Pieces Of The Puzzle

In hindsight, I was a bit hard on myself for characterizing the first two attempts to find my ancestral home as failure. Since then, I’ve learned the process is much like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Initially, the task seems daunting, but as the first few pieces come together, optimism returns and that’s when things start happening.

In 2010, frustrated by my lack of progress, I now realize that -- to quote Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu -- “ a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”  Armed with a less-than-adequate understanding of Italian and a Rick Steves’ phrase book, I was starting from square one: I was a tenderfoot -- a greenhorn, as it were.

That year, the first key connection that would help build the foundation for success: the Sterlocchi’s (below), proprietors of The Hotel Columbo near Porto Antico. Initially, I selected the hotel from Lonely Planet: Italy, which read: “Recently overhauled, this charming family-run hotel is ideally situated in Old Town.”

We’ve been coming back here ever since. A three-star hotel near the medieval city walls of Porta Soprana (top photo), the Hotel Colombo is all about location, and is close to where my family embarked for a new world. The Sterlocchi family helped me beyond measure with orientation in Genoa. This family would be key in finding my family.

Another critical resource: brother Robert, who is fluent in Italian and has traveled the country, focusing on Rome. He has conducted extensive family research and has my Gramma’s letters to Italy, not to mention the ship manifests listing the names of family members. His advice and counsel on all three trips would be essential to success.

In 2013, son Jory and I returned to The Motherland. This time we hired a cab driver, Andrea Giovanelli (below), who spoke English. Venturing north, we thought we had found Orero, though we learned later that Liguria has two Oreros. Unfortunately, we chose the wrong one. However, Andrea would also prove critical on the next trip.

Back in the U.S. and blogging about visiting the wrong Orero, the post was seen by Michelle, a long-lost cousin who also grew up in Portland. Like Robert, she, too, had conducted extensive research into the family’s history, with information that would be vital for my brother Richard and family when they visited Italy last summer.

With Michelle’s help, Richard located the actual town, Isolona, in the Comune of Orero, where our family lived prior to coming to America. However, they we’re unable to connect with local family members, save for Massi Ratto, a town official and son-in-law of one of our cousins. But they had found Orero, a major victory.

Now well prepared to find our family in the hinterlands of Orero with the cumulative knowledge attained, along with Google maps and street view photos, we would be on the verge of success. Reflecting back on the excruciatingly deliberate and painfully incremental process, I realized that Rome wasn’t built in a day, either.