Vacation / Travel Supplement

Visiting Italy … visiting family!

Father Louis Manna, fourth from left, stands with family and friends in front of an Italian vacation home in Agerola, Italy, that needs a little work. (Submitted photo)

By Fr. Louis Manna (Special to The Criterion)

ITALY—On my last trip to Italy, I stayed in Amalfi for a few days. I was in a small restaurant where the waitress-owner went around to the various tables, asking people where they were going next or where they had been.

She would usually hear places such as Napoli, Sorrento, Pompeii. She would say nice things about all of the places, “very picturesque, much history there, wonderful views.”

When she came to me, I told her that I was going to Agerola (pronounced a GER o la).

Suddenly, there was a look of surprise and silence. Agerola is only a half hour bus ride up the mountain, so she knew where it was. But Agerola is not a major tourist attraction. It’s barely a minor one. She asked why I was going there.

I told her that I had family there. She asked my name and when I said it, it seemed that a light suddenly went on. Then she told me that they make good mozzarella there. (I was often told that about Agerola!)

My first trip to Agerola began with a phone conversation with my cousin, Phil. We were talking about where the family came from, and he said that I should talk to a relative of ours, Lori, who had been to Agerola. Lori lives in Florida, with her husband, Bob. I did get in contact with her.

At about the same time I would be ending my vacation, she and Bob were going to Italy to begin their vacation with another married couple, Earl and Nancy. She gave me some information on the family and how to get there. She suggested we meet at a place that our relatives ran—Hotel Le Due Torri. And that is where we met.

Lori showed us around, and I met some of my relatives. She introduced me to Antonio Manna, who had a “salumeria” (deli) in town.

Antonio’s grandfather was the brother of my grandfather. I don’t know exactly how to describe that relationship, but I simply refer to him and his family as my cousins. My father’s original name was Luigi, but it was changed to Louis when he started school in the Bronx. I was named after my father. Antonio’s father was Luigi, and he has a son named Luigi. Names tend to stay in families over there!

We were taken to different places. One photo shows the five of us standing before a place that a local was hoping we would buy. Definitely a fixer-upper, and definitely not in my budget. What you cannot see is that on the other side of the building is a wonderful view of the Mediterranean Sea from the top of the mountain.

Lori’s vacation group continued on, and I stayed another couple of days to meet some more relatives.

This is definitely small-town Italy. There are people that speak English; just not many of them are my relatives. My Italian happens to be just one notch above non-existent. So there were times when we participated in dictionary page-turning.

But we got along and came to understand one another. Difficult, but manageable.

I was wondering if my father had ever been there. I knew that in the late 1930’s he had a scholarship to study at the University of London for a year and that he had been in France, but little else. He had mentioned that the family name came from being bread bakers in the old country.

Antonio took me to visit one of his aunts, Elvira, who lived above a “panificio” (bakery) that her family operated. She remembered my father being there for about three or four weeks, going around and meeting relatives.

Antonio’s mother, Ersilia, lives with him and his family. She told me that my grandfather, Giuseppe, was born upstairs in their home.

This family sharing was not all one-sided. I was able to tell them about what happened to the family that came to America, mainly my father and his brother and sister, their children, where we were, what we were doing.

There is something special about going to where your family came from, especially if you’ve never been there previously.

When people make their first trip to Rome, there’s a sense of amazement when they realize they are on some of the same streets where the Caesars walked.

They see so many historical buildings around them and have a sense of being overwhelmed by it all—especially when they visit the Vatican.

There’s something similar when I visit Agerola. I’m meeting family that I never knew I had. I met Antonio, his wife, his mother, and his three children.

And there are more. I’m seeing where the family came from before they left for America. I’m seeing what they saw. (Things don’t change much in Italy!)

There were three churches in town, the largest one being San Matteo (St. Matthew). Inside, I saw family names that I remember hearing in my youth.

Was this the church where my grandparents were married? Perhaps I need to make another trip to Agerola!
 

(Father Louis Manna is pastor of American Martyrs Parish in Scottsburg and St. Patrick Parish in Salem.) †