The Rossini Homeland or Americans Eat A Lot- Ostra to Corinaldo, Marche

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​A bit about our dinner last night.  We ate at the hotel restaurant.  It was one of the better dinners of the whole trip.  We decided to go crazy and order both firsts and seconds and try some Marche specialties.   We tried to place our order and the waiter said, I think this is too much food.  I looked him in the eye and said this is why we ride bikes so we can eat. He laughed. ( he had checked us into the hotel so knew we were bike packing). This brings me to a joke that we have had this whole trip, especially when Doug and Shawn were still with us.  We always ate heartily after our energetic bike rides and joked that places we ate at were hammered pretty hard by all the food the Americans were consuming- especially at the breakfast buffets.  

However, we did take his advice and we only ordered one second to share.  He was right ,  it was a lot of food.  The food was wonderful as was the house wine which was called Lacrima dell’ Morro d’Alba.  It was deep maroon purple with a name as beautiful as it tasted.  Translates to the tears of the morro of dawn.  

Next morning a hearty breakfast buffet.  When we arrived at the dining room, the hostess asked if we wanted coffee. Si, si!  Then she asks Tanto( a lot). Si, Si!  So out comes the mega coffee cups.  I had the shakes for about an hour or two after we left!  

With my heart racing from caffeine overload, we head out into the rolling hills.  Same as yesterday ridge riding with plenty of pastoral beauty to behold. 

Today was a special ride as we were going to pass through the town where my grandparents were born. As we were riding along I thought a lot of what it must have been like to leave a tiny rural town, head to a big port city, board a ship and go to a new foreign land to start with nothing but hopes for a better life.  So many Italians left to go to the americas, Canada and Argentina.  The town of Monterado is very small and probably for efficiency and administrative purposes merged with two other small towns and jointly they are called Trecastelli (three castles).  We arrive at Ripe first and hit their weekly market day 

The second town is called Castelcolonna.

And finally to Monterado.  Before going into the town we go into the cemetery and look at all the Rossini’s and Servadios.  There are generally pictures with the graves and yes I can see what could be family resemblances.  One in particular I wonder about is Clara. I know that my grandfather Dante Benvenuto Cesare Rossini gave his claims to his family home to his sister Clara.  This could be her or more likely a descendant. 

Then into the town, quiet but lovely.   

I love the words over the church door.  Here one enters to show love to God and here one exits to show love to others. 

Then we continue our ride to Corinaldo where we will spend the night.  

We pass by a statue which is Jim’s favorite woman warrior!

We stop at a little bakery to buy a couple of slices of pizza and get into a long conversation with the couple running the shop.  We were looking at the digestivos on the shelf and he tells us about each of them.  He asks about where we are going and when I tell him my grandparents were from here he talks a bit about all the Italians who left in those years. He speaks no English but we manage to understand each other.  We sit on the steps to eat our pizza outside the bakery.  Jim goes back in to buy a donut and when he comes back out to eat it, he realizes the woman threw a handful of cookies in the bag too!  

Corinaldo is a very intact medieval city with a wall completely encircling it.  Here is Jim checking out the ramparts. 

We do some more exploring around the town.  I really loved the wall of bougainvillea.  There was even a sign about them saying they were planted in 1969.  Apparently they had a few tough frost events that knocked them back but they continue to flourish.  

The town is proud of its own local saint, Maria Goretti.  Her picture is on the outside of this church dedicated to her. Her mother and her murderer are both entombed within. Her story is that her family was very poor. Her father died when she was nine so Maria had to take on all of the household duties while her mother and older brothers worked in the fields.  When she was eleven a neighbor made sexual advances and tried to rape her. She managed to repulse his assault but in his anger he stabbed and killed her.  In the hospital she was taken to and on her death bed she forgave him.  He spent most of his life in prison but repented and upon his release became a capuchin monk in service to others.  She was give sainthood and is the patron saint of chastity,rape victims, girls, youth, and forgiveness.  

After our large dinner last night, it seemed like a grocery store night but we somehow managed to maintain our American gluttony reputation as while the deli lady was cutting our porchetta, I asked Jim, is this enough?   She looked up and in disbelief said, for two people?