My first language was Italian. My Mamma moved here to the United States with my father when they got married, and so the only language that was spoken at home was Italian.
Every few years or so, my family would pack up their bags and fly to a little town hidden on top of mountains in southern Italy.
The twists and turns, up and down the narrow roads meant we were getting closer.
The road becomes more bumpy and then finally you could see the old church on the right... a slight turn and the main piazza was in view.
The view.
If only I could bottle up just how insanely beautiful it is.
Right before everyone begins to wake up, the sun is already risen and shining, and all is quiet.
As soon as we arrive, I do the one thing I've done ever since I was a little girl. I run back to my Nonno and Nonna's living room, open the balcony doors and step out.
And I just stand there for a few moments. The smell of burnt wood and trees... I can almost hear the whispers of past times replaying in my mind.
It never changes. It's almost as if time stands still in this little town.
That's why I love it so much. No matter how different or old I am, it sweeps you right back to how you last left it.
Memorizing the roads from my mamma's parents home to my father's parents home became second nature over the years.
"Just walk past the little white house, past the giant bend in the road, past the vineyard until you reach a slight turn. Then just when you can the sun behind the mountain, go all the way down and you'll see Zio's pink house on the left. Keep going past so and so's house... and then you'll be right in front of Nonna and Nonno's house."
I can actually see that road in my mind right now.
Along with my sister and cousin, I would go for long walks through the town, and we became accustomed to a distant Zio and Zia waving to us proclaiming we were the daughter of so and so from America.
Sometimes we stop and our cheeks are pinched to say how much we've grown or how much we look like our mother and father.
It's this Italy that is home to me.
Sometimes we would complain there wasn't much to do growing up in a small town, but as I've grown up I've realized what a blessing it is to know this Italy... one that not many get to see.
I suppose to anyone else, it would just be another little town.
But to me, the beauty of it all is how many stories are tied up in this little place. The people, my family that grew up here, the tales of past times... make it magical.
I can't wait to return and relive all of these memories again.
I've been traveling with my family to Italy ever since I was a little girl. Every few years we pack up our luggages and embark on an 8 hour flight to my parents' small hometown in southern Italy called Torrioni. Time seems to stand still as soon as I step foot on my grandparents' balcony, and yet every year I go seems to be a little bit different than the last.
The town remains the same... you still hear the ding dong of the church bells at noon, the old woman dressed in black always sweeps the dust off her balcony, and the cocking of the rooster seems to know exactly when I should be waking up from my afternoon nap. It's as if I'm completely isolated from everything going on in the world. In those moments all that seem to matter and exist are the majestic mountains and the setting sun behind them.
It's quite funny how even when reading English words in various places there, I tend to pronounce it in an Italian accent after a while. It's as if my mind starts to engulf itself into the Italian culture. It's amazing how different life is in other parts of the world. I sometimes find myself wondering, would I have been a different person had I been born here? I feel blessed to know a piece of my heart will always belong in that small town in Italy.
Every time I go, I seem to have a greater appreciation for it. I realize as time passes, everyone gets older and things change. Yet even so, I know the experiences I have in those moments with family and friends are irreplaceable. Eating gelato every night for days in a row, staying up late enough to see the sun begin to peak behind the mountains, driving along the curves as we swayed back and forth just to get a cornetto con nutella, running in the pitch dark with my sister to reach my aunt's house, missing a bus and having to take 3 other trains to reach our destination with my cousins, dancing with my grandparents on their 50th anniversary were among many of the adventures I had this summer.
On the last day, we woke up before dawn to leave for our flight back home. I took one last step out onto the balcony and just stood there, breathing in the scent one last time and waiting for my eyes to adjust themselves to the darkness. And once I stayed out long enough, the stars slowly began to reveal themselves. So far away, yet their light shined so brightly as if to remind me, that it's never really a good bye but rather a see you soon. Here are my favorite photographs I took on my trip. They depict where I left a big part of my heart, and hope you enjoy looking at them as much as I did capturing them. ♡
