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The road up to the rented villa was steep and winding, not at all straightforward for a touring caravan to negotiate, however our friend Guido kindly allowed us to park our caravan on his piece of land overlooking a delightful, hidden little cove. The grounds were overgrown with waist high weeds, so in exchange for his kindness we offered to help him begin to tame the wilderness with a temperamental decispugliatore (strimmer) which proved to be more trouble than it was worth. Guido showed us the way down the steep, rustic, wooden stairway that lead to the beautiful white, sandy beach.
* photo by paul ellson
At that time Guido had three dogs. The first, named “Fausta”, stood waist high, when on all fours, and was a Pastore Maremmano, a breed of large, powerful herding dog from the Maremma area of Tuscany. “Fausta” would come boisterously lolloping up, drooling profusely, her tail alone could give you a nasty lashing and if she jumped up she could easily knock me flying. The second was a sizeable swanky male, by the name “Geronimo”, who was a cross between a Husky and a German Shepherd. The third named “Mona” was smaller and more timid, with a sweet temperament.
Most of the time the dogs were kept in ramshackle kennel in a rickety enclosure, only being let loose to run off steam and play before their afternoon feeding time. They were generally fed on bones, scraps and pasta that had been boiled up in a large smelly pot.
One day we drove up to Guido’s terrain as usual, with our two dogs panting in the back of the car, feeling safe in the knowledge that the other three hounds would be safely contained in their pen. Paul released our dogs from the car, intending to tether them nearby, when in a flash Fausta and Geronimo came bounding across, bearing their teeth and growling ferociously. A terrible fight broke out, and they savagely attacked our two dogs who were screaming and yelping in terror. Paul scrambled about on the floor, wrestling with Guido’s hounds in an effort to curtail the attack. Fortunately reinforcements were soon at hand, in the form of Guido and his brother, who finally succeeded in separating the dogs, and we speedily locked our two safely back into the car. Paul was left looking pale and in a veritable state of shock, not to mention badly grazed and scratched. It took quite some time for him to catch his breath and stop trembling.
We checked our dogs over, and at first believed they had escaped without any injuries. It was only later that evening that we found that Barney had in fact received a nasty bite in a rather delicate region. The next morning we found a local vet, who pronounced that the bite was infected and needed stitches. Having paid the expensive vet’s bill we resolved never to take our hounds up to Guido’s again for it had proved to be a very costly mistake.
Barney soon made a full recovery, so much so that one day whilst I was playing ball with him he managed to leap up and head butt me under the chin, making me the proud owner of a fat split lip. That’s gratitude for you!
** photo by rogilde
Later, we heard that Guido’s dogs had twice broken out of their enclosure, and had gone “AWOL”. In their break for freedom they galloped off down the wooden stairway towards the sea, where no doubt they wreaked havoc among the poor, unsuspecting sun bathers. It was not long before it became evident that both the female dogs were pregnant.
Some weeks later Guido proudly announced that both the bitches had given birth to their cucciolini. The smaller Mona had produced a lovely litter of ten, and Fausta excelled herself in delivering another fifteen pups. Thus Guido’s patch was rapidly transformed into a “puppy farm” with the copious new arrivals !!!
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It became clear that very soon we would have to consider moving from Salvatore’s campsite, as the summer season was fast approaching.
Dear Salvatore had allowed us to remain with our two hounds as a special favour, although his campsite had an official policy of “no dogs”. He had been so concerned for us and had tried his best to prolong our stay, but before long another family from Rome would be arriving, expecting to park their caravan on our pitch. Already at weekends several families had begun turning up, busily organising themselves for the summer months. They arrived with their cars packed to the gunnels with crates, plastic tables, chairs, sun loungers, umbrellas, fridges, cooking stoves, plastic cupboards, shelving, fans, TV’s …… even canaries in cages and pet cats. This was an almost “home from home” relocation – Just how much could more could they manage to cram into a small caravan and awning, we wondered?
All the little local campsites, shops and restaurants dotted along the coast road had started springing into life, preparing for the onslaught of summer visitors. Boards were prepared advertising the local cuisine and delicacies such as zuppa di pesce, tiella and fresh mozzarella di buffala. Stalls appeared setting out a colourful array of holiday goods. Over-grown verges were cleared for parking so that in August hundreds of cars could squeeze into every little nook and cranny of space available.
At one stage we considered purchasing a second-hand mobile-home to accommodate us all on the building site, while the necessary renovation work was being undertaken on the farmhouse.
However in due course we abandoned this notion and decided that the quickest solution was to find a suitable rental property in the Itri vicinity. We had not taken into account that rental prices were significantly inflated during the profitable summer months, thus we were greatly relieved when Giampiero, the estate agent, came up trumps by locating a more reasonably priced property, which could solve our accommodation problem, at least in the short term.
This was merely a small, simple country villa, but to us it felt perfectly luxurious and spacious, compared to our compact little caravan quarters, and best of all it had a bath and lots of hot and cold running water.
Yet we were particularly sad to conclude our stay at the campsite, as we had very much enjoyed our spell there, under Salvatore’s watchful eye. We promised to drive down to visit him and his family regularly.
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So, we needed to get our Birth and Marriage Certificates translated into Italian. Therefore I spent several days with our huge “bible” of a dictionary, working on this exceedingly challenging task, and eventually printed off the translations to be checked by Guido. He awarded me seven out of ten for my efforts, but there are certain official words that just do not translate easily. Guido was wonderful and patiently amended the transcripts so that they made better sense.
Now “all we had to do“ was to get the translations officially authenticated as being accurate and true, but had no idea of how to accomplish this. We tried ringing the British Embassy in Rome for advice, but this turned out to be a complete waste of time, as we just got recorded messages saying that the Embassy was no longer open to the public, and only dealt with matters through the post, otherwise to consult the information on their web-site.
On the website we eventually hit upon a link to a list of approved translators, however they all seemed to be based in Rome ……… until we scrolled, down, down, almost to the bottom of the page and there we found one ……………….. in Gaeta … Bravo!!!
We phoned the lady immediately. She was English and very helpful and friendly, and advised us that as we had already translated the documents, we could save ourselves a lot of money, as there was a relatively new law that made it possible for anyone to “self-certify” a document. However, to do this one had to visit the Cancelleria department (probably the equivalent to visiting a Commissioner of Oaths in the UK) in the comune. She also added that if we needed any further help or advice, she would be very happy to assist. How wonderful – A new friend, that spoke our native tongue!!!
We dashed off, post haste, with Guido’s teenage son Peppe to help us out. However after climbing seemingly interminable flights of energy sapping marble stairs, we arrived at the very top of the building, desperately gasping for breath. The corridor was bustling with Armani suited businessmen, with leather briefcases in hand, their jackets draped nonchalantly over their shoulders.
Abruptly, Peppe was taken aside and firmly reprimanded for wearing shorts in an official building, and was asked to leave the premises directly. Thankfully we managed to find the Cancelleria department and queuing patiently,were successful in obtaining the necessary forms. We were instructed that we needed to buy Franco di bolli (official government duty stamps which) which are required to legalise many Italian official documents. These stamps come in various values and can be purchased from a tobacconist’s shop known as a Tabaccheria.
By now it was almost lunchtime, and the town hall was soon due to shut, and with it being a Friday it would not be open in the afternoon, of course !!! So over the weekend we had plenty of time to complete the forms.
So bright eyed and busy tailed on the following Monday morning we presented ourselves once again at the Cancelleria with various sets of forms and of very expensive Franco di bolli costing (at that time) about 18 euros per document. Giovanna offered to accompany us.
The lady official licked each set of stamps and stuck them onto each form, which in turn was stapled to the original certificate and the translated copy. Giovanna was asked to sign her name on each and every page of the document, having taken an oath that the translations of the certificates were in fact true and accurate. Each bundle of papers was allocated a number and these were then entered, by hand, in an enormous leather bound register. Each and every page of the documents was then heavily rubber stamped, indeed I think the signora found this to be the best part of her job, as she performed this with such gusto. Finally, we exited the comune skipping down the steps, triumphantly waving the papers in our hands.
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Next we revisited the Agenzia delle Entrate to change my surname on my Codice Fiscale. This was a soulless, echoing building of fairly new construction. As directed we took a numbered ticket and then sat anxiously in the uncomfortable plastic chairs watching the illuminated board waiting for our number to come up. Progress seemed painfully slow, and we were concerned that the office might soon close for lunch, no doubt just before it got to our number. However thankfully, that day the gods were on our side, and with all the right translated documentation to hand altering my name turned out to be a remarkably simple and painless procedure. Thank goodness or meno male as the Italians say.
It felt very strange though, signing on the dotted line in my maiden name, something I hadn’t done for many a year.
Some good news – We made further enquiries and it seemed that we were not required to have our Permesso di Soggiorno’s in order to purchase the house. Also, we learned that if we bought a house in the district of Itri we would have to register at La Questura in the town of Fondi, so thankfully we would not have to deal again with the aforementioned “green eyed hag”.
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* photo by John Morgan
So we were left with the possibility of buying the deserted farmhouse with the large acreage of land. However it seemed that even this property had problems attached. We discovered that there was an ancient clause in the deeds, regarding an ecclesiastical livello attached to one of the sections of land, something similar to a tithe agreement. It appeared that this land had once belonged to the church and via a half-tenancy, half-freehold arrangement had probably been let out to a local peasant, contadino, who worked the land. In return he was bound to give a share of his produce to the church. After a certain period of time the tenant had the right to acquire the land and pass it on to his heirs. The church and parish no longer existed, however the clause had still remained in the deeds, so it was possible that the church still might still technically hold an interest. We were told that this agreement would have to be legally cancelled by the current owners. Giampiero, the estate agent, said that this would only take a couple of months, however talking to our geometra Rocco, we learned that this could in fact be a long drawn out, complicated task. The local Church Committee apparently only met once a month, and if the proposal was brought up at the first meeting, the matter would not be considered until the following month. If there was some problem or opposition to the cancellation of the contratto di livello then this matter could take six months or even longer to resolve. This concerned us deeply, as TIME was the one thing we did not have. We were anxious to get my parents relocated here in Italy, so that we could all be reunited. Being an only child, I had no brothers or sisters to keep a watchful eye out for them. Since we had left them behind in the UK back in April, they had been left somewhat “in limbo”, anxiously waiting news of developments as the months were steadily ticking by.
However, there is one thing you have to accept in Italy – here things just cannot be hurried !!! “Italian time” greatly differs greatly from “British time”, and not just because the Italian clocks are set one hour in advance of good old “Greenwich Mean Time”. If a shop displays its opening hours on the door, this does not in any way mean that it actually sticks to this timetable. Most shops tend to re-open after the lunch break, siesta or riposo, at around “4…ish” in the afternoon. However this may depend on: the day of the week, the length of a snooze after consuming a huge Italian lunch, what’s on the TV, a game of cards, or other possibly more or less important engagements, to mention but a few. Then there is the time concerning appointments. Normally when setting a time to meet they say verso, meaning around, whatever the intended time of the meeting. Verso can be anything from a quarter of an hour, half an hour, even three quarters of an hour or more after the scheduled hour. If you are a punctual type, like my husband, you are said to be preciso, and to keep to “un orario tedescho” – a German / Swiss timetable!
Then there is “Rocco time”. Rocco, we have learned through bitter experience, is always late for appointments, come hell or high water! So many times we have been left waiting, shuffling our feet, outside an estate agent’s office, 15, 25, 45 minutes after the set time of the appointment. While making small talk with the agent Paul apologised profusely for the delay, in a very British manner, whilst I desperately kept trying to make contact with Rocco by mobile phone. Eventually we would succeed in speaking to him and he’s nonchalantly say “sto arrivando” which translates as “I am about to arrive”. Don’t you believe it !!!
5 minutes later, 10 minutes later ….. 15 minutes later ….. he’d still not turned up. “Sto arrivando” in “Rocco speak”, in reality means, “I’m just leaving”! 20 minutes later he’d finally arrive, to our great relief. But seeing that he had often been willing to give us his services for free, we couldn’t really grumble. He seemed to be able to solve many of the problems we were encountering in about 5 minutes flat, and if he couldn’t sort it out, then he always seemed to know someone who could. Therefore his unpunctuality was a small price to pay, and after all – it was the slow pace of life that had attracted us to move to Italy in the first place !!!
Rocco advised us that the casale and its vast olive grove offered plenty of potential, and would be an investment for the future. With the huge size of the land this gave the possibility of building another house or some smaller chalets or bungalows that we could let out to holiday makers. Or perhaps we could do Bed & Breakfast or even turn it into a campsite, if we could get permission from the local council or comune. It seemed that the council of the province of Latina was keen to promote tourism in the area, and grants were available to help local farmers to combine traditional farming with tourist ventures – in Italy this is known as agriturismo.
However, there still remained the piccolo problema of the livello. How much would the legal work cost to get this clause taken out of the documentation? How long would it take to get the church to cancel this ancient agreement? We learned that it was usual to offer a donation to the church in compensation. I joked with Giampiero, the estate agent, that if we paid the church a handsome donation, we would expect St Peter to supply us with “keys in hand” to enter the pearly gates of heaven. This resulted in much laughter and frivolity, but Paul was concerned that the church might expect a larger donation, perhaps for something like a new church roof. However, having taken advice from various professional sources, we thought that in reality the livello would not be too much of a problem. The parish church to which it was that it was linked apparently no longer existed. In the last 50 years the owners had never been asked to pay anything by the church, and many pieces of land come with such livellos.
Rocco also advised us to go to the Technical Department of the local Comune, and ask exactly how much extra we could build on the land and whether we would be allowed to use it for agriturismo purposes. We held our breath as the official at the town hall checked though various old documents and worked out calculations. From the horse’s mouth we were told that, as the law currently stood, we could build another ample property, and the possibility of adding more agricultural storerooms / barns. There were big sighs of relief all around.
After considerable thought we finally decided to start negotiations with an opening bid, as the asking price was supposedly trattabile, a low offer as we thought that we might have to pay to get the Livello clause annulled. The vendors had 5 days in which to accept the offer, or turn it down, so some patience on our part was required. After some to-ing and fro-ing through the agent an acceptable price was established for both parties, which we formally backed up with a proposta, a written offer accompanied by a cheque of a thousand or so euros, to confirm the seriousness of our intent to purchase. Historically, this cheque was held by the Vendor, but more modern laws now state that it must be held by the estate agents.
We arranged to view the property with the elderly Signora who looked after the property for her niece and nephew. She showed us the downstairs part of the house, which had previously always been locked, it had simply been used for storing tools and equipment for olive farming.
Eventually we managed to negotiate a price with the vendors, and Giampiero set about preparing the documents for the first stage of the purchase contract known as the Compromesso. We were aiming to complete the purchase as swiftly as possible.
We went up to visit the casale several times, to measure up and see the lie of the land, and we began to make plans for the renovation. We took Salvatore and our fellow camper Vittore, the builder from Rome, to take a look around. Vittore said that the building itself seemed to be sound enough, however he advised us to put in a damp-proof membrane downstairs. The roof also needed water-proofing under the tiles. There was a small existing bathroom with some very basic pipe-work leading to just outside of the property, however there was no septic tap or sewage system at the property. Thus any waste products literally plopped out of an open ended pipe. Perhaps that was why the olives trees behind the house seemed to grow so well!
So … we’d needed to get a new septic tank, as well as new plumbing, electrical wiring, central heating system, gas tank. Apart from that it was fine! We had thought that the work we’d done to our last house back in the UK was a big enough DIY project ! Vittore said he would prepare a modest quotation for the work that needed to be done. We also needed to think about organising the connection of water and electricity, and a perhaps a phone line as soon as possible.
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Preparing Anchovies
One day Salvatore arrived with several polystyrene crates of locally caught silvery alice, better known to us as anchovies. He wanted to show us how these could be preserved in salt. The previous day he had already prepared one boxful, but he demonstrated us the whole procedure with the contents of the second. He commenced by decapitating the little fish by pinching below the gills using his fingers and nails and then with a gentle twisting action teasing out the entrails. I just observed, squeamishly, while Paul decided to have a go, while Salvatore vigilantly watched on. It soon became apparent that this task was not as easy as it first appeared, but little by little Paul seemed to master the task. The fish were then sprinkled with coarse granules of sea salt, and left for 24 hours – this procedure was to absorb much of the blood and to help soften the fish. The following day the fish would be ready for the next process.
Preserving Anchovies In Salt
Salvatore then appeared with the crate of fish that he had prepared the previous day. He now took some large, wide necked glass jars, and sprinkled some sea salt into the bottom. He then proceeded to carefully create a layer of the little fish, placing them in a head to tail fashion. When the first layer was complete, in went another handful of salt, followed by another layer of fish. This process was repeated several times until the container appeared to be full. Then Salvatore took out his penknife and cut some circles of polystyrene which just fitted perfectly into the neck of the container. A heavy weight was placed on top for an hour or so, which compressed the fish down, closing any air gaps, so that finally yet another layer of fish could be added with more salt scattered over the top. These containers were then to be left for a week or so, and we were told that then the old salt and any liquor had to be removed before replacing more fish in new layers of salt. This was a similar curing process to that used by Cornish folk of yore, when huge nets were used for the pilchard catch, and the fish were salted in huge barrels called hogsheads.
Salvatore had kept a few fish back and grilled them for lunch on his BBQ, the delicious wafting aroma was truly exquisite. They were scrumptious, served piping hot with a drizzle of olive oil and a generous squeeze of lemon, washed down with a glass or two of Salvatore’s home-made vino bianco. Perfetto !!!
We resolved to go down to the Gaeta fish market soon, to visit Salvatore’s brother who was a fishmonger. Salvatore assured us that his fish was always the best and very fresh, as Salvatore described it: “the fish are still talking to you!”.
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Next day we eagerly pressed on southwards on the “Autostrada del Sole”, by-passing Rome, to Frosinone. Then we headed off the motorway towards Priverno and Terracina and on to our final destination, the beautiful seaside resorts of Sperlonga / Gaeta.
Sperlonga, South Lazio
We had nowhere pre-booked to stay, so we drove up and down the coast road until we eventually succeeded in locating a campsite, positioned next to the sea, which was willing to accommodate campers with dogs. As it was still April, the large site was virtually uninhabited – a ghost town of parked touring caravans, yet the price for a plot was rather expensive none-the-less. Here we made camp for two nights to give us time to consider our future options. During this time the weather was proving to be very changeable and one night we weathered a terrifyingly turbulent thunderstorm. “Thank heavens we were not just sheltering under canvas” we declared as we huddled together for comfort, still feeling a tad vulnerable as the deluge of rain battered down on the caravan’s tin can roof.
Mercifully, by morning all the leaden rain clouds had been whisked away by the blustery wind. We had decided to “up sticks” and drive along the coast road to a smaller campsite near to Gaeta, which had been recommended to us by Guido. The owner, Salvatore, warmly greeted us and generously invited us to remain there, at least in the short term, since his site didn’t officially open until the month of June. The scenic backdrop to the site was the steep rocky cliff face of Monte Moneta that dominates the bay and just a short stroll across the coast road was the vast expanse of golden sand, Sant’ Agostino beach. That evening, after a day’s work, Salvatore returned home to his family apartment in Sperlonga, leaving us to have the place just to ourselves.
Sant' Agostino Beach
Early each morning Paul and our “olde sea dogs” enjoyed going for a romp on the deserted sands and would return dripping wet from retrieving sticks and doggy paddling in the sea. By day our son enjoyed lazily basking like a lizard on the golden shore.
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So, we decided to sell our house in Wales and set about sprucing it up before putting it on the market. Next we planned a much needed break in Italy and rented a villa by the sea in the Sperlonga area, just along the coast from Gaeta. We were soon winging our way to Naples Capodichino airport. With our feet firmly back on Italian soil we set about carrying out some more research of the area. During our two week stay we managed to view twenty or so properties, in order to get a feel of what was available on the market and get some idea of property prices in the area. We were reassured that many of these houses seemed to be within our means, and many seemed to come with a sizeable plot of land attached.
When we returned to the UK, we were bursting with enthusiasm for our new venture. We talked with my parents who said they would like to join forces and come with us, which was a very brave decision, considering their age. However soon we were to discover that there had been something of a down turn in the UK housing market and our house was slow to sell, despite there having been several viewings. Our spirits dropped, as weeks turned into months and Christmas came and went. Finally in the New Year some good news arrived at last, a couple were very interested and had made an offer on our house. We were elated.
At the end of January we flew out to Rome for another week, to start house hunting in earnest. Our younger son had chosen to tag along with us to see the area for himself. On this occasion we found that the mountains around Itri were delicately dusted with sparkling snow, yet the daytime temperatures remained mild, skies sunny and blue.
Itri
We embarked on doing the rounds of the local estate agents. Generally Italian estate agencies differ greatly from those we are familiar with in the UK. There are no eye catching photos of properties in the shop windows, and no pamphlets detailing the descriptions and specifications of each property for sale, rarely are agents signs displayed outside property for sale. The typical Italian estate agent just thumbs through his list of available houses, and selects some houses he deems suitable to show you. Often these are not at all what you are looking for, and often we found ourselves going to see houses that we had already seen with other rival agents. However, we viewed as many prospective properties as was possible in the limited time available.
We were seeking something that could easily be divided into at least two separate apartments, Paul wanted a property with some land, and our son wanted an extra room or two for himself and his musical equipment. We whittled the list down to a couple of properties which really impressed us all. The best option was a relatively new house, situated in open countryside with spectacular, scenic mountain views. It was just a 5 minute drive from the centre of Itri and just 15 minutes drive to the beautiful sandy beaches that line this region. It came with a large driveway and sizeable plot of land, planted with numerous fruiting olive trees. We met with the owner and estate agent several times, and we finally decided to put in a Proposito or offer, which the vendor seemed very eager to accept. We learned that in Italy it is normal for the prospective buyer to put down an Acconto (deposit) with the Proposito, which can range from two to five percent of the total purchase price. We explained that we were not in a position to supply such a deposit until the money was released from the sale of our house in the UK. The vendor said not to worry, and forcefully shook Paul’s hand said that we had his word that he would stick to this offer.
We returned home once again to the UK and we realised that we had now fully committed to uprooting ourselves from our safe, familiar surroundings. We now had to commence organising ourselves for the big move. Firstly we needed to organise European Pet Passports for our two dogs, who were to come and live in Italy with us.
We consulted the DEFRA web site http://www.defra.gov.uk/animalh/quarantine/pets/index.htm regarding the Pet Travel Scheme and discussed matters with our local vet. We discovered that firstly the dogs’ general vaccinations needed to be up-to-date and that they were required to be fitted with Microchip identification. Then they had to have Anti Rabies injections, followed a couple of weeks later by blood tests to confirm that the Rabies vaccine had in fact been effective. Then the vet could issue them with Pet Passports, recording all of the above information. This service did not come cheap, amounting to over £200 per dog.
A huge milestone was when Paul actually handed in his notice at work. With just five weeks of work left to serve, he started to feel a little jittery. “What am I doing, giving up a steady job and a steady income, and heading off into the unknown!”
We started the laborious task of sorting through the house prior to packing. What a lot of stuff we seemed to have accumulated since our last move 12 years beforehand. We categorised as follows :
1. Things we wanted to take with us to Italy.
2. Things suitable for a car boot or garage sale.
3. Things to donate to charity shops.
4. Things designated for the dump.
As we began to pack we carefully numbered and recorded the contents of each and every box for future reference. They soon started to pile up and we began transporting them to a friend’s house, who had kindly offered us some valuable storage space in their sizeable garage.
Then, just two days before Paul was due to leave work, our hearts sank as the rug was well and truly pulled from under our feet. Our solicitor rang saying there was a problem (in the UK) with our buyer’s buyer failing to exchange contracts on the house sale, which meant that we were unable to exchange contracts on our house either. Things then went from bad to worse, when shortly afterwards an email arrived from the estate agent in Italy, with the news that the Italian vendor, who apparently was suffering from health problems, had decided that the stress of selling his property was all too much, so had decided to withdraw his property from the market. The following week we were still waiting to exchange contracts on the houses in the UK, we no longer had a property in Italy ear-marked to buy and move into, and we didn’t have an income! Someone had suddenly moved all the goal posts !!!
Still, we had a wonderful couple of days over Good Friday and Easter Saturday, with lots of friends and work colleagues visiting our “Garage Sale” and “House Cooling Party”. Long busy days, but it was so enjoyable to meet up and have a farewell drink with so many people we had the pleasure of knowing over the years. The “Garage Sale” was far more successful than we could ever have imagined. It was quite astonishing just what people will buy!!! Then on the Easter Sunday it was the turn of family to party, relatives travelled from far and wide to gather around us to wish us well, and quite a few tears were shed that weekend I can tell you. These celebrations were followed by another couple of good days packing, with the emptying house packed into boxes we were almost ready for the off.
We nervously waited on tenter hooks for the all important telephone call from our solicitor to confirm that the contracts had finally been exchanged. We were so relieved to discover that this time all had gone smoothly and at last a firm date was set for Completion. In fact we found the extra week gained was a great bonus as we packed up the towing caravan, which was to be our home for the next few months. We checked and double checked that our passports and other important documentation were all in order and to hand.
We finally vacated our house on the same day that the keen new owners took possession. It was all rather frenetic, despite the fact that we thought we had been so well organised. Everything seemed to take an age, far longer than anticipated, and as the new owners were moving in – we were still trying to move out – it literally was “in one door and out the other”. Eventually we were left “out on the street“, with several of our belongings spread out on the pavement outside, awaiting transportation. We were so utterly exhausted after such a long, stressful day, that we decided to delay our departure for Italy by a couple of days, in order to refresh ourselves before embarking on our long arduous journey. This also enabled us to spend some extra special time with our nearest and dearest before our departure. For the time being my elderly parents were staying put in Wales, until we had found “the perfect little home in Bella Itri” to call our very own.
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For years, we had been avid viewers of those programmes about relocating abroad and starting a new life, and we had told ourselves that perhaps, one day, we would up sticks from our home in the UK, and move to a more temperate climate.
We had holidayed several times in Italy, however our initial trip was to visit and meet, for the very first time, some of my mother’s family who lived in the small mountain town of Atina, in Frosinone. A century had passed since my Nonno and Nonna had left behind their beloved homeland in search of a new life in London.
During our wonderful sojourn there, cousin Mario kindly volunteered to escort us on several enjoyable outings, a day trip to Rome, a visit to Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast.
Gaeta Old Town
Another day he drove us westwards to a stretch of coast which is known as the “Riviera di Ulisse”. Here Mario treated us to a tour of the resorts of Gaeta and Sperlonga and we soon found ourselves being charmed by the atmosphere of the ancient medieval quarters, the colourful ports and numerous sandy beaches. We took a gentle stroll along a stretch of Sperlonga’s golden shore which was gently lapped by the crystal clear waters. It seemed that this beautiful area had not yet been discovered by many foreign holiday makers. So enchanted we were with this beautiful stretch of coast, that we vowed to return again to explore this area in greater detail.
That Autumn we decided to sign up for evening classes in Italian in an effort to improve our language skills. A year or so later we set about planning a cheap break to further investigate this area. I scoured the internet for a small villa or apartment to rent during our stay. We ticked off a few advertisements and sent off emails, in pigeon Italian, requesting more details. One fine chap, by the name of Guido, replied saying that he had a small apartment to rent in Gaeta, near to Serapo beach. Thus we began to correspond via email and he was intrigued that we had previously visited Gaeta, and that I had family still living in Atina. He wrote, saying that he and his family had always hoped to visit the UK, and they were very interested in meeting up with a British family. Then out of the blue, he came up with a proposition – “What if we were to invite them to come and stay with us in Wales for a week over the Easter holiday, and in return he would invite us to stay with them in Gaeta?”
After some initial hesitation we threw caution to the wind and decided to go along with this mad cap idea.
Thus this Italian family, namely Guido, his wife Giovanna and their two teenage sons planned their Easter trip. We had rather assumed that they would be flying to the UK, however they had their own ideas – to drive all the way from their hometown of Gaeta, situated two hours south of Rome, to South Wales. When they arrived late in the evening, as you can imagine, they were utterly exhausted. We were astonished to discover that somehow they had successfully achieved the 2135 km journey in a mere 24 hours, only stopping very briefly for petrol and the odd comfort stop! With them they had brought copious gifts of olive oil, wine, buffala mozzarella, other local cheeses and delicious Gaeta olives.
Over that week we took them out and about to visit local places of interest and gave them the opportunity to experience a little slice of the British lifestyle. Over the week our two families had really forged a special bond, and by the time their holiday was drawing to a successful conclusion, we had come to regard each other almost as family.
In the Autumn our hospitality was generously reciprocated when they invited us to stay with them. We flew to Rome where we hired a car and drove south towards Gaeta. Guido and Giovanna were remarkably generous hosts, who wined and dined us, and showed us many of the fascinating local sites and attractions. Once again we were completely mesmerised by the sheer beauty and enchanting atmosphere of this region of South Lazio which seemed to have so much in its favour. Even in September / October the weather was so gloriously warm yet we were astounded to find that the numerous sandy beaches were virtually deserted, as by early September the Italian summer season was already over.
Itri
Paul and I decided to take an exploratory drive and we intrepidly ventured inland, winding our way along a particularly tortuous road that rose steadily from the coast into some magnificent mountainous countryside. We finally pulled into the historic town of Itri, sited on the ancient Roman Appian Way. Whilst relaxing outside a jolly little bar, sipping our ice cold beers, I declared that if ever we are able to realise our dream of living in Italy, Itri would be the place to make our home.
Yet, far too soon, our holiday was over and depression began to set in as it was time to return to our humdrum life with its all too familiar routine. We just had to face the stark reality – we would have to wait, until some time in the distant future before we could consider moving abroad. Otherwise all we could hope for was that our £1 stake in the weekly national lottery would one day come up trumps.
However nothing could prevent me from dreaming !!!
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(This is our tale based on our adventures whilst striving to create a new life for ourselves in Bella Italia, however to protect individuals’ privacy a number of names and places and certain details have been altered.)
I have always felt that Bella Italia was in my blood.
My maternal grandparents originated from the beautiful mountain community of Atina, overlooking the River Melfa and the Meta and Mainarde mountains, and the Abruzzi. In Italy, at the beginning of the 1900’s, times were very hard, people toiled in miserable conditions and experienced severe hardship and poverty due to poor wages and food shortages. Thus my grandfather Benedetto felt restless, as many Italian families departed for distant lands: the America, France, Belgium, Scotland, and England. His elder brother and sister had already moved to live in London, and Benedetto, longing for adventure was also enticed by the prospect of emigration to a new land of opportunity.
I too was born nearby, in the heart of London – “within the sound of Bow Bells“, so I suppose I could be considered to be an “Italian Cockney“. I developed a true passion for Italy and all things Italian, and felt a real need to see for myself the land of my forefathers, to visit Atina and walk in the footsteps of my grandparents.
15 years ago my husband Paul and I spent a memorable fortnight staying with some of my Italian cousins, in Atina. It was our first meeting but we were so warmly welcomed and received into the family fold and Atina transpired to be even more charming than I could ever have imagined.
Atina in Frosinone
Thus began our irresistible love affair with “La Bella Italia”
which finally inspired us to risk everything, sell up lock, stock and barrel
and entirely transform our lifestyle.
Courageous? Daring? Reckless? Foolhardy? Naïve? All of these ???
This is the tale of our diverse adventures,
exploits and escapades along the way.
I hope you will enjoy following our progress ………………….
AVANTI SEMPRE AVANTI !!!
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My Grandparents with some of their children
In the Summer of 1911 my Italian grandparents first set foot on English soil, and made their way to the city of London, to the district of Clerkenwell, the Italian quarter know as “Little Italy” or “The Hill”. They rented a dilapidated Victorian house at the end of Little Saffron Hill, close to St Peter’s Italian Church, which was to be their home for many years to come. Here my mother was born and she was brought up in the thriving Italian community.
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