I heart Montagano

The suspense was killing us. We knew the company that is helping us with our citizenship process was going to send us to a town somewhere in the region of Molise, a rural area northwest of Naples. And we thought the town might well be Forli del Sannio, where my grandfather was born. But that wasn't definite, and since we weren't sure exactly where we were going, there was also no way of knowing what our accommodations would be like.

Given that the group includes the four members of our cranky immediate family, as well as our children's rather cheerier significant others, the anxiety level got pretty damn high once we all hit Rome and still didn't know where we'd be staying and what we'd be staying in.

The story has a happy ending, or rather a happy beginning. The company and its jovial capo, Peter, ended up bringing us to Montagano, a paese of 1,200 souls in the mountains about 15 minutes outside of Campobasso. We have an apartment on the town's main drag, with most mod cons and a spectacular view over the hills. Here's the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning. (The screen kind of ruins the picture but keeps the bugs out, so I'm not complaining.)

Here's how things look from the balcony in the living room:

...and from a street a block or so away:

You get the idea. 

Montagano (pronounced Mon-TAH-go-no, which took us a few tries to get right), has more going for it than the view. It is old and pretty, but not too. It was hit hard by a big earthquake in 2002 and many buildings remain empty or are wrapped in scaffolding and netting, awaiting or undergoing reconstruction. But many others are fixed up and look great. I don't know how livable the older parts of town are, with their ancient stone buildings and steep staircases, but they look very romantic. 

The people are amazingly friendly. Everyone wishes us "Buon giorno" or "buona sera" when they pass us on the street, and many of them are eager to chat us up, not with an eye to selling us souvenirs or touting a restaurant but just out of what Peter calls "Southern hospitality." No one represents that more than the folks we are renting the apartment from, Rita and Fernando. They filled the fridge with pork chops, fruit, salad, pasta, their own wine and olive oil, and homemade canned tomatoes, just in case we were hungry, and have jumped through hoops to make sure we have everything we need. 

They own a social-club-cum-private-bar a few doors down, and we were immediately enrolled as members and have begun hanging out there and making friends over a glass of beer or wine. The place is right out of a movie. I should make a film of the hand-gesturing that goes on. 

Just after I took this photo a man named Claudio sat down and began talking to us about when he lived in Queens. Then he brought over his wife, Maria, who was born in America, and we had a long chat about citizenship, immigration, their kids and ours, over drinks. They told us how to find their niece's bakery (it used to be Claudio's, and it's tucked away in the back of a building, completely invisible if you're not in the know) and that one of their son's runs the market. We're now pals and "Ciao, va bene?" each other whenever we meet in the street.

There aren't any restaurants in town except for a take-out pizza place, where we scrounged the last few slices when we got here late Sunday. But the surrounding countryside is crawling with little osteria and trattoria serving traditional pastas, salumi, and local wines. I'm hoping some of the other members of our party, who take much better photos than I do, will do a guest post or two about some of what we've been eating. Here's a plate of homemade tagliatelli with porcini and truffles (Molise produces 40 percent of Italy's truffles, according to Peter) that I had for lunch today. It was as good as it looks. And only ten euros, a little under $12.

It's all pretty damn appealing.