This is a long post. But it involves me hitchhiking and nearly being stranded in southern Italy, so it has potential to be interesting. And it involves this place:

This morning, I went through my routine (established recently) of waking around 10, grabbing fruit for breakfast and heading upstairs to what I have now deemed "my office," the room above the garage which has become a really peaceful retreat. I opened my laptop and checked my e-mail (something I have become all too obsessed with). It's like the real mail, but more frequent. You hope to find something personal, something to brighten your day or some update you've been waiting on. *Cough* updates from the IMB about training *cough* But usually I get coupons to Borders and reminders from mint.com that your account is dangerously low. (Since when is $117 dangerously low? Mint.com, you don't know my life!!)

But THIS morning was one of those mornings that delighted me. 

I had a facebook message (written in Italian) from a gentleman from Roccanova, Italia, who I learned is a Viola (family!). I quickly mustered my rusty Italian skills to reply to his message. I was so excited to have a little slice of Italy back in my life. This reminded me that I don't think I ever blogged about my Roccanova experience-- only THE singular most meaningful travel adventure of my life thus far. The full story usually takes me about twenty minutes to tell, so I'll make this a simplified version. 

My freshman year of college, I took a first-year-seminar that was essentially a huge family history project. We spent the whole semester tearing through census records, conducting interviews with grandparents and compiling information about our genealogies. I was

 particularly fascinated with my paternal grandmother's family, the Viola family. They immigrated to the U.S. from Italy in 1888. Gaitano (I think-- I don't have my notes with me) was a musician from a tiny town called Roccanova in the province of Basilicata in southern Italy. 

When I studied in Florence in Fall 2007, I thought it would be really great if I could make it there as a sort of "pilgrimage," to take photos and see the town my family hails from-- maybe even meet some Violas if they still lived there. So in November, I got the guts to purchase a bus ticket to Senise, a nearby town. I would then take a local bus to Roccanova. No one could put up the 80 euro to come with me, so it was just me, traveling nine hours by bus to rural southern Italy. As I boarded the bus from Florence, I was terrified. I watched the familiarity slip away until I drifted into sleep on the overnight bus. 

At 7 a.m., the bus dropped us off at a gas station on the side of a bypass. I figured it was right outside of Senise, and that I could walk to catch the next bus. I stepped into the gas station's bar and ordered a cappuccino. As I stirred sugar into my coffee, I asked the bartender where I could catch the bus to Roccanova. His reply?

"Non c'e." 

There is no bus. 

I am nine hours away from Florence on the side of an Italian highway. No one here speaks English, and the Italian spoken in the south is pretty different from that spoken in the north. Initiate freakout.

"Can I walk to Roccanova?"

"No. It's a dozen kilometers away." 

That's when a gentleman offered to give me a ride. He was going to Roccanova anyway. I realized this was my only means of making the trip worthwhile. So I said, "ok" and for the first time in my life I hitchhiked. 

When I got to Roccanova, I was introduced to a guy named Ernesto. He took me to the town center. We flipped through dozens of handwritten record books, searching for any records of my ancestors. Finally we stumbled upon the record of Matildo Leonardo Viola. The record even indicated that his father was a musician (which I had gathered in the research I did for class). 

So Ernesto took me to a restaurant, the owner of which was a Viola himself. We talked and figured out how our families were connected (one brother way back when stayed in Roccanova, while the other immigrated to the States-- we're descended from their respective families). So I ate lunch with their family, and they fed me TONS of homemade pasta and cookies, and I made my way back to Senise with a ton of photos and some serious joy from meeting family I never knew existed, in a tiny town where my great-great-great grandfather grew up. 

Thennn it got interesting!!!

I got a ride with Ernesto back to Senise, and I had like 7 hours to kill before the bus picked me up. I called the bus company just to make sure I was waiting in the right place, and the woman on the phone told me to wait in the piazza with the fountain. (Ok, it's a small town, and in the center there's a piazza with a fountain. Check.) Because it was cold outside, I went into a few bars and restaurants ordering pizza or tea, just to stay warm. I ended up in a bar where two women just started talking to me. (In my experience, Italian women had never expressed any interest in speaking with me.) So we talked about where I'm from, and about my adventure that day. When I spoke to them further, they realized I was waiting for the overnight bus back to Firenze.

Angela, who was pregnant and actually owned the bar, said, "You know the bus doesn't come into the city, right?" 

"Umm... what?" 

"The bus comes to an old piazza with a fountain outside the city. It's not safe for you to walk out there alone, in the dark." 

"Umm... what?"

At this point, the women's husbands and a few other friends show up. They were about to go to Angela's house for dinner. One of Angela's friends used my phone to call the bus company. Sure enough, the bus would arrive at the deserted piazza outside of town, in the dark. 

I excused myself briefly and went into the bar's tiny bathroom, where I promptly hyperventilated and fought back tears of stress and fear. Aside from the fact that I hadn't spoken a word of English all day, I was nine hours away from anything familiar. I was so afraid. 

I came back out slightly more composed, and Angela said, "Come to our house for dinner, and we will give you a ride to the bus." 

Still terrified, I nodded and smiled. I was relieved at the generosity of these strangers, but super nervous. It's typically a no-no to hitchhike and chill at a stranger's house, but I knew that I would be able to trust these people. Especially Angela, who was sweet, friendly, and who exhibited such an innocent curiosity about my life. 

So I hopped in their car and went to their home. It was remarkably similar to an American home-- lots of picture frames and bookshelves, a dining room table, etc. We sat around and talked (I attempted to talk and take things in with my somewhat limited Italian skills). They cooked an UNBELIEVABLE meal of fresh bread and seafood pasta. The men skinned and cut up the fish (including those tiny octopi) and cooked them in the fireplace. It was such a sweet gathering of friends for what seemed like a weekly dinner-- each person brought something, and they all cooked together. After talking over dinner, Angela and her friend Nicholas drove me to the bus stop. I felt a huge surge of relief when the bus pulled up, with "Firenze" glowing in red letters above the driver's seat. Home. I hugged my new friends goodbye and made it back home to Florence in one piece!!!

(Seriously, I would have been stranded if not for divine providence and incredibly generous Italians. Best adventure ever. Also gave my mom a near heart attack.)

With love and glad for adventures,

Megan

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