Well, after fighting off my nausea and getting my eyes focused again I realized I was so far up the mountains there was snow.  Sixty degrees, bright sun and snow.  Finally I entered Pescasseroli -- It must be because there's nothing else around.  In fact, as my car barely navigated the extremely narrow cobbled streets,  I didn't see a soul.  It looked as though the town was evacuated.  Wait......There's someone standing on the corner ----he looks at me like I'm there to take his home ----also, his eyes follow my car waiting for me to side-swipe one of his neighbors yugos.  Yes, it looks like yugos are still popular here.

My navigator system only has the street of my hotel, and soon I find myself traveling down a muddy road -- I can hear mud slapping against the car; so much for a spanking new car.  The road came to an end and there I was at a ski slope --and now being directed to a parking spot.  Oooops! I quickly put the muddy bucket into reverse and went in the opposite direction.  Two minutes later I see a sign that says Hotel Sport Daniel ( Now, how Italian is that?).  Here at last, here at last, thank God almighty, I'm here at last. 

I stepped out of the car and got my first look at the "mud bucket". Now, should I take it to the car wash?  Hello???????  Reality Check is in order.  Maybe I can put some snow in the hotel towel and just wipe?  What?  I can hear my wife say "It's the rental's job....leave it alone".....and so I did. 

One of the reasons I chose this hotel is because the staff was billed as multilingual.  Little did I know that meant that each staff member knew one word in english.  This is going to be fun.  I will never again make fun of mimes.  How was I to know the mime class I took at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts would help me years later in Italy.  After settling in, I decided to have a good meal at the hotel, rest and start my search first thing in the morning.

Again, after many wrong turns I finally found myself in the center of Pescasseroli.  What a beautiful place.  A perfect resort town.  It's small, but very picturesque (sp?).  After taking a small tour I took out my English/Italian dictionary and made a grand attempt to translate what I was looking for and took it to the Pescasseroli Commune (Town Hall).  To my surprise the woman at the reception desk acually understood what was looking for.  I was then directed to come through the main door and then lead into another room where two ladies met with me.  After they read what I had written, we all did our best Marcel Marseau (sp?) and decided to meet in two days (Friday).

As I exited the building, an older Italian woman spoke to me in Italian and then directed me to follow her.....Soon I was standing before a seventy one year old man called Jerry Gentile. He spent years in Australia and knew english pretty well.  Finally, some hope.  Jerry owned the cheese shop in the center (run by his daughter) and a hotel on he other side of the mountain. Fortunately, he took a third job as a personal tour guide for a lost man from Boston. Once I told Jerry who I was and why I was there I was drawing crowd everywhere I went.  Apparently Jerry is quite the gossip.

Now, I was told the name Finamore (FIN-a-more') is common in Pescasseroli and not really found in other parts of Itlay. Jerry quickly introduced me to the barber in town (Nicola Finamore), but there didn't seem to be a connection.

The next day, while ordering a slice of pizza and a coke zero in the center pizza shop, the owners (a Syrian married couple), asked me if I was Finamore.  When I told them I was they went outside and called to a man named Lorado.  When he came into the shop they volunteerd his services.  He agreed and soon became my guardian angel in town. We decided to meet the next day at 8:15 and head to the Parish Church to look up the records.

The church was built in the 12th Century (By looking at the town it's one of the newer buildings). We met the Pastor who then took us to the room where the old records are kept.  Lorado and I spent hours going through many books.  We found some clues, but nothing definative.  Was this going to be the end of the road? Will my grandfather (Mio nonno) still remain a mystery?

I paid the priest 20 Euros (more than expected) and said "Thank you".  In Italy they all think we in America are rich and I didn't want to kill the elusion by just giving the priest one euro.

Tomorrow I head back to the Town Hall to see if they found anything.  I even sweetened the pot by bringing them pastry.  Lets see if it pays off. ---------