….at age 18 while in Italy with my parents. We took a day trip to visit the village in which my grandmother was born. Her village was on the outskirts of Chieti, Italy up a winding road tucked into a mountain side, surrounded by a long wall. My father’s eyes teared as we drove through the village entrance and parked. We walked up and down small streets, peeked down streets no wider than an alley. There at the end of one was a tall, two story ‘house’ with stairs from the first floor to the second wrapped around the exterior of the building. And of all things, the house was pink!
With tears and surprise my father said, “Mom wasn’t lying! It is only two rooms! I thought she told us that to make us feel guilty for what we had!” True to her word, the kitchen was on the ground floor with a closet size room off of it, barely large enough to contain a mat to sleep on. To gain access to the second floor ‘bedroom’ one had to climb the outside stair case. No bathroom except an ‘out house’ on the small porch off the bedroom which was a new innovation (apparently). And that was it. She and her five siblings lived there.
The picture is burned in my memory. It was a wonderful, once in a life time, trip.
Do you have a memorable (or not so memorable) road trip?