Padova

My time in Naples ended bittersweetly on January fifth, when my parents went back to the States.  I however, couldn't come back to Florence until today, so Zio Mauro arranged for Noa and I to spend a few days in Padova  (or Padua, as it's referred to at home) with cousins of mine...whom I'd never met.  Actually, I didn't even know they existed.  To start, I've always been closer with and known more about my grandfather's side of the family than my grandmother's, and these cousins are on my grandmother's side.  Furthermore, given the fact that both family trees together amount to what is a figurative familial redwood forest, it's not all that surprising that I don't know all of my cousins.  I've always been curious, though, and have often wished that my older relatives would organize some kind of gathering or reunion.  I'd do it myself if I knew enough about my family tree, but sadly I don't.  

Zia Franca and my cousin Salvatore met Noa and I at the train station.  We had never met before, but we had studied each other's photos on Facebook the night before so that we could recognize each other at the train station.  Luckily, and happily, we found each other right away.  Zia Franca did not hesitate to inform me that despite living up north for many years she is still very much Neapolitan, proudly so, and that I need not worry.  She is a very small woman, maybe about my height, and so I was taken  aback when she told me that she has EIGHT children.  (She had the first when she was my age, which is frightening).  All eight of them were born in Naples.  When the youngest was just a few months old, Zia Franca's husband (who passed away quite a few years ago), got a job in Padova, and up they went.  

When we arrived at Zia Franca's home on Saturday afternoon, she immediately made us something to eat.  Too much to eat.  (Every meal for the entire trip was the same, really).  After lunch I took a nap.  My parents left for the airport around 4:30 am on Saturday, and so we just didn't sleep.  Needless to say, I was exhausted.  

Later that evening my cousin Lello (maybe the billionth cousin of that name from either side of the family), his wife Patrizia, and Zia Franca took us for a walk around the centro storico of Padova.  Although it is smaller than Florence, it didn't feel that way because the streets are much more...open.  Often in Florence I feel very closed in, and I was surprised that I didn't feel that way in a much smaller city.  The Christmas decorations were still up, and so was holiday spirit.  The streets were packed with people strolling along, looking at the tents and tables that are set up in Italian cities at this time of year.  It was lively and fun, and I enjoyed the overall vibe. 

Sunday was pleasantly overwhelming.  At first, it was Noa and I, Zia Franca, Lello and Patrizia, as well as Salvatore with his girlfriend and one of his sons.  I honestly felt like I'd known them forever.  Talking with them was so effortless, so natural.  It didn't matter that we had never met before, it was clear that the idea of me being a stranger had never once crossed their minds.  It doesn't, matter how we're related or how distantly.  All that matters is the fact that we are related, we are family, and we treat each other as such, no questions asked.  Over the course of the evening, more of Zia Franca's eight children (my cousins) came over.  Many of them brought their children, and one of them brought her daughter.  To think that I have this many cousins just from one family alone is a little mind boggling, and I had to keep asking who was who to fill in the picture.  We sat at the table for hours, I'm not even sure how many.  More hours than we didn't, let's say.  We then went with my cousin Patrizia (one of the eight) and her boyfriend and daughter for an aperitivo, and then to her house where we were (overly) fed (again).  We, again,  had a really great conversation, and it was nice to know that what I felt at the big table surrounded by people translated to a smaller, more intimate setting.  In a way, it made it seem more real.  

The next day Zia Franca took us to the University of Padova, where her son Carmine works, and he gave us a little tour.  Founded in 1222, the university of Padova the second oldest in Italy and one of the oldest in Europe.  It has long been known for its programs in law and medicine, and is also where in 1678 a woman named Elena Lucrezia Cornaro Piscopia became the first woman in history to earn a college degree  (obviously my favorite fact I learned that day).  Afterwards, we walked to Prato della Valle, which I was told is the largest piazza in Europe (though the Google search I did now as I'm writing this post told me otherwise).  Regardless, it is one of the biggest piazzas and Europe, and it's the largest in Italy.  We then went to the church of Santa Giustina and the church of Sant'Antonio, both of which were incredibly beautiful.                     

Zia Franca is proof that age is but a number.  She lives alone, and does just about everything for herself.  She's visited often by her children, but more for company than for assistance.  She is funny and quick, and always has something to say.  Her Neapolitan accent was a pleasant contrast with that of the Padovani, and I was thankful for a familiar sound in an unfamiliar place.  She almost exclusively uses the imperfect past in place of the present conditional.  I'm not sure whether that stems from dialect or upbringing,  but regardless I'm sure that there's a metaphor in there that I'm simply too tired to look for.  (I'll leave that to you).  My favorite part of the weekend was talking with her, especially about my grandmother, whom I unfortunately never knew very well.  I loved hearing stories about the two of them, what they did together as girls and later as adults.  My grandparents visited Zia Franca often after she moved to Padova, and every time  she mentioned that she smiled.        

Despite having faced a lot of difficulty, both as individuals and as a family, all of the family members I met in Padova were happy.  It's clear that they have remained very close, despite the big age differences between siblings and despite the death of their father, and I think it was their closeness that helped me to feel at home.  That and Zia Franca's heart.  She is one of the most warm and welcoming people I've ever known.  She made me promise to come back before returning home, and it is a promise that I will happily fulfill.  

My days in Padova, although not many, were intense.  In a good way, though.  I got to put another piece of my family puzzle into place, I got to see another part of Italy, and I shared the experience with a very important friend.  Days like this lead to thinking.  They lead to pondering and reflecting, all of which, eventually, lead to growth.  I feel so grateful that the journey I'm on this year, studying abroad, is being accompanied by a much less literal journey- one that takes place in my head.  I'm luckier still that every smaller journey within the big one, every trip to a new city, is partnered with it's own journey through my mind as well.  Padova is a small city, yet it is home to the Italy's largest piazza.  Zia Franca is a small lady, yet she has the biggest heart.  I am a small lady, too, and have returned to Florence today trying to decide what is big about me.