Today we made the journey to the hometown of my Nonna Francesca, guess who I’m named after?
It’s the town she was born and raised is and apparently so was my Nonno, although I have only just learnt this.
It’s an inland town, and very quaint, much like I remembered Termini Imerese on our last visit 5 years ago. Everyone knows everyone, and I guess, everyone’s business too!
We first visited the cemetery (cimitero) to see where my Nonna was buried.
She was killed in a car accident, here in Sicily in 1970, whilst visiting her family, so instead of having her body flown back to Australia for burial, the family here had her placed in the plot with her relatives.
Italians don’t usually bury their loved ones as we do, in single graves, but often have crypts built which house a number of the family, usually they wait until they are deceased, but hey, this is Sicily!
What struck me most about the please was how everything was so beautifully maintained, with flowers, candles and the like, it’s really lovely.
My Dad took us to a local restaurant in town for lunch, called Nasca. Apparently the owners are distant relatives, on his mother’s side.
It’s the sort of trattoria where there are no menus, they just bring you food until you’re so stuffed, you have to roll yourself out the door.
It was delicious.
After lunch, my father decided we should walk up to his cousin Ignazia’s house.
Ignazia is the eldest child in her family, and has her elderly mother, my great aunt, livlng with her.
She lives in what the Italians refer to as “Campagnia” which, translated means the countryside.
The countryside is all of about 1.5km from the edge of Cerda!
It was however, ALL uphill, as was most of Cerda, so by the time we arrived, we were sweaty, thirsty, hot, and were mostly looking at the different ways we could kill my Dad for making us walk all that way uphill in the Sicilian sun.
Ignazia lives right next door to her brother Pino, on land left to her by her grandfather, yet like a good Sicilian, she and Pino have had a falling out and don’t speak to each other. Funny how geography changes little in my father’s family! There is always someone not speaking to someone else, must be in the genes.
What I didn’t know about Ignazia is that she married, in Italian terms, late in life at 40, and has one daughter, Giovanna, who is 28. Her husband Nicola (yes it’s a male name!) is 10 years her senior, so she is looking after her 88 year old mother, and 80 year old husband these days.
She is an extremely quick witted lady, and I found myself attempting to chat with her. We sort of made ourselves understood. She confirmed that my father was a rat bag, and told me I reminded her of my Nonna, which is a lovely compliment.
It was gorgeous to see her and my Dad exchanging insults and having a great time.
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