Hunting in Sicily

Going to Sicily was a huge pain in the ass. To get there not only did I have to fly from Napoli, to Rome and then back down to Palermo, but the flight was delayed because two goombas (and I use this term lovingly here) decided they would throw a hissy fit while boarding because they did not get the aisle seat that they requested. Kill me.

Going to Sicily was simply something I had to do when I came to Italy or I would be burnt at the stake. Reason being that my grandfather was born here and since he left when he was six not him nor anyone else in my family had been back. I grew up with endless stories about how his family came over, oh, the drama, the history...My grandfather has told these stories so many times that at family parties we stick the young cousins next to him so that he can have a fresh ear.

My grandfather was born in a tiny village outside of Palermo in the province of Agrigento in a town called Canicatti, which is famous for absolutely nothing besides a blooming mafia. I rolled into Canicatti with absolutely no idea what I was supposed to be doing there. I figured I would ask around about LoGiudices around town with the hope that an old vendetta would not be uncovered and I would find myself running for my life.

It was pouring when I got in and I walked around trying to find an umbrella. A nice shop owner gave me theirs. I went into a bar to use a bathroom and the owner offered his place to stay for the night and gave me lunch (my buddy Carmello-see below-later threatened his life if he tried anyway funny stuff so it was safe place to stay).

Canicatti was a quaint little city and people were interested in why I was there. They also wanted to help. One cafe owner pulled out a phone book and started dialing every LoGiudice he could find. That was before he got the idea to bring me to the telegiornali (daily news TV broadcast) station so that I could make an announcement to the citizens of Canicatti that I was looking for long-lost cousins. Thank god that they were already closed for the day.

Because of these efforts on within two hours of arriving in Canicatti I was sitting across from someone named Antonio LoGiudice. An elderly gentleman named Carmello who, from what I could see, functioned as the neighborhood washerwoman, thought that I might have some luck with this particular LoGiudice. Apparently, Antonio just moved back to Italy from New York six years ago.

Antonio told me about his cousins in New York. I nearly fell off my chair when he started talking about his first cousin Vincent, who turned out to be my grandfather's brother. The details matched exactly. It blew my mind.

Antonio told me about what he remembered and showed me pictures of his life in the US. Although he was in contact with my grandfather's family when he first came over to New York, he lost touch when my grandfather moved to Brooklyn and he moved to the Bronx. Light years away in New York terms. It was strange to talk to someone of who had such a similar background to my grandfather but such a different experience. He looked just like him too...

At the end of our conversation we awkwardly said goodbye. He suggested some people that Carmello and I might talk to in order to find the Castiglioni end of the family. I took his address and phone number in case my grandfather wanted to write, although I knew that he never would. It was really cool to meet a distant relative in the birthplace of my grandfather I could not help but think...so what?

I mean, it was interesting to see the roots of where I came from. The people in Sicily and especially in Canicatti had maneurisms identical to those of my family. But what was I really hoping to find besides a few minutes of conversation with someone I barely know and whom I had nothing in common with besides a last name?

It was kind of funny in the first place that it was me, the one who was the butt of all the adoption jokes, who was the first in my family to visit my grandfather's birthplace. While growing up I was teased endlessly since I was fairer and taller than virtually anyone in my immediate family. My grandfather got so worried and perplexed by my height that he went to the local library and did some research. Apparently the Nords invaded some years back and intermarried with the locals. When a random tall fair Sicilian pops up, it is the long serpresed recessive genes that are the explanation.

The next day I met Carmello outside of a cafe and we talked to several people about Castigliones. We found no one person who remembered the branch associated to my grandfather's mother. However, right before we ended our search one Castiglione looked me up and down and said, "Huh, you are very typically Castiglione. It makes sense! We got all the height."

I was finished with my work in Canicatti. I took the next bus out of there.

Cousins and Lov'in in Napoli

Across the Atlantic living in a small suburb of Napoli lives distant cousins. I last saw them when I was about four years old during their trip to NYC. I would have been burned at the stake if I went to Italy without visiting them. One of my uncles was still in touch with the cousins and connected me with them over email. They were really excited to have their American cousin come over...

But my immediate family in NY was a little worried that my Italian cousins' enthusiasm was just a facade. The reason being that a certain wing of my family with whom we have had a good ol' Italian family feud had made it their business to spin nasty tales about myself and my family. They spread these to virtually anyone who would listen. The rumors are usually far from reality and often humorous. The last I heard I was knocked up and married to a women in San Francisco. (marriage? puke!). Not that there is anything wrong with any of these things (well...), but it is simply not true. The evil spinsters told it to people they knew would be horrified, including everyone in my conservative neighborhood and everyone who still bothers with them in my family. When I went to Napoli I was not sure what my cousins thought of me.

As soon as I arrived at my cousins house I saw that my fears were completely unfounded. My distant cousins were warm and welcoming and planned a fantastic few days in Napoli for me.

From little comments throughout the week I came to know that they did indeed hear the rumors from across the pond, but that they disregarded them because any good person knows that he who throws stones...One cousin pointed out, "Family is family. It doesn't matter how long or far we have been away from each other once we are together it is like we saw each other yesterday." My family in the US (the non-feud ones excluded) are also loyal in this way. I see where it comes from.
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Everyone I met in Italy just loves. Intensely and passionately. The fact that Napoli sits at the base of the volcano I thought made this characteristic acute. Whether is was talking about the garbage problem (Napoli: famous for sun, sea and garbage) or crime problem Napolitans love or love to hate with zeal. You can find them with that passion in the most surprising places...namely in cars along every major vista. My cousin called them "love zones". This is where anyone with a car and without a place for lov'in with their hunny parks. The windows of these cars are fogged over and covered with a sheet and/or newspaper. And it is not just your average teenage make-out zone. Oh no! From awkward teenagers to twenty somethings to married love affairs to sex workers... this is where you come to consummate any sort of relationship not able to be carried out in a hetereo-normative household. The city might be conservative in the way its citizens publicly live their lives but privately it seemed to me they let their zest for life and love be subject to no bounds. Although publicly those very same people might denounce homosexuality or premarital sex, privately they give into what they want most. And with a car and a sheet you can drive to any love zone in Napoli to make that happen.

Eyes Wild

So I thought it would be just fantastic to perform in my Queens Marie character while in Italy and did some google-ing before I left New York and found a performance group called Eyes Wild Drag. I emailed them and they got back to me within a twenty-four hours. They were ecstatic that a New York drag/performance artist was coming to Rome and we emailed back and forth to plan a performance. They were very sweet and offered me a place to stay and even offered to pick me up from the airport. I immediately accepted.

I told my sister that I was going to stay with performers that I met on the Internet and she flipped out. She had wild ideas that they would pick me up from the airport, steal all my money and clothes, rape and beat me and then leave me for dead in a ditch somewhere random in Italy. Thinking about it I knew that it was not the best idea...

All four members of Eyes Wild Drag (Sara, Sabrina, Anita and Mariana) turned out to be some of the kindest and nicest people I met in Italy. I arrived on Easter and they picked me up from the airport, cooked a huge dinner and then brought me through some sites. And this was just for the first day. For the next three weeks that I was in and out of Rome they made every effort to make sure that I had everything I needed for my stay in Italy. Their generosity and spirit were inspiring and my instincts were right in accepting their invitation.

They are also extremely talented and push their performance to new limits. They stretch their performance to include a theatrical approach and are expanded the usual four-minute-number format of drag artists to a full length show. Eyes Wild is the only drag troupe in Italy include a faux queen, Anita. They had not heard of this term until Queens Marie came on the scene, but performed the concept. She was the "donna donna" (woman woman) of the group.

Not everyone in Italy accepts and/or understands what Eyes Wild Drag does, they are a performance group ahead of their time. At our show the curator kept calling them burlesque artists although they do not do anything remotely close to burlesque and they do not call themselves burlesque artists. The vocabulary and experience of audience members just is not at the level of understanding to fully comprehend the work that these artists are doing.

There is resistance within the drag community to breaking through barriers and stereotypes of gender. Eyes Wild smashes these barriers and this makes people feel uncomfortable. I was completely inspired by how they were willing to experiment with concepts and approaches that literally no one they know has done before them.

For the finale of our show Eyes Wild and I collaborated on a number. Queens Marie essential performed with the first faux queen in Italy. While not everyone recognizes Anita as a faux queen I have to say she is just as fierce as any drag queen I know.

Calcata in Rome

Before leaving New York for Rome I had lunch with an Italian friend of mine. He heard that I would be there for Pasquetta (the day after Easter when Italians do something fun like have a picnic or go on a day trip somewhere) offered to put me in contact with his friend that lives outside of Rome. My friend in New York told me that his friend Giovanni was once a big actor around Italy but something happened which I don't quite understand and he fell from fame. Now he is happy and gay and owns a cafe in this little hippy town outside of Rome. I couldn't wait to meet him.

This little hippy town is called Calcata. Not Calcutta. And definitely not cacata. Calcata, once an ancient Etruscan city is now filled with hippies and artists. Within five minutes of being there I saw white person with dreds and got the sense of where I was.

No one has heard of this place besides similar types in Rome. My conservative cousins in Naples had no idea what I was talking about when I told them I went to Calcata. It is not in the guide book and only one bus goes there from an obscure bus stop in the northern part of Rome.

So I get to Calcata on Pasquetta morning and call up this friend-of-a-friend, Giovanni. Within five minutes of meeting him I had his life story. Throughout the day he kept telling me stories of his past fame, which he didn't entirely need to do since I got the idea from all the old newspaper and magazine clippings on his cafe's walls. He talked about how people came to Calcata to see him and how his cafe became famous because of a New York Times article three years ago. He couldn't believe that I hadn't seen the article. I felt like I was on an episode of Surreal Life. I kept thinking Peter Brady or Jordan Knight would pop of a bush.

Giovanni, besides being an actor (and actually a quite good one when I finally saw his movies) is also a talented artist. He completely decorated his house to fit his style. Queens Marie, in all her gaudy and sparkly glory, could never compete with something this intense. It looked like the Gremlins met Rainbow Brite and they had fantastic sex hanging from a chandelier exploded all over the walls. The rooms had a mirrors and chandeliers and carpet that clashed together to give a sense of a warped Italian Renaissance painting. Which made his house the perfect set for a twisted movie.

So Giovanni and I get back to Rome and offers his house for crashing purposes. More specifically he offered his a bed in his walk in closet. Actually more like a mattres in a lightless narrow room. In Rome Giovanni was very different: Calcutta seemed to be some sort of monument to the past while his life in Rome was completely forward moving. He is now a producer/director more than an actor and divides his time between developing his own work, finding work in other projects and staying grounded in what he wants to do. I came to know him as exceedingly sweet and gentle person who for all his quirks has a life not unlike my own. He is hustling everyday to make his vision a reality. When I saw this I felt quite shitty about poking fun at him because the only difference between him and me is that he already had his fifteen minutes of fame and I am still trying to create mine.

What I Came to Do

I have a problem. I can never just go to another country and do the usual tourist stuff. It bores me and makes me doubt why the hell I left home in the first place. So, when planning on going to Italy a hatched a multi-faceted plan for travel. Besides going to the Vatican and all that jazz I wanted to meet distant cousins, hunt down my grandfather's village that he has not been back to since he was six, check out the film scene, and hang out with Italian performance artists and to perhaps perform myself. If a hot Italian love affair came into the mix so much the better.

I was able to do all of the above and even learned a few things about Italy and life in general such as: 60% of lesbians in Rome are Buddhist, 70% of staunch conservative Catholics in Rome are fascist, espresso is sustenance for life, dessert can be eaten as part of every meal and you won't gain any weight, getting drunk on wine in the middle of the day is called lunch, the perfect thing to wear to go to a cafe on a Sunday when you are 75 is a full length fur coat.