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August 24, 2000
We're leaving on Sunday, so we need to start
making the rounds of all the little villages to say
goodbye to friends and relatives. Today we're going
to Cavezzana by way of Passo della Cisa.
There's a road to Cavezzana that runs right behind
our house and I believe it's the most direct route there
-- about 3 km. But it's not paved and halfway down it
becomes rutted and overgrown. I think you can still
walk it, but it's a difficult walk. There's another
road we can take, though, from the top of La Cisa, the
mountain we live on. We'll drive the eight kilometers
from our house to the the top, then back down the steep
secondary road past Gravagna to Cavezzana.
Visitors to our area will notice that all along these
roads are curious shrines. Some are big and fancy, with
cement shelters built around them and maybe even with
an electric light feature; certainly with flower arrangements
-- either fresh or plastic -- year round.. They've been
placed there by relatives of drivers (mostly motorcyclists)
that have run off the road.
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Running off the road around here is no joke. A cement
truck went over the edge earlier this year and is apparently
still down in a wooded part of the valley somewhere.
The road police were able to fish the driver's body
out with hooks and hoist it up with ropes and cables,
but it proved too difficult to do the same for the truck.
The first time I saw all those shrines they freaked
me out. More alarming than the shrines are the gaping
holes in the stone wall that acts as a guard rail along
the cliffs. When you see a gaping hole in a wall there's
usually a shrine somewhere nearby.
I like the small, humble shrines best. This one doesn't
even have a name on it. Only a dainty little virgin
surrounded by wildflowers. Nothing will make you feel
smaller and humbler than running off the road.
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At the top of La Cisa (Passo della Cisa) there are
several souvenir stands, a couple of bars (Italian "bars"
are really what we think of as "coffee shops;"
what we call "bars," they call "pubs"),
three restaurants, and this church -- which sits on
the highest peak and has a long stone stairway leading
up to it.
We're going to miss the "Festa della Cisa"
this year (I think it's August 29th), which is
a shame because the procession down from the church
can't be beat! The statue they carry is ten times the
size of San Lorenzo in Cargalla's
church. It takes a small army of men to lift it.
It's a Madonna and Christ child, a shepherd and a lamb
all cast out of resin and painted and polished to a
high gloss. People line the stairs and the men carry
it down through the crowd, and everyone sings hymns
except for the heathens like me, who stand at the bottom
of the stairs munching on panini di porchetta
(roast pork sandwiches).
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On regular, non-feast days, there's not really much
to do or see at Passo della Cisa except eat ice cream
and gawk at the other tourists who are also eating ice
cream. I went into the church to see if there were any
give-aways with the La Famiglia Cristiana (Christian
Family) magazine that's always stacked by the entrance.
Last time they were giving a copy of Pearl Buck's "The
Good Earth" in an Italian translation, so I deposited
my 5,000 lire (payment is done on good faith as there's
no one to collect it) and took a copy.
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I might have stolen it if it weren't inside the church.
Also 5,000 lire (the equivalent of $2.50 U.S.) seemed
a pretty good price for a quality paperback.
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We finally get to Cavezzana and visit the lady we wanted
to visit (I have no idea, really, who she is. I only remember
that her parents, who were almost 100 years old before
they died, looked like mice.) Anyway we stayed for an
hour chatting with her and when we left I noticed distinctly
bovine smells and sounds emerging from a small house nearby.
You can always tell where there's a cow nearby, even if
you've never actually seen one.
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The owner of the cows was inside there, too, getting
ready to milk the mother. He knew Renato. He had gone
to school with Renato's mother and remembered a slap he
received from her in third grade for pulling her pigtails
-- it's amazing the things that old people can remember.
He invited us in to see the calf. |
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But I've seen many cows -- one of the
many benefits I've reaped from a decade of Italian vacations.
I poked my head in the window and discovered that the
building was a low-ceilinged stable, housing two gigantic
cows and this month-old calf, pictured on the right.
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The calf wanted nothing to do with me and my flash
camera, but it let the old man pet its velvety head.
I was just starting to warm up to the cows, which do
not exactly inspire warm feelings in me, when the old
man told us that he planned on keeping the calf for
himself. I thought that was sweet until I realized that
what he meant was he planned on slaughtering
the calf and keeping its meat for himself. Life
in the country is so brutal!
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