Curiosity, Compulsion, and Coming Full Circle: Part Three
Claiming my Identity and Listening to Divine Guidance
Have you ever had a grand idea (or a whole set of them) that didn’t make logical sense but still seemed undoubtedly right? A plan with several offshoots that, if successful, could set you up with a promising future and give you a sense of deep, meaningful joy, a raison d’etre? More importantly, have you ever moved this grand vision from the realm of the imagination into the actual world and given it breath and a heartbeat? Well, during the summer of 2021 just before my 50th birthday, I did just that. I don’t share this tale to sound better than anyone or to make you envious; I share it to inspire others to put their energies toward what they want to experience. Only your mind is the limit, and things can turn out even better than you had ever imagined. What follows are highlights of a trip of a lifetime on the next leg of this remarkable path toward reclaiming my ancestral roots…
Even though international travel was certainly unpredictable for July / August of 2021, that spring I kept alive a vision of taking an Italian summer vacation of epic proportions, complete with a few bucket list activities. I was going through serious withdrawal after spending time in the south of Italy in 2019 and then dealing (like everyone) with the travel bans of 2020. I wanted to make more of an effort to find living relatives there, and I felt like a formal thank you was in order to all those I had made contact with along the way (some in person, some not). I decided that if Covid laws cooperated I would throw a party there - outwardly it would be a meet and greet the Americana / thank you for your help party, but secretly it was also a 50th birthday party (a couple months before my actual birthday) to celebrate this milestone. I know what you’re thinking! Who would think to throw yourself a party in a country where you do not live, where you hardly know anyone, and where you aren’t fluent in the language? Well, the answer to that question is I would, that’s who. My master plan regarding the trip and the festa was coming together, and it would prove to be more magical than I could ever dream! And then I had another brainstorm…
As a total fluke, at the end of May 2021, I decided to browse online for homes for sale in my ancestral town in Calabria. I looked at three or four, but the very first one stole my heart. Now, I had no savings or ideas as to how to purchase a second home - let alone one in Italy. This was a total pipe dream. But that’s how you manifest incredible things - with that particular vibe filled with love and whimsy, with joy and possibility. Anyway, this little stone house on the mountainside with an orchard of fruit and olive trees and a spectacular view of the Ionian Sea sent shivers down my spine. I could hear my ancestors whispering to me, “this is your house.” That statement is not hyperbole. Having zero idea how I could afford this investment, on a whim I contacted the realtor to show my interest, whose surname I recognized from the antique records of the town that I had spent the last few years perusing. My own surname was a calling card of sorts because it is very common in the area (very unusual in America among the diaspora), with a very particular spelling that is different from the Sicilian Sant’agata, and one of the few antique noble families there with a decorated history. So even though I am American, the realtor took note when I explained that I was looking for a home to retire and reconnect to my Italian roots. The current owners were a couple from the north of Italy in their mid-80s, and this little gem was their vacation home. The wife was a retired teacher herself. With a lot of help from Google Translate, I began communicating more with the realtor and also directly with the owners. I also showed the photos and description of the idyllic house with its traditional tile roof and magnificent surroundings to my father, who literally teared up and exclaimed, “even the chimney is a work of art!”
I explained to the realtor that I would not be buying any property sight unseen, and that the soonest I could be there was early July due to my school year ending at the end of June. He said the owners were willing to wait for me to view it, and with no financial offering from me, they then decided to take it off the market until I got there! I found out much later that they had already been in contract with a large foreign developer, and the surrounding neighbors, with whom the owners had long standing friendships, were very uncomfortable with that prospect. My personal story had a sentimental quality that was a much better fit for all involved. I researched the laws surrounding foreigners buying property in Italy (at this point my application for dual citizenship was still on hold with no clear answer as to its approval at the Covid-shuttered NYC consulate citizenship department). I found out that, ironically, I could not buy a car as a non-citizen, but I could buy a home. I applied for the codice fiscale (tax code) which I received in two weeks from said consulate. And now for an important detail - if I loved it when I saw it IRL, how in the world would I pay for it? Hmmmmm…I let the wheels of the beneficent universe start turning…
Meanwhile, I planned the other aspects of my vacation. I set the date for the party for July 11th. I negotiated with friends (probably very distant cousins) who own a gorgeous beach club (only seen by me online) for the site, the food and drinks, and the arrangements for a permit to have live music. One of my previous hobbies as a musical tour manager had landed me an online friendship with a talented Calabrese musician Pierluigi, who could play and share the history of traditional tunes as well as he could shred a blues guitar. As a bonus, he also spoke pretty solid English. He was into the concept of playing for the party on the beach, so we worked out a deal. Things were really coming together. In June I posted my invite on Facebook on the special page for the town, and asked key people whom I had already connected with (including my buddy, the mayor) to invite other good humans who might be related to me, or who at least would want a fun night out and would enjoy meeting an American who clearly was a distant paesana. That June, Italy was just about to start reopening in this stage of the pandemic, so this idea could have scared some or been exciting to others - who knew. But the gathering would be happening outside, so it was relatively safe. It is important to note here that Americans are like unicorns in this part of Italy. It is not a touristy area; it is truly as authentic and as unspoiled as one could possibly find. Northern Italians and other Europeans tend to vacation there as the beaches are stunning, but Americans are a rarity, and a New Yorker is highly unusual indeed. I added some genealogical details to my invitation to entice people to attend. All of this was definitely a risk, but I felt there was a strong chance that people would come out to meet a mysterious stranger (me) whose intentions were pure.
As houses go, to my New Yorker mind, my little dream casetta (a small house) in the southern Italian countryside was incredibly affordable, not only its price tag, but also the taxes were reported to be about one tenth of what I pay for my home in the Hudson Valley. I seriously considered how to make this dream a reality. The housing market in rural Calabria was stagnant to put it mildly, however, property values where I currently live were sky-rocketing due the pandemic-related mass exodus of NYC dwellers moving upstate. I decided to explore leveraging this combination of conditions in my favor. I had 5 years to go before I would be of retirement age, and maybe I could actually pull this off. As I have mentioned in a previous post, my father has become just as in love with Italy and our family story as I have, even though he is not in good enough health to travel there. I am an only child with no husband (he passed away 13 years ago) and two teenaged children. My father immediately warmed up to the idea of essentially, “fast forwarding me a small inheritance,” in hopes of living vicariously through me and witnessing us putting down new roots from exactly where our ancestors had been uprooted. The idea gave him a sense of purpose and the ability to leave a meaningful legacy. A way to do this had not presented itself previously, but I could not think of anything more amazing. Getting a home in Cerchiara would connect him to his own father (the last relative to visit the town before I had), his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, who we learned was a notable citizen, written about in the history books of the area and actually a Don (not a mafia connotation, but definitely a term of respect and reverence). We decided that we could split the cost of the house if it seemed structurally sound and needed no major upgrades. Did I mention it had been recently renovated and also was being sold turn-key with all, and I do mean all, its furniture and amenities, right down to dishes, silverware, and even a large, high-end patio ombrellone?
Amid the excitement, I was also planning a truly epic vacation. One thing to note is that southern Italy is not expensive by American standards, so thankfully I could afford a few things on my bucket list. A few of these items included sleeping in one of the trulli in Puglia, which are storybook-esque, conical roofed stone dwellings recognized by UNESCO as a world heritage site, staying in a cave hotel with a Turkish style bathroom while touring the stunning town of Matera (also a UNESCO site) in Basilicata with its system of 9,000 year-old caves, having dinner in the iconic Grotta Palazzese on the edge of the Adriatic in Polignano a Mare (Puglia) - the most expensive meal I had ever eaten, but hey, I was marking my half-century birthday. Much more special than checking any of these boxes, I was hoping to meet actual relatives in my direct line.
***Order my interactive journal here to dissolve whatever obstacles are keeping you from taking your own dream vacation to Italy (or other dream destinations):
I learned through my research that my great grandfather had at least one brother, Giuseppe, who did not die young, and did not emigrate like four other siblings did but remained in Italy. He had visited and worked briefly in the areas his three brothers and one sister had moved to in the States, but he returned and had several children. My great hope was to track his descendants somehow. I knew he had one son Battista who had emigrated to Argentina and who had run a radio show there for Italian expats called Casa Santagada. I had letters and an invitation for the wedding of Battista’s son addressed to my grandfather from the 1950s. Interestingly there were two wedding receptions: one in Buenos Aires and one in Calabria. I was hoping that all or any of Giuseppe’s other three children had descendants still in Italy. In case you can’t figure it out by now, I can be highly determined and I am quite an investigator. It was difficult to pinpoint my great grandfather’s closest relatives there because of the proliferation of people with my surname. My great grandmother’s surname was far less common, and therefore easier to locate living descendants. I had found a few third cousins on my great grandmother’s side (in both Italy and the US), and created social media friendships, but I was determined to find people on my great grandpa Vincenzo’s side too.
Less than a week before I left for bell’Italia, it suddenly dawned on me to post on the Facebook group relating to my ancestral town a collection of pictures that my aunt had found which had belonged to my grandfather Louie. His last trip to Italy was in 1972 and he had visited his family there, but there were no names on the photos. I took a chance, and in addition to the pictures I wrote in the post all of the key info I knew of Giuseppe (who was my grandfather’s uncle), his wife’s name and their descendants. I was hoping the pictures included people who were related to this side of the family, and that maybe someone local would recognize the subjects (fifty years later!) or at least know who to contact. Only two days later, I received a message from one of my contacts there (who also shares my surname), saying she had made a couple of calls and she had potentially located the right band of relatives! She connected me online with a lady who I believed to be my father’s second cousin - if I was correct, his grandfather and her grandfather were brothers. Of course I introduced myself in an online message, explained my part of the family tree, provided copies of the photos from my grandfather’s 1972 visit, as well as a copy of a beautiful, hand-written, six page letter written by her father, a surgeon, to my grandfather when Giuseppe passed away in 1938, which included his obituary from the local newspaper, memorabilia from his funeral, and the last photo taken of him addressed to their “dear cousin Luigi” (my grandpa) on the back. All the pieces were sewn together in the corner with white thread, in lieu of a staple which had probably not been a thing in 1938. PS this letter etc. had only recently resurfaced when my aunt was cleaning out a room while she prepared to sell her house. I had never seen it before! I invited her and her whole extended family to my party which was less than two weeks away! She later told me that she was skeptical at first, but my evidence was undeniable! The timing of finding my cousin G. and her family who lived about 40 minutes from our ancestral town was truly (trulli!) divine. Elated, I made my appointment to view the house and boarded my plane.
Speaking of timing, to tell what transpired next seems like I am writing fiction, a contrived amalgamation of episodes out of a Hallmark movie. I look back and think how could all of this have actually happened this way? But I lived it, and I can still tap into the overwhelmingly deep well of joy it brought into my life. I highly recommend throwing a party for yourself when you return to your ancestral motherland and celebrating with a bunch of “strangers” who will instantly become your soulmates. I also recommend throwing this party on the exact night when Italy wins the Euro Cup futbol (soccer) championship that it hadn’t won in the past 50 years (that time being the year I was born). Yes you could literally NOT make this shit up. As Italy kept winning matches, it soon became evident that the championship match was set for - you guessed it - the night of 7/11 (or 11/7 if you’re European), the night of my festa. I worried that people wouldn’t come because of the new potential conflict, but we decided to have music and dinner before the match and then guests could stay and watch on the big screen TV’s at the beach club. It’s difficult to express the level of passion that Italians feel for their game, their team, and their country at a moment like this, but the key word is INTENSITY!
But before the match, I made a point to make sure I got a picture of myself with every guest who came, and there were about 50 people in attendance. They came out of the woodwork! All generations, from elderly to toddlers, and considering the fact that there was only one person there - my cousin from my great grandma’s family - who spoke English, I think I succeeded at communicating with everyone with the limited Italian I had. Everyone was mingling and there were whispers of fascination regarding me - I heard someone say (in Italian), “look at her, she is like a Hollywood diva!” When I complimented one woman’s high-heels, she asked me my size, offering them up to me to take home! The concert was top-tier; it was beautiful with just enough cultural context, some traditional instruments and tunes as well as new material. And the weather was perfect.
And then it was time to eat! Welcome to Calabria where one meal includes meat for days: cured meats, roasted meats, barbequed meats … as well as cheeses and the iconic pane (bread) di Cerchiara. I don’t recall any vegetables this particular night, but who cares! I’ve realized since that I need a pack of toothpicks on hand whenever I visit. The set-up for a meal is generally one looooooong table, no matter how many heads, and wow, was this table endless. And the plates of meat that Francesco was grilling just kept coming. So many laughs and curiosities and more selfies and a short speech of gratitude from me to all who had ventured out to see what the fuss was about. There were people there who had been open to getting to know me since my first awkward social media question - do you you think we might be cousins? There were those who had been summoned by others based on the list of surnames I had provided from researching my family tree. There were those who bonded with others they hardly knew. There were people who were brought together by the festa and discovered that they were actually related, never knowing it before! There was also the very kind and jovial man, Salvatore, whose grandmother may have been related to my great great grandma, who heard I was looking at the little house on the mountainside. It turned out that he had done the renovations on it himself. I couldn’t have gotten a more detailed picture of the structural integrity of my potential investment. And of course, there were so many Santagadas, including some of my closest band of cousins.
When I planned my outfit for the evening I instinctively went with a blood red, sleeveless, linen, wide-leg jumpsuit. At the point when the championship was won and absolute pandemonium erupted all over the country (and on our strip of beach clubs), people started to refer to me as “buona fortuna.” The symbol for good luck is the red chili pepper or sometimes referred to as the Italian horn. Folks at the party explained that due to my outfit and the timing of this celebration, I had become the human embodiment of good fortune. This sentiment culminated in me being draped in a large Tricolore amid the chaotic parades, honking vehicles and chanting from everyone everywhere. I was immediately baptized as an honorary Italian citizen, back to the fold. The high everyone felt was such an antidote after the national tragedy brought on by the pandemic.To say I was in the right place at the right time would be the understatement of the century. Whether or not the government would approve my claim for citizenship officially (and time would tell), this wonderful group of people made me feel more welcomed than I have ever felt anywhere else in my life.
I did all the incredible things that I had set out to do (and more!) on this dream trip during my 49th summer. I toured all the places, stayed in amazing settings, and lived life with a heart overflowing with gratitude. I visited the house twice, got many questions answered, and decided that it needed to indeed become my house. More about the new Casa Santagada in the next installment, but I will leave you with one more story that many immigrants and their descendants will truly appreciate. G. is the matriarch of three sisters, all now around 80 years old (contemporaries of my father). One of her sisters is in the pictures I had shared from 1972. G. remembered visiting my grandfather on that trip, and even earlier in the 1950s. Mind you, my grandfather was one of six children, but he seems to have been the only one who kept an active relationship alive with the Italian relatives. G. invited me to dinner at her home on the beach, and I got to meet many more cousins that were not at the party: her sons who are professionals and about 10 years younger than I am, and two grandchildren, about 8 and 10. I provided her with a binder of genealogical information that I had been accumulating over the past couple of years, some of which she knew and some that was new to her. She went to get some things to show me that she had saved from her father, the same man who had written the beautiful letter to my grandpa in 1938. She pulled out two letters from my grandfather to her dad (written in English) in which he offers to house the girls in New York if they wanted to visit. But then she presents me with two photos and asks me if I know the people in them. The photos were the high school graduation portraits of my father and my Uncle Frank. The fact that this vibrant lady who I had never heard of until two weeks before had a picture of my father from 1960 in her possession since that time just blew me away. Needless to say, we shed tears of acknowledgment of our family members and for all the missed decades of relationships. She expressed sadness that despite always wishing to find us since those days, after the elders passed on, they didn’t know where we lived, and the language barrier prevented them from pursuing us. She told me, “we have wanted to find you for 50 years!” I was compelled to find them, and we are all so thrilled that I did. Upon meeting her grandchildren that night, I realized that I had not brought any gifts or souvenirs for them. I rummaged through my bag and found a couple of US dollar bills. I gave each child one of these as a token from their Americana cousin. They had never held any American money before. When they excitedly showed these little gifts to G., she recalled a memory of my grandfather giving her and her sisters American dollar bills when she was a girl and met him for the first time. Once again I got tears in my eyes! And the beautiful cycle of family continues… Viva La Famiglia and Forza Italia!
Interested in joining a small-group (less than 10), women’s retreat to stunning destinations curated and guided by Stephanie? Message me at wildestdreamstraveldesign@gmail.com
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Summer 2023, The Cinque Terre, Puglia and Calabria, is fully booked.
Summer 2024 opens this coming October!
July 2024: Ten days - Napoli, Amalfi Coast and Sardinia
August 2024: Ten days - Calabria, Sicily and Greece
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Big love and gratitude, and remember: we are our ancestors’ wildest dreams.