From the moment I heard “Volare” over the speakers on my Alitalia flight, I felt my connection to Italy, the country from which my grandparents had emigrated in 1904.
My birthday present for myself, this trip to Italy was a lifelong dream, and this was my chance to see the area my grandparents were from on one day of the tour when we would travel through the Reggio Calabria.
Salvatore Maida and Philomena Albina, along with their baby Frank, left Centrache, a town in the province of Catanzaro in the region of Calabria, Italy, to move to the United States. Because the railroad and the Oxford Paper Co. needed laborers, they moved to Rumford. Somehow, at their stop at Ellis Island, they got their family name changed to Sullivan.
Our trip started in Sicily, where my uncle and godfather Louis Palermo was from. He liked opera, which I heard in the restaurants in Italy.
Throughout Sicily, Sorrento, the Bay of Naples, the Amalfi coast and Rome, I often thought of my relatives and what they had left behind and what they had brought with them.
I couldn’t imagine leaving behind such a magical land with its temperate climate, ancient towns built on hills, a long history, beautiful architecture and delicious food.
But when our tour guide mentioned that Calabria was one of the poorest regions of Italy, I understood why my grandparents had left – to make a better life for their family.
Although so much was left behind, after 10 days of experiencing Italy, I felt I understood my grandparents a little more and realized what they had taken with them.
The Italian people are talkative and love life. Our family gatherings were always fun and loud. My grandparents spoke only Italian, so they talked very little with my sister and me. I always thought they were shy, but as I realized also about our bus driver Salvo, who barely spoke, it was that they didn’t speak or understand English.
After seeing the Italian landscape, with its rows of crops and olive trees, I could picture my grandfather’s huge vegetable garden, laid out in similar magnificent rows, at his home on Holyoke Avenue in Rumford.
Of course there was the food – the pasta, the pizza, the calamari (which I don’t eat). My grandparents rarely had dessert, so I was happily surprised by all the dolci, especially at breakfast.
And family. Italy is so family-oriented. Middle-aged men, like our guide Dimitri, talked about Mama and Sunday dinners.
In Rome, after seeing the pope and witnessing the splendor of the Vatican, I more understood the significance and pride of being Catholic to the Italian people.
Seeing the sign for Catanzaro on the highway en route to Rome, I wondered if I were dreaming. Italy tugs at your heartstrings.
Sadly, I had to say “arrivederci” to Italy. But I made my promise at the Trevi Fountain, so I’ll be back someday.
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