Off the Beaten Track: The Baptism

Our guest today is Ren Finch Mattioli. Born in Cape Town, Ren studied in Switzerland and worked in London before moving to Sardenia when she was 21. Later, in Rome, she worked in the international film industry and met her husband Luca Mattioli. After a few years in Milan, they found a small stone house in Maremma (in Tuscany) and moved. With the help of two builders, they did the restoration themselves. She started a small artisan knitting company with a bevy of country women who knitted, crocheted, and embroidered the products she sold. She and Luca produced olive oil and enjoyed the life of the locals. Returning to Rome, she started a cooking school featuring a trip to the local market, hands on pasta making, and a jolly lunch. She’s now back in Tuscany where she maintains a vegetable patch and forages for mushrooms. The following excerpt from a memoir she is writing describes the housewarming of the stone house.

Once the restoration or building of a house in Maremma was finished, two members of the local community, dressed up as a bishop and priest, performed a rather pagan ritual of “baptism.” This was the beginning of our joining the local community of this small medieval village.

The stone house in winter

It was wintertime, and we organized the housewarming party following local tradition. The men, experts in roasting pigs, chose a big one from a friendly farmer. This of course, took a few weeks because the animal was hung—always done when the weather was cold.

The cooking was done in an outdoor stone fireplace filled with wood where the meat roasted for many hours. The stuffing was rich with the liver, herbs, garlic, and chili pepper so that everyone got some of this delicacy when the meat was cut into slices. The local bakery provided delicious unsalted Tuscan bread and cookies made with a sweet wine called vin santo (a Tuscan speciality).

We chose round wheels of aged cheese from the farmer renowned for the best. And ordered liters of deep red wine from another producer. These arrived in 10-liter green glass bottles loaded in a cart hitched to the back of a tractor. The villagers quivered with delight in preparation for the fun.

The roast pig

We invited friends from across Italy and found rooms for them here and there. In addition, we invited all the builders, the plumber, the ironmonger, the marble carver and their respective families. In fact, we told the whole village there would be open house for all.

The house wasn’t finished but it was perfect for everyone to wander upstairs and down and to use the old stable on the ground floor—now converted to a huge kitchen—as a dance floor and buffet for the food and wine. The house nestled just below the village’s medieval wall. Groups of people came down the lane, each and every one with a gift of some homemade cake, or bottle of wine, or preserve. The Maremmani are extremely generous and almost never let you leave their homes without pressing into your hand some delicious homemade something whether it be olive oil or fresh eggs or fruit.

The "priest" and "bishop"

At the appropriate time, our two friends appeared in full crimson and black regalia in the garden, chanting and reciting their idea of a baptismal “blessing.” They threw water all over the place. Thus, the house was well and truly baptized, and we invited them to share the feast.

We’d had a huge barbecue made from a petrol drum cut in half, like they do in South Africa, and some kind men spent hours toasting bread to rub with garlic and olive oil and grilling sausages. These men bided their time telling huge lies about their hunting and fishing. I imagine that the sizes of the wild boar became as big as rhinos and the fish as big as whales as the night went on.

Being the hostess, I had to exhaust myself dancing with each of the men in turn because they felt it a way of paying me a compliment to whirl me around. Luca, as the host, was luckier in that his role was to see that everyone’s glass was full and that the bishop and friends were happy.

At the height of the fun, we heard a loud crash coming from upstairs and ran up to find our friend the bishop looking very upset in his now creased robe. He lay in agony and held his hand, moaning in pain. “You won’t believe me,” he said, “but, I was standing still, talking to my friends, and I fell heavily down to the floor without having even moved.”

“Yes, yes,” said his friends. “We swear.”

We wrapped the throbbing wrist and put the whole episode down to too much of the joys of Bacchus. A few days later when I bumped into him in the village, he said he would never perform the ritual again. He felt it was a sign of divine providence that made him fall while standing perfectly still. And forever after, there was a broken tile on the spot where he fell to remind us.

The stone house in summer

Off The Beaten Track: The Italian Connection

Our guest blogger today is Cathi Stoler, an award-winning advertising copywriter turned crime novelist. Her first mystery/suspense novel, Telling Lies, is set in Italy. Other novels in this series will include Keeping Secrets, which delves into the subject of hidden identity, and, The Hard Way, a story about the international diamond trade. She has also written several short stories including Fatal Flaw, which was published online this April at Beat To A Pulp, and Out of Luck, which will be included in the upcoming New York Sisters in Crime anthology, Murder New York Style: Fresh Slices.

When I was a child, my paternal grandparents were already quite old. They had emigrated from southern Italy at the turn of the last century and had never learned to speak English very well. Visiting them for Sunday dinner was more of a chore than a joy as it was very difficult to communicate. They would speak in Italian, and I would nod yes or shake my head no. The wrong response brought scowls and frowns and quick retorts in Italian, which I understood all too well. As you might imagine, embracing my Italian heritage was not high on my list of things to do.

When I grew older, my curiosity took over and I decided that I wanted to see Italy and understand where my family had come from and the culture they’d brought with them. I visited a few times and thought it was a truly beautiful country, but I really fell in love with it one summer when my husband, daughter, and I decided to spend a month in Tuscany.

I prepared for the trip by studying Italian for a year before and was very happy I did. Even though my Italian was just cosi cosi, so so, everyone made an effort to understand and speak to me. We rented a small house not too far from Florence in the tiny village of Iesa, which served as our home base. In just a few days, we fit into the rhythm of the village, buying our food and wine at the local alimentari, sitting on the veranda at night sipping vino or Cappuccini  and becoming friends with our neighbors, who are still good friends to this day.

It was a glorious awakening to the Tuscan region, a truly amazing place filled cypress trees, field after field of sun flowers, magnificent villas, walled towns, wineries, and winding roads that led to one gorgeous vista after another. And then of course, there was the art. Being near Florence, we visited its many museums and galleries, including the magnificent Uffizi.

My new novel, Telling Lies, opens in Florence at the Uffizi Gallery, one of the world’s great museums. There, my protagonist, Laurel Imperiole, has an encounter with an acquaintance whom she believes to have died on 9/11. The story revolves around a priceless artwork stolen by the Nazis, which is being sought by a cutthroat billionaire art collector among others, and pits Laurel and private investigator, Helen McCorkendale, against the NYPD, the FBI, and the Israeli Mossad. 

Setting my story in Florence, one of the world’s most art-rich cities, gave me a unique opportunity. I was able to incorporate its interesting sites, as well as the facts I’d learned about its culture and people, into the tale. In a way, Italy is as much a character in the novel as any of the people.

We’ve been back to Italy many times since to visit our friends and to visit other places across the country, from Naples in the south where my family came from, to Courmaier in the Alps, as well as many cities in between. In fact, a trip to Venice prompted me to learn glass blowing, which I studied for ten years and hope to include in a future novel. I guess that means I’ll just have to take another trip to Italy for some additional research.

Cathi is a member of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America. Visit her at http://www.cathistoler.com/.  Her novel, Telling Lies, is available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Telling-Lies-Cathi-Stoler/dp/160381843X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1300989056&sr=8-1