I should note first that the entire last entry I posted, as well as this one, is being written while on a train bound from Gaeta to Florence, a roughly 5 hour ride. Joy. Still, though, I felt I shouldn’t mix Spain’s experiences with those I just had today, so here’s to a separate entry. J
I got to Formia’s train station roughly on time (we’re in Italy, after all… the train I’m on now was late ten minutes too, but that’s just the norm), and no sooner had I gotten off the train before my apparent cousin spotted me, saying “Sam-wel?” I guess it helped that I told my cousin I had been emailing (whom I also had never met) that I’d be wearing a fedora hat. Facebook helped with the picture, too. It’s good he found me, though, because it occurred to me that I had no way to know who or where I was going here. Saminian planning here.
Anyway, it was a bit awkward at first being that I speak no Italian and he speaks no English. It was a fun game of charades trying to figure out what two family members who have never met each other were trying to say, I’ll certainly say that. First off, though, while waiting on a family friend to arrive (who spoke some English… some), he bought me a coffee while we waited. Italian hospitality truly cannot be rivaled, especially when it comes to family. What you see in the movies is true.
My day could not have been more perfect, authentic, and mesmerizing. The lady that drove me around, a good friend of my cousin whom I had been conversing with, was a trip and a half. She amused me greatly; her personality was typical of a Southern Italian, and she had to have known the entire 20,000 some-odd people in Gaeta. Talking to strangers is no biggie for her (or other Italians here). Everyone is friendly. I absolutely love it; they’re all one big family.
So I was driven around by who turned out to be an official tour guide for the region with the day off to see all the gorgeous, and I emphasize the land my father’s side of the family is from as being gorgeous, land of Gaeta. Wow. It’s even prettier than the pictures I have seen at my grandparents’ house! I won’t lie and say it’s a spectacular city like Barcelona, but the feeling in the town is… well, it’s just real. I don’t think I’ve seen anywhere any more authentic in my life; people are attached to the town, the ocean, the surroundings, and the other people attached to the same things. During my travels to see the “split mountain,” one that supposedly split in half the day Jesus was crucified, as well as the historic city center built in part by the Romans complete with two Medieval castles, my tour guide/friend ran me on several errands of her own as well. I felt like I fit right in!
She also somehow managed to lose her keys, which we later found hanging in her apartment door (on the outside). Yes, that means I must be Italian. We also ran into her mother several times through the day randomly in our travels throughout the city. It just makes me happy; it reminded me of the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding… except that this time it’s the Italian version.
For many, this kind of chance meeting would likely be unnerving. But I cannot stress how natural meeting people in Italy came to me; even though my entire removed family (save my cousin I conversed with) spoke no English (I mean, zero), warming up to them was as easy as hugging my own grandparents. They took every possible measure to make me feel as comfortable as possible, cooking lunch and dinner for me at their lovely house, making me drinks, and chatting with me through the family friend (and translator) and through my cousin (who, I may add, is pregnant and bedridden for a bit, thus her not giving me the town tour herself). They even got physically angry when I tried to take my plate to the kitchen after a traditional meal of pasta, fresh sliced and olive oil’ed tomatoes, and deserts out the wazoo. Wow!
It was odd for me; it’s a Tuesday, and a good deal of the immediate family of my cousin stayed most of the day, eating and drinking basically nonstop from the late lunch we had through around 9pm when they brought me back to the train station. I have some younger cousins, too, who seemed fascinated at my being an American family member. I played kickball (on the porch) with a small cousin of 8 who surprised the hell out of me by being able to speak more English than I can Italian! He still couldn’t get by in English, but the fact that he could say Thank You and ask me questions (basically) really surprised me.
I confess, I don’t know all of their names; I’m an absolute idiot when it comes to names to begin with, and the fact that I couldn’t understand the Italian names many of them had didn’t help matters anyway. But, the mother of my cousin, although she spoke not a shred of English, acted just as you would expect an Italian mother to: she insisted on feeding me nonstop, and wouldn’t let me do a single thing. The father was likewise, offering me drinks, asking me many questions about the family (through our translators). The children were not obnoxious, being relatively quiet and playfully reserved.
Let me interject right here: it is so hot on this train that my shirt is literally soaked. This is one of Italy’s high speed trains with compartments much like those you’d see in Harry Potter, and I’m having a heat stroke. Go figure.
Anyway.
I cannot say enough good things about my newly discovered Italian cousins. They are the epitome of what a traditional family is, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so welcomed by anyone in my life save my own immediate family. It was a truly humbling experience to get to meet them all, and honestly… it’s one of those inspiring experiences that can change your attitude toward life. If I was debt free, I really don’t know if I could resist throwing away my American Dream of making money and moving to an American beach and moving to this small town to start anew. Seriously, the life these long lost family members lead is that of simply pleasure. Nothing too elaborate, nothing really more than the basics needed (not even internet)… yet they’re as happy as I think people could ever be: they have each other, and that’s more than enough.
So, sadly as it may be, I had to leave them around 9 tonight. It’s 11 now on this roasting and packed train, but I’ll be in Florence by 1:45 this morning! Well, Italian time, that means like… 3am. It should be interesting, though; in the next few days, I’ll have seen a good deal of Florence, some of Bologna, Verona, and Venice! Life doesn’t get much better than this…
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