MOUNTAINS, MEMORIES & ARROSTICINI: ABRUZZO BEYOND THE GUIDEBOOKS
Open up your brand-new Rick Steves guide to Italy, as my wife Dena did this summer, and you'll quickly learn it is not as comprehensive as it should be. Rome and Florence? Of course. The alpine lakes and Tuscan hill towns? Sure. But the majestic mountains and seaside of Abruzzo? No mention whatsoever. Dena had, however, her new Italian family by marriage to introduce her to a place that remains off the beaten path for American tourists.
Our early-July trip was an extended-family affair: Dena's side of the family took advantage of a confluence of birthdays, anniversaries and work sabbaticals for a long-planned vacation centered around a stay in a magnificent Tuscan villa; my side, happy to accept any excuse to travel to Italy, planned to rendezvous there after a few days catching up with our cousins in Sulmona.
It would be my first visit to Abruzzo in 21 years. I'd last seen my grandmother's ancestral homeland as a young teenager on my first trip abroad. This time, I would see it through a gaze sharpened by many trips across the wider world, a deeper appreciation of my family's history, and -- not least of all -- my This is the 2nd is a series of articles we plan to publish in future issues of the AMHS Notiziario, that showcase the Italian Language and Italian Studies programs in colleges and universities in the Washington, DC area. years of membership in the Society! We began with a brief stay in Rome, at the famous Cavalieri hotel, where we met my parents, Tony and Sheila; my brother, Dan, and his wife, Kelly; and Maria Sabatini, daughter of AMHS' own Omero Sabatini, and her friend Marjorie.
A long and indulgent dinner in Trastevere set the tone for the days ahead. In the morning, we drove to the town of Raiano, on the outskirts of Sulmona, where we arrived at the country home of our cousin Antonio Tronca. There we were greeted with hugs, local wine and cheese, meat roasted in the forno a legna, and ripe fruit plucked from the trees surrounding the villa. Dena and Kelly were introduced to the Italian family they had never met -- Antonio and his wife Anna, daughter of my grandmother's brother; their children, Franca and Gianpaolo; Gianpaolo's wife Melania; and their three grandchildren. We shared stories and wedding photos and ate and drank and ate some more -- finishing with sips of Antonio's homemade genziana liqueur.
That afternoon, we drove from Raiano to Secinaro, the village on the slopes of Monte Sirente where my grandmother, Isabella, was born in 1916 and lived until she came to America in 1927 -- and not far from where Omero spent much of his youth in wartime. The village is isolated, physically and economically, and while some have returned to Secinaro to fix up the old houses, mainly retirees, the damage from the 2009 earthquake was still quite evident. The tower of San Nicola church is still in need of repair, and many homes sit vacant.
The sunset views, though, were spectacular. We left town in twilight, stopping on our way down to fill bottles with the fresh waters of the Aeterna River. Anna and Antonio hosted us at their townhome in the old city of Sulmona for a late dinner, followed by a stroll through the streets and past the Piazza Garibaldi -- where preparations were already underway for the famous Giostra Cavalleresca, only a couple of weeks away. My parents stayed in town that night, while us “kids” drove back to Raiano. We slept that night on sheets that had been embroidered a century ago by our family matriarch, my greatgrandmother Annunziata Barbati.
We awoke that Sunday morning and returned to Sulmona for coffee and breakfast before heading out on a daylong voyage that began with a trip through L'Aquila to the town of Montereale. There we visited Bruno Sabatini, Omero's older brother and a retired obstetrician, who was recovering from a recent illness in a convalescent home with a spectaular Apennine view. After a detour back to L'Aquila for lunch, Antonio led a voyage into the Gran Sasso park -- the "high road" across the mountains to our evening destination outside of Pescara.
We briefly stopped and explored Santo Stefano di Sessanio, a Medici wool-gathering outpost that may not have the worldwide reknown of San Gimignano or Montepulciano, but is every bit as historic and spectacular as those hill towns. We continued our two-car caravan up the mountains and into the clouds, past green alpine meadows and flocks of sheep. We alighted at the famous (or infamous) Campo Imperatore, recorded in history books for its role in the Mussolini saga, but known just as properly for being a favorite destination of Pope John Paul II and having one of the most dramatic vistas on the Italian peninsula.
A long and occasionally harrowing trip down twisting mountain roads led us to the country home of our cousin Angelo Barbati, Anna's brother, in the hills overlooking Pescara. There we found another warm greeting from our many cousins, another sumptuous spread of local food and wine -- this one prepared in part by Angelo's daughter Meme and her husband Andrea, who are active in organic and "locavore" food promotion. Among the most memorable dishes: pizza rustica made from locally milled whole grains, delicate lasagne layered with garden vegetables, and that iconic dish of the mountains -- arrosticini of mutton, roasted in a brazier over olive wood.
Many toasts and stories ensued, and my mom made sure to interrogate all of the cousins in order to put the finishing touches on an extensive family tree project that had been years in the making. My brother delivered the final toast -- one expertly translated for him from afar by that renowned Manzoni translator, Omero Sabatini. Thankfully, the late-night trip back across the mountains went via the Autostrada and not over the Gran Sasso. We rose the next morning and returned to Sulmona for a final goodbye to Anna and Antonio and a last stroll through old Sulmona's streets. But before we could depart for Tuscany and the remainder of our trip, there was one last piece of unfinished Sulmonese business.
That, of course, was a trip to the confetti shop. One cannot leave town without a sweet souvenir, and all of us stocked up at the William di Carlo factory store, ensuring our luggage would return to the U.S. at least a couple of pounds heavier than when it left. We went on to see other beautiful vistas and eat more memorable meals in Tuscany; none, however, would outshine those of Abruzzo. Rick Steves just doesn't know what he's missing.