Pilgrimage to Italy

I flew to Nice, France to pick up my mother and together we drove to my father’s and grandfather’s village of Varallo in the Italian Alps. We met up with my uncle and aunt and some old friends of my father’s. Together we visited the cemetery and we put flowers on my father’s grave. My uncle told me heroic stories about my father that I had never before heard. It was a very emotional trip. We managed to have some amazing regional food and wine. Here are some pictures from Varallo of my uncle, myself and my mother.

Read Full Post »

Childhood Memories

When I was little, my parents and I would drive every summer from Stockholm to Italy, to visit relatives. Here’s a picture from Gavirate, Italy. I would help my grand aunt and uncle bring in hay and feed the rabbits. Rabbits that eventually ended up on our dinner table. The ride to and from the field, I rode on this wooden wheel barrow, and I can still hear the sounds of the squeaky wood and the uneven stone pavement of this small town. It was also here that I learned how to shoot a riffle, barely out of diapers. My grand uncle once received a reward for growing Italy’s largest pumpkin. It measured some 3 meters.

Read Full Post »