As the train’s brakes screeched and brought it to a halt, my gaze fell upon the station sign: “Borgo Val di Taro.” Stepping off the train, we were immediately enveloped by the distinct atmosphere of the village – we had finally arrived
As we made our way into the quaint village, the gentle clatter of our luggage wheels echoed over the ancient stone bridge spanning the Taro River, a picturesque waterway exuding a unique charm all its own. Nestled between majestic mountains, this valley had served as a historic passage for countless pilgrims journeying from Europe to the Holy Land across centuries.
Stepping off the bridge, a profound realization washed over me: this pilgrimage was, in its own way, akin to a sacred journey, and this serene village, my personal holy land.
About 1864, Cesare Maestri’s family embarked on their journey from Borgo Val di Taro, a quaint village nestled in northern Italy to New Orleans. Borgo Val di Taro once a part of the Lombard Empire, this picturesque locale nestled along the historic Via Francigena, known as the “Lombard Way”. Borgo Val di Taro stands as a testament to centuries of spiritual pilgrimages and a rich history of Christian significance.
Just a stone’s throw away lies Campi Albareto, a charming hamlet where the roots of the Maestri family run deep. It is within the heart of Campi Albareto that one finds the cherished ancestral home of the Maestri clan, as well as the sacred church where generations have gathered in worship.
Borgo Val di Taro, Italy
Town in the Valley of the Taro River
Our anticipated trip to Rome in 2013 was postponed due to my father’s declining health, a circumstance that deeply affected us. Tragically, we lost my father, Maestri Dale, in September 2014.
In 2015, we revisited our travel plans with a renewed spirit. This time, our journey would begin with a flight to Venice, followed by a picturesque train ride down to Rome. Intrigued by the charm of Borgo Val di Taro and its quaint train station, albeit slightly off the beaten path, we eagerly decided to extend our trip and spend a couple of enriching days exploring this hidden family gem.
“Don’t underestimate your family on the other side of the veil.”
— Jeffery R. Holland
Natale Maestri’s 1937 obituary highlighted a poignant chapter in his life journey. Alongside his beloved wife, Amanda, he embarked on a meaningful voyage from New Orleans to their ancestral homeland. There, amidst the hallowed halls of the family’s cherished church, Natale left a lasting legacy by generously contributing to its renovation, a gesture deeply rooted in reverence for generations of familial devotion.
Little did we know, that the Maestri spirits were with us on this journey.
After a series of emails and language translations exchanged with the village’s tourism department, I was directed to Maria. She stood out as one of the rare English-speaking citizens in a tight-knit community where everyone knows each other.
I reached out to Maria, a school teacher, for assistance in tracing a distant relative or locating our family’s ancestral church. While it seemed a bit unconventional, she generously agreed to take time out of her personal life to show Ann and me around the village.
Maria’s roots traced back to Borgo Val di Taro region through her grandparents, although she was raised in London. During her teenage years, she visited the village with her family and fell in love with a young man there. Eventually, she made the decision to marry him and move back to her ancestral homeland.
Venturing out into the village, it became evident that our presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. Despite our efforts to blend in, it seemed the news of our arrival had spread like wildfire, with curious gazes following our every move. Our evening stroll led us to one of the two local churches, where we were unexpectedly greeted by a young woman cradling a child.
“You must be Michael and Ann, right?” she exclaimed in her broken English. “Hello, I’m Maria.“
Perplexed, I inquired how she had identified us so easily. “In Borgo Val di Taro, everyone knows when new faces arrive,” she chuckled.
As I queried if the church before us was the one we sought, Maria’s response was less than reassuring. However, she promised to pick us up the following morning to explore several churches, though doubts lingered regarding our chances of locating the elusive Maestri Family Church.
Surrounded by the beauty of this place, I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would want to leave.
Stepping off the train felt like stepping back in time! The simplicity is enchanting, making me question why anyone would ever want to leave.
And those mushrooms? Pure magic on a plate! We arrived late for dinner, joining the bustling village crowd. Ann caught me cluelessly browsing a local newspaper.
We were the last to finish at the cozy mom & pop spot, soaking up every moment. By 8 pm, I happily pitched in, clearing tables with gusto. Even that felt like a local, what a bella adventure!