CHAPTER 1
A MONTH IN RIVA TRIGOSO - ITALY - SEPTEMBER 2001
A s all things that are meant to be, this trip began to fall into place like manna from above. Since my first visit to Italy in 1997, I knew I would return. A 14-day tour with my two sisters, my niece and her fiancee to Italy and Greece was just enough to whet my appetite. But, that's another story.
This story is about a month in Riva Trigoso on the Ligurian Sea, how it came to be and how I fell in love with this small sea-coast town, its beauty, and its people. "Riva" (to the natives) was our head- quarters, home base, from where we ventured out for a few days at a time to Roma, Venizia, Firenze and Pisa.
I've never been able to accept that we are not taught the real names of cities in the world. The first time I went to Europe and our plane landed in Lisbon, I looked out the window and saw "Lisboa" on the airport terminal. "My God," I thought, "they've misspelled the name!" How ethnocentric can one America be. Very. I soon learned that many European cities have different names than we learned in school. Rome is "Roma", Florence is "Firenze", Venice is 'Venizia." Berlin is Berlin. Madrid is Madrid. Why some names are changed and others are not is a mystery to me. Back to Riva.
The "we" in the trip is my sister-in-law Janet and myself.
She retired a year before and I was a new retiree. After over 30 years of guidance counseling middle school students, (whew!), I did need a change! I dreamed about this return to Italy during my entire final year of work. In hopes of going to Italy speaking the language, Janet and I signed up for a 12 week course in Italian at a local college. Twelve weeks meant 12 sessions of two hours each. Our Professoressa Bruna was determined to teach us every regular and irregular Italian verb. Bruna is a native Italian who also teaches Italian to middle school students, who I suspect caught on much faster than our adult class. We were given 2 to 3 hours of home- work each week which, I must confess, I did not complete. If I could find the page number which she rattled off in speedy Italian, I felt successful. Most of the time I was trying to look across the aisle at other student's notebooks to see which page we were on. My goal was to arrive in Italy speaking at least some Italian. I learned "voray" vorrei (I would like) but I never said it, nor did I ever hear any Italian say it. I learned to skip right to my immediate needs:
"Te" (tea), "Latte" (milk) "Aqua natural, piccolo" (a little bottle of mineral water). I learned that "piccolo" (little) can mean anything in a restaurant from a 12 ounce bottle to a liter. The "grande" bottles are 2 liters or more ... Water cost as much, and in some cases more, than a Coca Cola, Fanta, tea or wine.
And since one never gets to take home a "doggie bag" or an almost-full bottle of water, you can't win. It is considered impolite and rude to ask to take food home. "Mangiare" Eat it all up!
Anyway, during these humbling experiences of going to Italian class without my homework completed, I was busy counseling my students on the importance of them doing their homework.
CHAPTER 2
FINDING A PLACE TO LIVE
Janet and I decided we would like (vorrei) to have a villa near the sea that was also near public transportation. I found out that a "villa" meant an 8 bedroom or more house with 4 bathrooms, possible servants and started at about $2,000 a week. I sent for catalogs, checked the internet and started looking for "an apartment" or "flat", but couldn't seem to find what we wanted in our price range, which was slightly above poverty level. Then came the manna from Heaven.
Janet phoned. Her son-in-law in St. Louis, Missouri works for a company with a subsidiary in Italy. Would we like a "free" apartment to live in for a month? It is the summer apartment of his boss and it is in a small coastal town in Northern Italy with public transportation to anywhere else in Italy. Someone had read my mind. The town is named Riva Trigoso. The first of the falling-into-place events.
We could not believe our good fortune. We looked on maps of Italy but could not find Riva Trigoso. Pat (son-in-law) assured us that it existed. It is near Sestri Levante which we did locate. I vowed now to complete my homework, but I could not. It wasn't that I did not set aside the time, I just couldn't figure out the answers. And we were called on in class to verbalize our answers. I kept slouching down so low at my desk that I don't think Professoressa Bruna knew I was there.
Every week she handed out reams of photocopied information on culture and sights of Italy along with homework sheets. Each class ended with a 15 minute video on different cities in Italy. My notebook weighed at least 10 pounds and there were 3 weeks to go. We had no classroom breaks! It was the fastest 2 hours of my life for 12 weeks. Halfway through the 12 classes, Janet went to Peru for a week and asked me to take notes, tape class and bring her homework with me. Was she kidding? I could hardly keep track of my own. I did tape the class for her, but it was unintelligible. It sounded like EWOKS in a fight.
CHAPTER 3
TRAVEL PLANS
We were advised to fly in and out of Milan. More manna to come. My niece Tracy is a travel agent supervisor for Triple A. I phoned her at 9: 00 A.M. next day that we were looking at flying in and out of Milan after Labor Day in September. She phoned back an hour later.
Great deal offered now on Delta. It's only April, but we couldn't pass up the deal. I phoned Janet, we set our dates and the next day had our tickets in the mail! For the past 30 years I had dreamed of being able to travel on those off-times when school is in session.
When the working folks are back at school and the hot summer months are over. Wish granted! Meanwhile, the school year is winding down and the student schedules for the next year must be completed. Our superintendent takes another position, our middle school principal advances to the high school, and we have a new middle school principal. My retirement party is being planned, my family members are planning on attending from Hot Springs, Arkansas; Columbus, Ohio; Lockport, N. Y. Everyone wants to know about my trip to Italy. My office begins piling up with going- away/retirement gifts, and I receive journals upon journals to catalog my adventures. Fodor's Italy, maps, even $100 in Italian lira. What a great group of teachers and friends.
Can I possibly handle more manna?! As it turns out only one other teacher is retiring and she doesn't want a party so it's all for me. They tell me I can gave a guest table for eight. I have nineteen relatives attending, so they add another table. I feel loved and envied and manna keeps coming!
CHAPTER 4
PACKING AND MORE PACKING
Over packing has always been an affliction of mine. I've attempted to analyze what it is with me that I want to bring everything that I usually have at home--just in case! I have been "counseled" by most of my family to help me break this habit and I actually am on the road to recovery. I'm trying to find a line between what I really need and what I think I might need should the worst possible scenario happen. Well, I wasn't far along in my recovery before we left so I did bring clothes for hot and cold weather, two pairs of sunglasses (in case I lose one) a pair of reading glasses and a pair of distance glasses--to see the far-away mountains. Oh, did I forget? I recently bought a pair of prescription long-distance sun glasses. I also thought I would bring two small bottles of water ... just in case there was no water on the plane! The usual cosmetic case consisted of scissors, nail-clippers (with a finger nail file). But just in case I brought another finger nail file. Small shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, powder, etc. Forgot to mention, I have two cosmetic cases and so I put eye-shadow, comb, eye liner, lipstick (extras) in the other. There's the rub. TWO cosmetic cases?! I also took a pair of luggage wheels which I carried with me and a carry-on bag that also has wheels. So, once again I had doubled-up on my needs. I started my personal therapy on all of this when we traveled from Riva to other cities.
CHAPTER 5
DAY OF DEPARTURE/ARRIVAL
We receive e-mails that we will be met in Milan by a driver from the company and taken to Riva Trigoso--about an hour and a half south of Milan. The wife of the owner of the apartment will meet us and show us around. Janet receives photos of Riva. Mountains. Sea. Next to Cinque Terra - 5 lands. I read of rocky mountain passes with threats of trails washing away under sudden torrents. I vow quietly not to hike to Cinque Terra.
We take a flight from Rochester, N. Y. to Kennedy that will transfer our bags directly to Delta so we only have our carry-on luggage. Janet is carrying an entire set of heavy ceramic bowls as a gift to our host. I, of course, am toting my heavy carry-on bag which contains two 12 ounce bottles of water among other unnecessary items. Because of flight cancellations on our connecting airline, we have an almost 5 hour wait before our flight to Milan. We take the red, white and blue airport bus to Delta. But when we get into the international terminal we can't find Delta check-in. I swear we asked 25 people and got 25 different answers. Then we couldn't decide where we wanted to eat and when we wanted to eat. Back and forth, back and forth pulling our carryons and Janet lugging her ceramic bowl set.
Finally, someone told us that Delta does not "check-in" until 3 o'clock and prior to that the airline name on the overhead is not Delta, but El Al. No wonder we couldn't find it. But as soon as we did, we were the first check-ins. All was in order.
CHAPTER 6
WE ARE ON OUR WAY
We leave Kennedy Airport in New York at 5:30 P.M. the first Thursday in September after Labor Day. (Students and teachers have already spent their first day in school. My mind wanders to school and I feel a twinge of missing seeing everyone and exchanging summer stories. But, then I decide I would definitely rather be on this plane headed to Italy). Stewardesses keep us occupied with a snack, a delicious dinner, and the movie "Schreck" followed by a light breakfast. After a seemingly short 7 1/2 hour flight we arrive in Milan at 8:00 A.M. Italy time. We have met the rising sun through the plane windows and I remind myself it is after 1:00 A.M. USA time.
As soon as we enter into the airport terminal we see a machine where you insert a 1,000 Lira bill and that enables you to get a cart to put your luggage into. Thanks to the teachers at school who had given me almost $100 in Lira, I have the bill. But, I need one of the workers stationed there to make it work. Once we've passed through Customs, we see our driver holding up a lettered sign. He is impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt, tie, and shiny dark shoes.
I guess he is in his early 40's with tight dark curls and well-cut hair.
He shakes our hands and introduces himself as "Luigi". He lifts our gargantuan bags and lays them in the trunk of a sleek black Audi station wagon. I get into the back seat.
Janet sits next to Luigi. We are in Italy! And Luigi is more manna. I am full of joy and happy anticipation of what is to come.
A month of discovery! He is a professional driver for the company.
He speeds away leaving the airport as a tiny dot out the back window.
Luigi speaks: "Parle Italiano?" I respond: "Un po" (a little) ... actually a very little but I don't know how to say "very". Anyway, I try to show off my few words as he adeptly enters into the Trans-pass - or EZ pass lane - onto a divided expressway. I speak: "auto strada" ... "Si! Si!" he echoes, "auto strada." I look at the speedometer. We are going 160 kilometers per hour. Oh my God! What is that in MPH? Let's see ... never mind ... I don't want to know. He veers in and out of 3 lanes of traffic. I look out the window and see the snow-capped Alps. I speak again, "Alps". "Si. Si! Alps!" responds Luigi. I decide to try a question. "Quanti ore a Riva?" "Una ore a mezzo" (an hour and a half). I'm on a roll.
We enter tunnel (galaria) after tunnel through the Appennine Mountains some as long as 2 or 3 miles each. I am amazed at the well-constructed tunnels, all lit inside, the perfectly paved and marked roads and Luigi changing lanes at 160 kilometers passing many little Fiats and "Smart Cars." Yes, there are small, very small, cars called Smart Cars. made by Mercedes Benz I think. They are brightly colored green or blue or yellow and look as if 3 people might squeeze into them.
Luigi presses on. His mobile car phone rings: "Pronto ... Cinque minuti a Genova." Someone is asking where he is and when he will arrive. I read a sign that says "Genova". I ask Luigi how to pronounce it, and he is proud to let the syllables roll off his tongue with the accent on "Gen--o-va". I know Christopher Columbus was Genovese and lived in Genova. I struggle to communicate this in Italian. Luigi speaks very little English, although I surmise he understands quite a lot.
The sun is now brilliant and we catch the first glimpse of the blue sparkling Ligurian Sea. It spreads along the coast like a long blue ribbon reflecting the bright sun. I am mesmerized and can't believe that I am actually in Italy. Luigi has two more phone calls and I suspect our host is calling him so she will be ready to greet us. Soon we pull into a small town on the coast. It is Riva. The buildings are all painted in pastel colors, pink, yellow a kind of ochre and most no taller than 3 or 4 stories. The sun is reflecting off the clean stone buildings casting pastel lights on the streets and palm trees. The streets are narrow and the one we are on runs parallel to the sea.
On the corner in the center of town, we see three women.
One is our host, Gianna, her cousin Paola and a friend Germana. Gianna waves frantically and Luigi waves back. He stops the car and we pile out. Gianna beckons Luigi to drive down the narrow stone paved street, Via Genova, with our luggage while we all embrace in the middle of the town square.
The air is clear and warm with the scent of the sea. Other town folk discretely ignore our happy greetings. Gianna is about 5 ft. tall, middle aged, healthily built with long blond curly hair and big expressive blue eyes behind large rimless glasses. She hugs and kisses us on both cheeks. I feel the warmth of her solid body and the strong kisses on both my cheeks. She is rattling on in Italian ... I catch a word here and there. She says, "No speak English ... Paola speak." Paola is also about 5 ft. or less, tall, very slim and tiny, mid 30's. She also has rimless glasses, blue eyes and a wide smile. She teaches English at a middle school here and is is a cousin of Gianna's husband, Walter, our hosts. Because Gianna was afraid she wouldn't be able to communicate with us, she enlisted Paola. Paola hugs me and I feel her body firm without an ounce of fat. I immediately feel a warm affection for both of them. How could anyone not. Germana, a neighbor, introduces herself. Germana is a taller, larger woman with beautifully coiffured short blond hair and a classic attractive face with high cheek bones and smooth white skin. She and her husband, Mauro, live in the apartment directly below where we will live. They are lifetime friends of Gianna and Walter. We have only been in Riva 10 minutes and we have 4 new friends.
Looking up at the four-story stone apartment house where we are going to be spending the next month, I notice each apartment has a dark green awning over its balcony. By now, Luigi has the trunk open and is masterfully lifting all our bags out. The glass front door of the apartment needs a key, the small elevator capacity (Luigi and 2 bags) needs a key. Finally all of us, plus bags, have managed to get up the elevator to the 4th floor, our home for the next month. Janet and I want to tip Luigi, but I suggest we ask Paola or Gianna if it is proper. Luigi wants to leave. Paola wants to ask Gianna in private. Finally Gianna communicates to Paola, who communicates to us, that it would be insulting to Luigi to offer a tip. Instead we shake his hand and say, "Buon giorno." He speeds away to other duties.
Gianna is bubbling over to talk to us but cannot find any English words. She looks plaintively at Paola who summarizes. Regardless of the language barrier, the love and acceptance shines through. She keeps hugging Janet and saying, "Barbie ... Barbie ..." Barbie is one of Janet's 5 daughters (you got it right - 5). Barbie is married to Pat and lives in St. Louis. Another connection is that Walter and Gianna's son Alex and his wife (from Sestri) live in St. Louis, Alex is attending Engineering School there and they have a small 6 month old son, Simone, Gianna and Walter's "nipote"--grandson. Barbie and Pat are friends of Alex his wife. So, as they say in Italy, we are all "family". Now we have family manna.
