Via Barone Lanzirotti 39
Going home to a place you've never been
My husband and I used to travel a lot. We’ve been to a lot of amazing places and we even lived in Paris. Twice. But COVID, the world-unifying ruiner of all things, was the start of a 5-year travel drought.
In 2025, I randomly got an email that prompted us to take a river cruise in Eastern Europe. It was interesting. Parts of it were wonderful. But it is the anti-thesis of slow travel. We realized that while the cruise had some wonderful points, it reminded us why we like to do things our own way. Within days? Maybe a couple of weeks? We were planning our next great adventure.
We decided on Southern Italy, Sicily and later added Sardinia. In retrospect, there are stories associated with Sicily and Sardinia, but Southern Italy was just something we wanted to do. We wanted to see the real Italy, the unpolished, untouristy, real towns that rarely make a travel itinerary. So, in November of 2025, we booked a flight to/from Napoli. We gave ourselves 28 days between flying in and flying back out. And then we set to deciding our own itinerary.
But both Sicily and Sardinia come with a little bit of story. Bear with me. These are important!
Why Sicily?
My dad’s side of the family is from there. My dad was born there, in the city of Caltanissetta. And while I’ve been to Sicily before, it was on someone else’s itinerary and we drove through Caltanissetta, but we didn’t stop. I saw it from the autostrada. This time, I wanted to see more of it. We gave Caltanissetta 2 nights. It’s not a touristy town. Not much to see there. But we will go.
Why Sardinia?
Well, this story starts in 1994. On our very first trip to Italy, Ron and I were in Firenze, standing by the bronze doors of the baptistry, waiting our turn to take a photo. There was a group of Italians, six or eight people, all arguing in a fun way about who should be in the picture and who should take the picture. All were saying, “I’m too ugly, I’ll take the photo!” and so they were funny and I laughed. They then realized that they were being typical tourists and preventing other people from approaching the doors and getting their own photo. Their conversation quickly changed and several of the women had a chagrined look on their faces. After their photo they approached me. They apologized for their silliness and then asked where I was from. I told them I was American. They disagreed with me and I assured them I was American, born in Hollywood. That Hollywood bit usually is an interesting tidbit and redirects a conversation, but these ladies weren’t having it. They insisted I wasn’t American (despite not really speaking Italian, my perfect American English…). They said I didn’t look American. So finally, I said my father was born in Sicily. Ah! That’s it. But no. They said that I’m not Sicilian either. They insisted I was Sardinian. Multiple times. To them, I looked like them, so I must be one of them. We laughed with them and they moved on and we finally got our moment at the Bronze Doors. But it really stuck with me and eventually became a joke between Ron and me. Occasionally we would joke that I’m really Sardinian.
So, we had to go there. We had to see the land of my real ancestors!
Oh, the irony. If only I knew what was coming.
At this point I have completely lost the timeline of some of these events. But before we even left on this epic trip, and knowing only that my father was born in Caltanissetta, Sicily, I spied something that had been right in front of me for years but had never really seen it. Right there on the document pronouncing my grandparent’s marriage in Caltanissetta was a handwritten address.
How have I looked at this document, displayed it in my home for years and never saw that before? I have no answer for this, but while I don’t believe in fate and destiny, I do believe that sometimes we are ready or attuned to things, and sometimes not. I had my head in Italy and for reasons I don’t understand, I was attuned, finally, to a handwritten address on a document I treasured just because it was a link to my grandparents.
I could make this story very long, because researching this address took me down a rabbit hole. A very satisfying rabbit hole, but it was weeks of searching, not hours or days.
And family lore plays a role here.
I knew my dad was born in Caltanissetta. So, I knew that my grandparents lived there. I had heard my grandmother was, “from the North” and I was pretty sure my grandfather was from Caltanissetta. This document seemed to confirm that; my grandmother, Gilda, from Ravenna, Italy and my grandfather, Baldassare, from Caltanissetta, Sicily, Italy.
The first thing I did was enlist the aid of an AI to help me read that address.
Is it Via Basone Langisotti 39?
Is it Via Basoue Lavgisotti 39?
Is Via Basove Hangiroffi 39?
The very swoopy and fancy script is small and hard to read. But after some back and forth, the AI and I decided the address is
Via Barone Lanzirotti 39
If you google it, you will find it and find it I did. The excitement I felt was a huge surprise. I was planning to visit Caltanissetta because it’s where my dad’s family is from, but it hadn’t occurred to me that I might visit a specific place in Caltanissetta. That in Caltanissetta, I could search for family history because I really didn’t have any of it. I knew very little. In fact, really all I knew is that my dad was born there.
For my entire life, Caltanissetta was a vague place. A spot on a map. A place where my dad’s family started, but they started again, in a new world, in a new life, and that life is really all I knew.
Discovering that address and discovering that I could stand at that address changed everything. That is the address where my grandparents began; their marriage, their family, the chain of events that eventually produced me.
Suddenly I needed and wanted to know more. And of course, it’s too late to just ask, so the search was on. Questions started flooding my brain. Why only one address? Could I find an address for my grandmother in Ravenna? How did they meet if my grandmother was in Ravenna and my grandfather was in Caltanissetta? Oh yeah – more family lore! They were cousins! First cousins? Second cousins? I was suddenly filled with questions I should have asked long ago when these people were alive and could answer them. But I didn’t and so now I had a puzzle on my hands.
One thing led to another and before I ever even left on this trip, I had found some very basic information; my grandmother’s birth record which showed she was born at Via Signorino 128 in Caltanissetta, not Ravenna, and my grandfather’s birth record which showed he was born on Via Alaimo. I found other family members’ birth and death records. I had addresses and now I fully intended to visit these addresses.
What I didn't realize until later was that I had more than I knew. Hanging above my grandfather's trunk at home was a 1943 map of Caltanissetta. Via Barone Lanzirotti is right there. And looking at that map now I understand how small Caltanissetta was. When my family lived in there, the town was defined by the historical center. Everyone lived within minutes of everyone else. It is an 8-minute walk from Via Signorino where my grandmother was born to Via Alaimo where my grandfather was born. A 5-minute walk to where we would eventually stay on Via Magenta. Their entire world contained in a few city blocks. And it was there, hanging on my wall. But without the addresses, I didn’t know what I had.
But I was missing one important address.
Where was my dad born?
His record was not online because of privacy laws. No one in my family had that information. So, I hoped I would find it in Caltanissetta. I printed a page from the family tree, I brought a copy of the marriage document and I printed a typed page with the streets and house numbers I could find. That would have to do.
But a Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Or to Sicily. ←- See what I did there? Old, relevant movie reference!
We toured through Southern Italy first and it was wonderful though cold and rainy. We visited towns that weren’t crowded. We ate fabulous food. We experienced fine Italian driving. We drove through tunnels and over bridges and were completely perplexed why bridges and tunnels are so numerous. And after 12 days/nights in Southern Italy, we took the ferry to Messina, Sicily.
Whoa. Another wave of something unexpected. When I saw Sicily looming in the distance, I got choked up. I felt…something. It was a connection that I hadn’t expected. Later I learned about an Italian legend, Il Filo Rosso, The Red Thread. It tells us there is an invisible thread that connects us across oceans and generations. It may tangle. It may knot. But it never breaks.
I suspect the legend is based on these feelings we have. Feelings of connection. Feelings of familiarity for places we don’t actually know but are tied to in a way. Whatever it is, I felt it. A connection. A thread. A feeling of belonging. Or maybe it was a feeling of going to a place I should be. I don’t know, really. But the feeling was strong and overwhelming and brought tears to my eyes. And mixed in with feelings I didn’t fully understand, was joy. Happiness. A thrill to return to Sicily, but this time, I was going to see it my way.
We spent 5 nights in Catania and took day trips all over the east side of Sicily. Again, it was wonderful and exciting and the weather was better. We visited the town of Savoca (sound familiar?), Taormina, Giardini Naxos, Syracuse, Ortigia, Noto, Vizzini, Militello in Val di Catania … so many wonderful and beautiful towns. Some touristy, most not. We met some wonderful people, ate more wonderful food and absorbed Sicily.
Finally, it was time for our 2 nights in Caltanissetta. We were staying in a B&B apartment, hosted by Stefano who gave us wonderful directions and to our surprise, the B&B was right in the heart of the historical center.
Stefano met us on the street where we parked and walked us to the apartment. When we entered the apartment, I fell in love. I didn’t want to leave. After chatting for a few minutes, Ron and I decided to cancel Palermo.
We were staying right here. In Caltanissetta. For six nights. I would find my addresses. I would try to find the street where my dad was born. We will use Caltanissetta as a base and take day trips and see real Sicily. And I was elated. I was so happy and it was unexpected and surprising, but it felt so right.
But strangely, though I had Via Barone Lanzirotti 39 on my printed sheet, amongst other addresses, I was reticent. Once I go to that street, I will know it for what it is. Is it just a street? Will I be disappointed? Have I manufactured an entire raison d’etre that will fall flat? Will I feel nothing? I was alternately afraid and excited, and those conflicting feelings made me want to wait for tomorrow.
But no. Ron wouldn’t have it. We came all this way, and we’ve canceled Palermo and we’re staying in Caltanissetta for six whole nights. Let’s not wait. Let’s go see.
I was shocked at how close these places were to our apartment. Maps are deceiving! And we arrived at Via Barone Lanzirotti in a matter of minutes. Finding #39 was a bit of trick. Did you know that Italians number their streets differently? Or they did? They count up from one end on one side, then at the end of the street, they turn and go back. We didn’t know this, so finding #39 took a bit longer than anticipated.
But then, there it was. Or, where it should be. Number 39 now belongs to #40 I think. I don’t know exactly. But there was the old door, bricked up now. The outline is clearly there.
No words. Choked up. Tears. And an overwhelming sense of something I still don’t understand. There were people on the street and they didn’t know what to make of us – the English-speaking people wandering the ancient streets of Caltanissetta, taking photos of something no longer there. On a tiny, nondescript street in the historical center of Caltanissetta. But they smiled at the crazy woman who started to cry and literally hugged the space that was the door.
Wow, so well written, it was an incredibly interesting and moving trip. We got to see some parts of the real Italy, especially Caltanissetta. We both enjoyed walking through some of the towns that had few or no tourists, no tourist trap souvenir shops and eating in restaurants where they serve real Italian local food, and where no one speaks English.
Denice, I found you through searching about Caltanissetta—my 83yr old mother’s paternal grandmother was born there. I have been scouring online for birth records and marriage records. Where did you find the records that you used? I am planning to take her back to the Motherland for this homecoming pilgrimage—and walk the footsteps of her heritage. I already know she will feel what you shared and it is powerful and moving…we are thinking of going in October. Any help would be appreciated on how to plan this.