When it comes to positive experiences for the Italian American, it's difficult to imagine anything more beneficial than a total immersion in the culture left behind nearly a century ago. An outstanding example of this is a story that began two years ago in the state of New Jersey. Driven by a passionate desire to live in the land which spawned his Sicilian heritage, an energetic college graduate quickly learned that working as an English teacher would be the most practical means for achieving his end. Journeying thousands of miles away to live in a small town situated high up in the mountains of central Sicily was only the beginning of a six month adventure which would transform the life of Vincent Traina forever. It's just too bad there isn't enough space to write about everything. Therefore, only the most precious memories will be shared.
Not a soul knew of his existence before arriving in Pietraperzia two days after Christmas of 2004. Ten days later, on the feast of La Befana, some locals invited their foreign guest on a day trip to visit the ancient Greek cities of Agrigento and Selinunte. An avid student of ancient history, the idealistic traveler was enthralled to visit what was known twenty-five hundred years ago as "Magna Graecia," or "Greater Greece." To stand in front of the ruins of the herculean temples was truly a phenomenal experience. Mr. Traina gazed up at the columns and bowed graciously before the engineering feats of antiquity. As the three continued through southwestern Sicily, they stopped briefly at a roadside to get a closer look at the Mediterranean Sea. The encounter with the sounds and smells of a famous sea, which witnessed the birth and growth of the Western World, was nothing short of inspirational. Two months later Vincent returned to Agrigento, writing his full name in the sand and watching as it symbolically began to wash away and make its trip across the Mediterranean.
On the third lonely Saturday night, Vincent was startled by his earsplitting doorbell. He picked up the phone and curiously inquired, "Who is it?" in Italian. A voice answered, "Hi, it's Paolo, Salvatore's brothercome down." One of his kind-hearted students, Salvatore Di Marca, had earlier talked to his older brother about the fact that his English teacher didn't know anyone in town. As soon as Vincent and Paolo met, a momentous bond was forged. Quite rapidly, they became best friends and went out every weekend to the bars and clubs. Paolo showed him around town, introduced him to his humorous buddies, and acquainted the foreigner with some very lovely Italian ladies.
Caltanissetta, a nearby city colloquially known as Nisse, became a frequent hangout for the two. Chatting about things ranging from the great Italian explorers to contemporary Italian politics, Paolo and Vincent exchanged funny stories in clever anecdotage on a routine basis. During a weekend excursion to Catania, "il professore Traina" and Mr. Di Marca fortified their friendship with two other women they met on the bus. They were Giusy Milazzo, Vincent's only adult female student, and her pal Agnese Viola. In the following weeks, Nisse suited the four of them fine as a center for socializing with other Sicilians. Thus, an amplified social life helped cultivate the Italian American's Sicilian psyche.
Living in a quaint, remote town of five thousand people is kind of like being part of one very large extended family. Everything is known about everyone by everyone, and the townspeople interact with one another on a familial level. Highlighted by this is the prevalence of many cartoonish personalities, sort of like a Sicilian cast of Saturday Night Live. Two of innumerable examples Vincent could give are Franco Morgana, the camera shy pharmacist who's always joking around with his clientele, and the hard-working bricklayer Sebastiano Ristagno, who epitomizes the Sicilian character with his voracious appetite, eccentric personality, and generous nature.
Vincent was flattered after realizing that a large percentage of "pietrini" (people of Pietraperzia) laid claim to his name in Italian, whether it was the masculine Vincenzo or the feminine Vincenza. One of his four neighborly Vincenzos, Mr. Costa, gave him the honor of posing for a photograph with his antique fucelli rifle and gun belt. His supervisor's son, Vincenzo Farulla, was the first friend he made and also had a girlfriend named Vincenza. Then there was the breathtakingly gorgeous advisor at the town hall, Enza Di Gloria, who made heads turn whenever she walked into a room. The best example Vincent could give was when he met the family of his student Giuliana Di Blasi. Her father, uncle, and first cousin were all Vincenzos. He imagined how confusing it must have been during large family gatherings. It's quite fitting that in April, a procession and a magnificently extravagant fireworks display took place in the main square to honor the feast of St. Vincent! By the middle of February, Mr. Traina considered himself a "Vincenzo" and proudly introduced himself as such from then on.
As the weeks progressed, a scenario repeated itself over and over. Vincenzo had been aware of the legendary Sicilian hospitality and kingly feasts, but it wasn't until becoming the guest of honor at countless dinner tables that he understood that they were no legend at all. Interestingly, the Sicilians felt obligated to showcase their entire collection of family photos to Enzo, akin to a rite of initiation. Before departing, the family always made sure their Sicilian American visitor had a plate of food to take home with him, a bottle of wine, some olive oil, jars of homemade jam, and a bag of fruit. Every time each dinner party ended, he felt like part of their family. It would have been difficult not to, considering the ways in which the families of Pietraperzia welcomed Vincenzo into their homes with open arms.
To refer to Easter week in Sicily as a "religious" experience would be a gross underestimation. For Vincenzo, it commenced on Holy Thursday with an hour and a half long mass at the Chiesa Madre, or "Mother Church." He was grateful to participate in a tradition in which lines of parishioners formed in order to walk up to the holy cross, make the sign of the cross, and kiss Jesus. Ceremoniously kneeling down to the statue of the Savior, Enzo reverently followed suit before accepting Holy Communion. That evening, he went for a casual stroll to buy some flowers to place next to the famous shrine of Padre Pio, to be found in the form of an image on one of the walls of an abandoned house. As he promised his mother, he lit a candle for his entire family and gently placed the flowers next to the wall together with a little prayer that he had written.
While purchasing the bouquet, a pretty Sicilian named Valentina offered to show him the way to the shrine. Like so many other Italians he had met before, the young girl was tenaciously inquisitive. "Where was he from?" "Why was he here?" "How old was he?" "Was he married?" "Did he live alone?" Later that evening, the two met up for a journey to explore church after church amid a slowly moving crowd of pilgrimaging Catholics. Trying to remember the names for posterity, he repeated inside his head, "San Maria Ges, Chiesa Madre, Chiesa San Nicola, Chiesa Carmine..." Having never been inside the latter, Vincenzo was pleasantly surprised to observe there was another level in which ancient ruins could be seen underneath! At one point, the voices of the town choir charmed the onlookers in an antiquated Sicilian dialect.
The next day, Enzo participated in a traditional Good Friday procession known as "Il Signore Delle Fasce." The streets, porches, rooftops, and squares were packed full of enthusiasts who filled the air with vocal expressions of awe and veneration. Accentuated by solemnly religious music, the nighttime ceremony was set in motion by a coalescence of thousands of people from within the town and from without. Flooding St. Carmine's Square, the sea of restless spectators gazed in amazement as the lengthy wooden rod slung its attached colorful ball and crucifix upward, pulling the dozens of white sheets behind it, and coming to a gentle stop when it attained an erect stance. Vincenzo was overwhelmed by a thunderous applause.
Eighty men had to now carry this heavy platform across the entire town for four hours. Resting on a pole ten meters high, the cross of the Savior was majestically illuminated from the full moon and street lights. About one hundred fifty additional participants augmented the visual experience by pulling along their thin, white "fasce," which were attached to the top of the pole and exuded a dome-like effect. As the marching band lead the way, the religious confraternity followed behind, dressed in white hoods and blue tunics. Unique not only for the esthetically appealing nature of the procession, the immensely strong, religiously devoted, pietrini performed an intermittent lowering and raising of Il Signore. Each movement symbolized a particular station of the cross. Because of the sheer size and weight of the structure, Il Signore stopped at intervals as it traversed up and down the hills, through the squares, and past the churches. Vincenzo was allowed to help carry the float for about fifteen minutes, soon grasping what it must have felt like to lift a Volkswagen. Once it ended, he was content in knowing that he had become part of the history of Pietraperzia, however small it might have been.
Pages could be written about the unequivocally blissful Easter Sunday which fell symbolically on the three-month anniversary of Enzo's arrival in the realm of his antecedents. Vincenzo's first time celebrating "Pasquetta," or little Easter, could also intrigue the reader, but those stories will just have to wait to be included in the book currently being written due to obvious space limitations. Suffice it to say that five days of Easter in Sicily awakened a deeply responsive chord in his heart. It was one of the most spiritually gratifying periods in Vincenzo Traina's life. It could only have been better if his family were there also.
By the time the weather became typical of Sicily in May, his adult students kindly brought their teacher back to the towns in the southwest where his family had originated. In the car ride to Scoglitti, the group listened to "That's Amore" by Dean Martin, a favorite of Vincenzo's father. As he looked out at the sea, he thought, "This is where my ancestors fished to survive for hundreds of years." Passing by a shepherd with a flock of sheep in Santa Croce Camerina, his spirit continued to be nourished by the beautiful countryside of his family's birthplace. Driving along the coast, a sudden calm came over him. Was it the refreshing Mediterranean breeze, the crispy salt air, or some sort of mystical phenomenon? Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to strengthen his Italian American identity. This was truly an irreplaceable gift.
Desiring to express his appreciation for the hospitality he had received, Enzo threw a farewell party in late June. Nearly one hundred people came. Paolo, Giusy, and Agnese helped serve the guests with pizza, tortillas, coca-cola, and beer. Surprised with a large white cake spelling, "Arrivederci da Pietraperzia," it was the most touching moment throughout his entire stay in Sicily. Likewise, the most comical moment was when he noticed that it was decorated with British flags because the pastry shop didn't have American. He knew that the party was special for everyone. It was surely meaningful for the host because it was a fruition of six months worth of assimilating back into his Sicilian birthright. Articulating himself in the best Italian he could muster, Vincenzo gave a speech about the ways in which the town had become a part of his life, heart, and soul. This was a fact he could never change, nor would he ever want to.