In the province of Cosenza, in the heart of the Pollino National Park, there is a centuries-old tradition that speaks of peoples, migrations, and links between distant cultures.
The history of Lungro
We arrive in Lungro, a small village in the Calabrian hinterland, on a very hot spring afternoon. We feel a little observed as we walk through the narrow streets of the historic center; those who live here must not be very used to the presence of strangers snooping around. It's a great pity because, among the pages of its history, Lungro has many events that make it a unique place. Its rock salt mines, for example, were already known in Roman times and provided employment for the inhabitants of the village until the 1970s. In addition, from the 15th century onwards, the village welcomed several Albanian families fleeing the Ottoman invasions and, even today, Lungro is considered a very important center of the Arbëreshë community, whose customs and traditions it scrupulously preserves. But this village is also home to the eparchy of the same name (the name given to the territorial districts of the Eastern Catholic Church), which is considered a point of reference for the Arbëreshë churches of the Greek-Byzantine rite. Among its peculiarities, Lungro also preserves a very special tradition, and it is precisely for this reason that we have come here, to learn about its origins and the people who continue to carry it on.
The Mate Museum
Mrs. Anna welcomes us to the Mate Museum (also known as the Renaissance Museum) with a big smile and a handshake that immediately reveals her infectious energy. To tell the truth, the place where we find ourselves is first and foremost her home and that of fourteen generations before her, all descendants of the Albanian Stratigò family who settled in Lungro in the 15th century. Anna's house and the objects that surround us in these rooms with thick walls that smell of stone and a lit fireplace tell the story of the village and the Arbëreshë culture. There is something familiar about this place that makes us feel immediately at home.
Lungro and Argentina
We sit down in the kitchen, around the fireplace, and Anna begins to tell us about mate and how the tradition of this drink, typical of South America, developed and still survives today in the village. In the second half of the 18th century, several inhabitants of Lungro emigrated to Argentina and began drinking mate. Thanks to the close relationship that the Argentine Lungresi maintained with their country of origin, the families who remained in Calabria soon became familiar with mate and began to consume it regularly at home. This tradition has created a deep bond between the village and the South American country, where a line of yerba mate products bearing the name Lungro has even been created.
The ritual of mate
As she continues her story, Anna prepares the drink we have come to taste. Mate originates from the infusion of the leaves of ilex paraguariensis, commonly called yerba mate. First, Anna heats some water; then she takes the kungulli (in Arbëreshë), the characteristic pot-bellied container in which mate is drunk, and fills it with yerba mate, sugar, and orange peel; then she inserts the bombilla (pumbixhi in Arbëreshë), a metal straw, which is very unusual because it has a filter at the lower end; finally, she pours the water into the kungulli. The ritual here in Lungro is well codified: every house has its own matara, who prepares the drink and passes it from hand to hand to those sitting around her.
Mate has a very distinctive flavor: it tastes bitter and herbaceous, with a slight toasted note; it vaguely resembles green tea, but is more intense. There is no rush: mate should be drunk “slowly,” while chatting and enjoying each other's company. For a moment, our minds return to afternoons with our grandmothers in front of the fireplace, listening to their stories, while with one hand they stirred the embers and with the other added a new log. We would stay for hours listening to Anna's stories, but it's time to go, we've already taken up too much of her time. Leaving this village, with its diaphanous and delicately faded beauty, is like stepping out of the pages of an old book that still has much to tell those who know how to look beyond its cover.
