The Unexpected, Part III: Bergamo

It’s my next to last day in Vicenza. With the remaining time, I will return to the Deeds office and do some shopping. On an earlier walk through town I found a beautiful linens store and I’m dying to go back. Tonight, I’m having dinner with Daniela De Bernardini and her husband. She’s my sister’s best friend from aisilo, or kindergarten, when we lived here. I have not seen her in 53 years.

Now that I have the information, including the correct house number, I’m prepared to spend most of the day at the Ufficio Del Catasto (the land registry office). In typical government office fashion, I fill out a request form, take a number and wait. Fortunately, I am assigned to a very nice lady who is to help with my unusual request. Not many people are looking for the history of a house or its original owner. The process of researching ownership is quite complicated. The records are not by the owner’s name, but by the owner’s father’s name. So this is how it goes.

Since I had the names of Villa Chiara's current owners, we were able to trace previous owners back to 1953. Understand that these searches are not in digitized files but in dusty, ancient ledgers. I was waiting for moths to fly out when she grabbed them from some back room and lugged them to her desk. Records from 1953 showed the house had been acquired through an estate sale at the Tribunale de Milano (Milan courthouse). The owner had been a Saverino Tantalo, who apparently owned and ran a company called Nazional Pelli. There was a note stating the declaration of bankruptcy included three to four pages of Victorian-era furniture (I swear that some was still in the house when we lived there). Signore Tantalo bought Villa Chiara in 1943 and it was during this time that -- according to the nice lady – the house was commandeered by German officers to serve as an observation post.

The way the house sits on a low rise between two hills, it has strategic, unobstructed views of both south and north approaches (as you can see from the picture, the autostrada goes through Monte Berico, right under our house). From our location on Monte Berico you can also see the train station, which, at the time of the war, was the only access for troops and supplies over the Dolomites and into Germany. This might explain the reason behind the underground bunker and the British officer’s button my father found in there (a POW?), but I do not know. And did the leather company go bankrupt because of WWII or the owner’s alliance with the Germans?  We continued to search through ledgers which had not seen the light of day in decades. Tantalo bought the house from a Giusepinna Tosetto, fu Antonio, (the use of fu in the journals means “who was,”) who had acquired it from a Giuseppe Zanella in 1942. In the sale transaction, Zanella stipulates that he bears no responsibility for any persons who might be living in the house. Who and why were people occupying the house (which we assume had been abandoned by Mr. Zanella)? Was this because of the war?

Each name means a new, old ledger so at this point, we have piles on her desk and we have many more to go before we get to the last one. This one has a date of 1923 - when construction of the house began. The excitement of going through all these ledgers has captured the attention of nearly everyone in the office, including the office manager who sticks with us, ledger after ledger, until we reach the end, and it is well past closing time.

In a daze, I leave with more questions and mystery than when I started. I did a brief search of Signore Tantalo and his company but found nothing. The biggest mystery of all is who built the house, or started to build the house in 1923 and why it is designed in Tyrolean style.

That night I am grateful for Daniela’s companionship and the lovely alfresco dinner with her husband at a trattoria on the outskirts of Vicenza. The best part was to get there, and coming back, we had to take the Autostrada which goes under Monte Berico and right under the house. I looked back and saw the lights on in Villa Chiara, as if nothing had changed.  

My train ride to Bergamo the next day is relaxing and just what I need to pull myself together after the four busy – and emotional – days in Vicenza. The weather has improved, mercifully cooler, as we approach the rolling hills and mountains of Bergamo.

Pina does not live in the city of Bergamo but on the outskirts, on Monte Bò, near the town of Cene. After she picks me up at the train station, we drive up winding roads, through small towns, to get to her picturesque house with a commanding view of the valley. She takes me on a tour of her property, filled with ten different kinds of fruit trees, chestnut trees, an abundant vegetable garden with masses of yellow zucchini blossoms, herbs, tomatoes, and stretches of grape vines. Her house is surrounded by green hills and thick forests through which foxes, wild boar, deer, rabbits and other mountain critters roam. Her kitchen, however, is the best part, with big country table, and ubiquitous cool marble floor.

 A great stove, of course, and pantry stocked with salami, pancetta, ragus, marmalades (kiwi!), dried fruits, cheeses and her famous house-made liquors. Giving me tastes of this and that I ask her: Where did you get this? Where does this come from? She replies: Her garden, or the dairy farmer on the next hill, or the pig farmer down the hill, or her brother, or son Alex, who hunted the boar. Everything is delicious and not quite like anything I’ve ever had.  

I already know from her cooking class in Philadelphia at Osteria, the birth of our friendship, as well as many other meals she made for me, that I am in for another food adventure as I will be introduced to the cuisine of the Bergamaschi.

 Bergamo lies in the heart of Lombardy and is famous for beef, cheese, pigs, and, wait for it, polenta! I had no idea about the right way to make polenta, with the crust in the pan. I’ll share more about this process in upcoming blogs. On my first day, Pina takes me on a tour of the Città Alta, the medieval walled city, surrounded by a shiny red funicular. Our first stop is a small polenta stand (a polenta take-out stand! Just for polenta!) and we split an order with cheese and porcini, like it’s an initiation into the Bergamo way of life. We take small cobblestone streets that lead us to the Piazza Vecchia, the Basilica and Cattedrale. We stop to buy some fresh pasta and the most famous of Bergamasco cheeses, Taleggio. I am delighted to find a wonderful Jenny Holzer exhibit in one of the historic buildings.  

The rest of my time is filled with more sightseeing and more food. Pina takes me a tour of regional lakes, but my favorite is Lago d’Iseo and the old town of Lovere. Its history dates back to the 4th and 5th century and was later conquered by the Romans. I paid my respects to fellow writer and poet Lady Whorley Montagu who lived there for 10 years in the 18th century, who like me, has a connection to Turkey but in a much different way. Her far-sighted work is a model for us today.

Much too soon it is time for me to go back home. Pina makes a wonderful good-bye feast on the veranda, beneath a verdant trellis, with friends and family. She and I stay up late, sipping grappa, and make plans to reunite in Philadelphia in the fall.

Like my time with Pina at the beach on the Lido, my visit to Monte Bò, Cene and Bergamo has allowed me to see, breathe, feel, and eat the Italy I remember. I’m hardly reminded that years and years have gone by and I am no longer the little girl who loved pasta and the view of the hills and valleys dotted with terra cotta roofs.

The hired car drives me back to Venice, where I started two weeks ago. We take the Autostrada Sud, and as we pass Vicenza and go under Monte Berico, I turn around and look up at Villa Chiara to say goodbye.  

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Note: It is hard to reconcile the Bergamo in the news a few months ago and the Bergamo I visited last year in July. My heart broke when I saw the images of hospitals, patients, doctors, in a state of crisis instead of the easy-going residents, bountiful stores and busy restaurants I remember from last year. My friend Pina tells me she is fine, as is her son, Alex. Thank god.