Raiders of the Long Lost Relatives, Part One

There's no greater luxury than doing a job you love. Count me in on that. But even for a seasoned traveller to the furthest reaches of the island as yours truly, travelling to the most remote niches on the island - many of them spectacularly  breathtaking and most definitely off the beaten track - in search of ancestors and documentations, while thrilling, does give you an insight as to the quirkiness of townspeople. One thing is for sure:In this day and age the effect of the "city girl" coming to town still makes news amongst the locals, and word gets around faster than a tam-tam drum. Think Jennifer O'Neill in Gente di Rispetto.

Actual weather in Calascibetta.

Case in point:In my quest to track down documents and possible relatives in the tiny - but as I subsequently learned, dense with history, some pivotal for the entire island (more about that in part 2) - town of Calascibetta, my timing with transportation did not go as anticipated:Due to road work on the highway the bus into Enna, where I was to catch the connecting bus, arrived late and hence missed it. Add to that the the dense fog and freezing temperatures (39F; Enna is, after all, the highest provincial capital city in Italy, at an altitude of over 3,000 ft). When I asked the man at the ticket booth what time the next one would be, he quipped, unflappably, "At noon".

My heart sank considering that the Vital Statistics office would only be open until 11:30.Feeling helpless, I ask the ticket salesman if there was a taxi rank in the vicinity; he shrugged and told me that they were literally non-existent and that I should try my luck in the nearest square, a 1 km walk away. Disheartened (and the fact that the fog and chilly wind were adding to my misery), I make my way to Bar Del Centro in piazza Scelfo where I walk in to have a cappuccino to warm up, and ask the owner if there are any taxis around. He says no, but then tells me to give him a few minutes. He makes a few phones calls, and manages to find me a driver willing to take me there, for only 15 euros - a fair, honest price, considering that in Palermo, sensing my urgency, they would have charged me a more exorbitant (extortionate?) price. I couldn't thank him enough,and in a matter of minutes, a Mercedes came to whisk me to Calascibetta.

While heading there I chat with the driver, who tells me that his family has been in the car&limousine business for three generations. He also profusely apologized for not being able to wait for me as I conducted my search as he was already booked for other work. I told him not to worry, as I had already figured out the bus back, and who knows how long I would have been doing research (In the end, I stayed over two hours). 

I navigate my way way through the town square, population under 5,000, and under a dark grey sky, I finally sensed what Sicily must have been like 40 years ago, at least in atmosphere. The town folk were super helpful in indicating the Vital Statistics office to the city girl, and as I walked away, I could almost hear them wonder out loud, inevitably:Who is she, what is she doing here, and what does she want?

 I introduced myself to the clerk and after having shown him a family tree that I had mapped out the night before based on the information the client had given me,he let me into the office. He was more that happy to help - as it turns out, he's done this before and he feels a twinge of pride when the genealogical jackpot is hit. We go through at least 20 registers, all neatly kept and tucked away in a dark room, almost all handwritten, and in a calligraphy that are more Carthusian transcriptions than sterile city records.One after the other, we were able to match birth and marriage certificates as far back as 1850.We were also able to find out other information my client did not know:For example, her great-grandfather had been a widower when he married her great grandmother, and her grandfather was not born there, but in Enna, and the last name was all but extinct. 

After spending almost the entire morning doing research with me, Mr. Filippo even arranges for the tourism alderman to meet with us the following day, in order for my visitors to get a complete sense of the history their ancestral town. I thank him for his effort and leave the office, coming away with a great feeling of accomplishment.

What I did not factor however was what to do in the next hour and a half until the bus came. I found refuge in the church on the square, but then it was lunchtime, and i figured i might as well sit down somewhere. Out of the handful of cafès around I chose one on a whim, which would turn out to be comical: I walk in, a group of local men who were already tipsy stare down the city girl. If it hadn't been for the gracious owner I would have walked right out, but he was very welcoming, almost protective. When I told him I needed to catch the bus at 1PM, he gasped, "Oh no, you won't be able to catch it here, you'll have to go to the main stop, which is a 15-minute walk downhill".

It was already 12:45.

Sensing my quiet desperation, he summoned his brother-in-law to drive me down to the stop.

That's the good thing about small-town life:You'll always find someone willing to help the "foresteru", or outsider. 

As I waited for the bus to arrive, here's how Enna appeared before me. Watch this space for Raiders of the Long-Lost Relatives, Part 2.