traveling through the towns and villages that line campania to the west and rest along the path to my parents hometown is quietly overwhelming. small villages like, capriati and letino hold an italian heritage that is often not seen in postcards, nor in federico fellini movies. these villages are the rural havens of farmers, masons and shopkeepers, far removed from iconic roma or reputable napoli. they hold much of the magic of italy, telling stories of those who have emigrated and those that remain. the dearest of such places is gallo matese, a proud and humble village which sits at nine hundred metres atop the appenines in its simple glory. at once regal and weary, it is the birthplace of my heritage and pulls me in with an incessant intensity. the cobbled streets are worn, the homes disheveled, but a vibrancy seeps from the cracks in the stucco and the weathered lines in faces that surround. i am encircled by a history that i own. whispered dreams and fears of grandparents and parents are embedded in the fountain, the church and the chicken coops that i pass. stories of hardship and bliss are revealed on the land that i stand upon; the earth exposes its truth. gallo is a place of wonder, stoically forging ahead with a mere three hundred remaining. it is a place that has shaped the lives of my family and has left its imprint through generations. it is a paese that i understand at last.
1 comment:
this is a beautifully written post that does justice to the towns in the region and the people who live, have lived or have visited there.
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