, I was introduced to the owners of the house, Raffaelle and Maria Apicella and their grandson Marco. 

Maria told me that the Condellis' were her neighbors growing up and pointed around the corner!  There is the house!  Wow!  It was in way better shape than I imagined.  In the original picture, it looked like it was falling apart, but now it looked all fixed up and was painted a bright shade of pink.  It looked nicer than most of the houses in the village.

 

I have to admit, I was completely shocked, but delighted, that the house is still standing.  It looks great!

I'm not sure who lives there now.


 




I ran down the hill, careful to note which way I went so I could find my way back, and told the bus driver that I'd be staying to have lunch with my cousin.  He congratulated me and off he went.  I found my way back to the house and waited patiently in the living room with an elderly nun that tried speaking to me in Italian.  I nodded and smiled.  Their grandson, Marco, was in the room with me, shrugged his shoulders and said, "I have no idea what she is saying.'  Poor kid doesn't know any Italian either.

About 15 minutes later, Lina arrived.  She was so excited to see me that she had tears in her eyes!  We ate and chatted a bit.  She insisted on driving me back to my hotel and told me that she wanted to invite me to her place the next day.  

On the way out of Portigliola, she wanted to stop at her cousin's house.  Ok, I didn't know who the cousins were.  She animatedly told them the story of how she got a call and it was about me and how excited she was.  These cousins were talking to me in Italian, but one guy was saying about how great Argentina is, but that Italy is so-so. He spoke Spanish and my Spanish is way better than my Italian, so that made it a bit easier for me. 

I immediately remembered the picture from my grandpa's photo album of a "Cousin Molica from Argentina."  It was always a mystery who this Molica was, so I asked the guy, "Do you know a Molica?"  His eyes widened and he said, "I"M Molica!"  What?  Wow?  Curses!  The damn pictures were in my hotel, but I had to have a picture of Molica before and after.  

 
Molica on the left, and Molica second from left in the picture on the right.  Also pictured are his tennis player son, Rocco (who is my age), his wife, and Lina on the far right.


After hanging out with the cousins for a bit, Lina asked me if I wanted to go to the cemetery.  We drove there, and guess what?  She had the key to the mausoleum!  She opened it up, got a broom and carefully cleaned and dusted the inside.  She was very sad.  Her parents and brother were all dead.  I think this is part of why she was so happy to see me.  I am a piece of the past. I went inside and got the pictures I was hoping to earlier in the day.

Memorial for my great-grandparents.

My great-uncle passed away in Canada, I believe.

And so did his wife, Palma.

 
Now I know who this Frank Condelli is in the picture on the left.  He is Lina's brother.  He passed away as well.  The picture on the right was on an altar in the family mausoleum.






Lina took me back to my hotel, which she marveled at.  She let me know that she'd pick me up around 11 or 12 the next day in case I wanted to swim in the sea in the morning.

View of Portigliola from the cemetery on the hill.

Old car.

View from some old rooftops.

Lina and Molica at Molica's house in Portigliola.

The house I was originally led to that began the day's adventures.

Google maps showed a river running next to Portigliola.  It was totally dry.

A glorious storm rolling in that evening.

It occurred to me that evening, as I listened to the thunder storm while watching my precious music videos, that it was either divine intervention or luck that led me to the Apicella family from Pittsburgh that day.  If it weren't for the bus not being ready to leave, and me taking an extra stroll through town, and that random lady stopping me, then I may have never met Lina.  You see, the Apinella's were getting ready to fly back to America within one hour of me finding them.  Had I waited until tomorrow to talk to people, they would have already been gone for the summer.  Weird and wild stuff.