Italy. In the beginning.

Many years ago, when my family and I didn't or couldn't go to my grandparents for Sunday dinner, we went to Casa Rosa's on McBride Avenue in Paterson. A small dark place, with a smoky bar in the front and a small restaurant in the back. There was a jukebox which played pop songs mixed in with Frank, Dean, other crooners and some Italian songs. What I remember was the smells and the sounds of what I considered Italy. Hearing voices of those to whom English was their second language, vacillating between two worlds, those of their homeland and those where their feet were planted. Where my dad, a first generation American, would engage in Italian, which I found fascinating.

There was the banging and clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen in the back as they worked hard to provide customers with a delicious meal. Many times we had pizza. At times, I would have Spagetti con olio e aglio (spaghetti with oil and garlic) like my dad did. With lots and lots of cheese on top of course.

On the checkered tablecloth, there were paper placemats which displayed a map of Italy, the homeland of both of my grandparents. I remember looking at the boot and the drawings around the major cities: the Colosseum in Rome, the gondolas in Venice, the statue of David in Florence among other landmarks. As a child, I was intrigued by this far away land, knowing that half of my lineage came from this country.

I also saw Italy at and in my grandparents. Though both became U.S. citizens, they were products of Italy. The food, the family, their life. Both worked hard in the factory, saved to buy a home, grew a fabulous vegetable garden on a small plot in the yard. Grandpa made his homemade wine which was found in the concrete cellar, which was the greatest place to be on a hot summer day. I give them a lot of credit coming to a new country, and doing their very best to assimilate yet keep their culture alive. And my dad had a large picture or poster of Venice and the gondolas in the dining area of our home. The seeds of interest in this country began so many years ago.

Fast forward from the 1960's to about 2016. My sister Donna and I began to talk about a big trip, something special to celebrate my 60th birthday. Both of us wanted to go to Italy and visit the towns where our grandparents came from. We were adamant that we didn't want to go on a tour. So a few times during the year we would discuss our visions as to this trip. Then life got in the way and the trip became out of focus. That all changed late last year.

The bantering and wishful thinking became the nose to the grindstone, let's prep and plan this event. Originally, we were going to Rome, visit the Vatican then to Naples and the surrounding areas and off to Salerno, where our grandparents were from. Well you know the saying of the best laid plans.....

By late January, the only things certain was the flight in and out of Rome, the hotel in Rome and the tour to see the Pope at the Vatican. We had heard too many things about Naples that made us uncomfortable. The villages where our grandparents were from were really off the beaten path. Did two American women who know un pochino Italiano and of the area really want to venture there? When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's a NO WAY! We were in a vacation quandary.

In February, while visiting my sister and Dad, Donna suggested to go to AAA in town to see if they could help. The agent was not pleased that we had already booked a flight and thought we were working backwards, which truly wasn't the case. There was a list of tours of Italy, which for the most part we were not interested in until...….the one! A "Contrasts of Italy" tour, which takes you to three cities, Rome, Florence and Venice, for three days each. A small list of optional tours in each place, BUT plenty of time to do your own thing. Our flight almost matched the tour. We arrive in Italy a day before the tour (which turned out to be a God-send). Transportation, hotel, tours all set for the taking. And we took it.

I must confess. I was very nervous about going to a place where English was not the first language. As someone who tries to prepare for things, I spent a few months learning Italian through an app called Duolingo. I can tell you the cat drinks its milk (Il gatto beve il suo latte), but more about my Italian interchange later. In addition, this was my first time on a tour, which made me feel a bit better, a bit safer. Safety in numbers is generally a good thing. But how was the group going to be? The nature of this beast is to be as prepared and cautious as possible.....and to worry!

To be continued...…..