So Long

Photo: Rita and Rosa in Matera
So Long

I knew that saying goodbye to Rosa and her clan was not going to be easy for either of us. Food, travel and language barriers make tight bonds. The actual process of leaving took 2 days. Cousin Rita had accidentally left her bag on the Magic Bus, which I was supposed to remind her not to forget at midnight after two days of nonstop tourista bliss. So, it was logical then that I was responsible for getting her bag back to her when I passed through L'aquila, where she lives, on my way to Rome – although how I was going to schlep an extra bag, find her house and get back to the bus terminal was questionable. In my now infamous Italian interpretation bungling, it turns out that Rita was coming to Santo Stefano to get her bag and give me a ride back to L'aquila.

It had taken me the better part of the morning to extract myself from the little homey room, pack and try to avoid Rosa's efforts to serve breakfast... which she finally just brought to my room on a tray since I wasn't cooperating. I was forced to eat more chocolate torte and biscotti. Rita arrives with her brother and sister-in-law at 1 p.m., just in time for lunch. You can't leave without eating lunch which is always a huge ordeal. First there is the fresh gnocchi, after which, plates are cleared and a tray of grilled meats is brought in – sausage, lamb, chicken and pork– all locally grown. More plates are cleared and the salad is last for digestion. Just when you think it's over, the fruit platter comes out with homegrown grapes, apples, pears and although wine is served throughout the meal, now the brandies are poured. Espresso is brought with Sambuca but we are waiting for a daughter in law, who shows up with the grandchild and a large cake with a sweet, cooked grape topping. A sturdy meal to tide a traveler over for a few hours.

The round of hugs, double cheek kisses, “buona fortuna”, and “ciao” goes around at least twice. Rosa's son, Lucca says he will look for a house for me. Rosa is trying to distract herself by kneading pasta dough. Having been told that I am family, I'm trying to hide tears most of the way down to L'aquila. It's now 4:30 p.m. and Rita decides it's too late for me to leave for Rome and so I am eating dinner at 10 p.m. because Rita refuses to let Rosa be the only one to cook for me.

I am resolved to leave in the morning so I can take control of my food intake and get to Rome for the city fix I now need. Rita finally accepts that I must go but only if I eat breakfast first – ricotta coffee cake, biscotti and fruit, with coffee of course. She stuffs the rest of the cake into my backpack, and I'm now having to say goodbye to my teacher and travel buddy – who follows me into the bus station and makes sure no one takes my luggage once it's loaded onto the bus and I'm aboard. This is the way things are here.

Less than two hours later, I'm lugging bags around Rome looking for a hotel by the train station, the shady but supposedly cheaper section because everything else is booked. The walls are scuffed up, the pillows feel like they are stuffed with socks, a roach stops by for a visit... the room is small and expensive for what it is... nevertheless, outside my 4th floor window Rome is seething with people and bustle. A huge political demonstration is dancing down the street and in the bars Italians are losing their minds screaming at soccer playoffs. I walk out into the night to find favorite old haunts, panini, gelato and search for boots.