Memories of the Apulian Land Between White and Emerald Shades.

My Apulian summer is as white as the lime that covers farms, bell towers and churches. It dazzles even at night and shines under the moon. It is as white as the houses of Old Gallipoli, Καλλίπολις, the "Beautiful City", an island surrounded by a wall in defence from the invaders.

The Apulian summer tastes of fish, octopus, Altamura bread, orecchiette pasta and aubergines. It speaks with the sound of cicadas accompanied by crickets, even when the night falls. If you touch it, it is as smooth as a stone polished by the waves, and rough as the paths of sand and brambles that lead to wild beaches. It smells of thyme and wild rosemary, dill and oleander flowers. It promises a green-blue view of the sea where arid expanses, sometimes dotted with bushes, centuries-old olive trees and oaks, end. And it never disappoints.

There are many sensations and colours that conquered me in this magical land, the 'heel of the boot' bathed by two seas. But this time I surrendered to white and turquoise. On the Ionian side, I wandered to visit places dear to me, to listen again to the instruments of the pizzica and the sound of the griko language spoken in the Grecía Salentina, to follow the fast steps of the tarantella, and then explore the other sea.

I gladly returned to Alberobello, with its white cylindrical houses, covered by a grey cone that in many cases bears symbols painted in white, and whose meaning is still a mystery: a bit 'pre-Christian, Jewish, pagan, they seem to have emerged from the spray-can of a writer eager to leave a mark. Although it is a well-known destination, Alberobello maintains an air of detached ancient beauty, and by comparing the photos taken half a century ago to mine, the only difference seems to be tin he number of tourists. I started my visit from the trullo church of S. Antonio and then I descended to the Trullo Sovrano, which consists of two floors and is larger than the others. I then climbed up again, passing this time through the side streets, observing the panorama of roofs, electrical wires and blue sky. This is the corner of a rural fairy tale invented by who-knows-which author from the year one thousand, when there was not yet Alberobello, but there were only trulli scattered in the countryside, then aggregated in this area (UNESCO heritage), where time stands still. The whole Itria Valley is dotted with these unique dwellings, many of which are located where they retained their primary function of country houses, and it is beautiful to find them while travelling elsewhere.

The colour white shines majestically in all its purity and shades in Ostuni, the White City par excellence, which has prehistoric roots. From its square, I walk along the small streets that climb up and down and cross each other, enriched here and there by cacti and bougainvillea and leading who knows where, while I slide on smooth and shiny slabs consumed by the passage of men. I willingly get lost in the small lanes, I turn around, and the sea looks at me. My first thought, from that narrow view, goes to Greece, and for a moment it seems to me to have returned to Skyros, the southernmost of the Sporades Islands, an archipelago in the Aegean Sea.

Presicce: Mother Church of St. Andrew the Apostle

After a few days, I am in Presicce, designated as one of the most beautiful villages in Italy. At 4:30 p.m. I am welcomed by an abandoned city, dominated by the Doge's Palace and the Mother Church of St. Andrew the Apostle with its white (and beige) baroque facade and the bell tower in Renaissance style. There are many court homes of the sixteenth century, but there’s nobody around. I would have liked to visit the underground oil mills, that hidden world of olive presses which is a testimony to the importance of the city's flourishing economy in the past centuries, linked to the production and trade of extra-virgin olive oil. But the tourist office, guardian of this other secret world, was closed. So I find refuge in a very nice café. I look around me. The furniture is an elegant alternation of white and turquoise wood, and it is a call to the sea.

So, I dedicate the remaining time to exploring the sea. On the only cloudy day of my stay, I visit the Natural Pools of Marina Serra, near Tricase. The name is enough to express the beauty and clarity of these seawater pools, set between high rocks and inhabited by multicoloured fish. The waters are enclosed in a cove made by an old quarry, protected by cliffs that give people the opportunity to find their own private corner of tranquility while listening to the waves of the sea crashing on the rocks, after a morning spent snorkeling.

Finally, during a boat trip, I discover some caves and their stories, as we go along the coast of the Ionian Sea up to finis terrae (the ‘boundary’ recognised by the Romans, or Santa Maria di Leuca). We then enter the Adriatic Sea before returning. The coast is rich in Neolithic finds, and many caves hid precious prehistoric relics, such as - in the case of the Grotta Montani - remains of elephant and rhinoceros dating back 70,000 years.

Others, like the Grotta del Soffio, invite me to dive and enter through a small passage while following the rhythm of the backwash. When the water flows through the narrow passage, puffs of white foam created by the current are released. It really seems that the cave breathes and it enjoys spraying water on my face. I dive in to enter and, as soon as I re-emerge, I find myself surrounded by the bright emerald of the sea sweetened by the infiltrations of fresh water that come from the walls behind me. It is as if there were a light under my feet, in this quiet cave where everything seems to bring me back to our origins, to the 'rebirth', to Mother Earth’s womb. And in this sacred dimension, I let the water envelop my body, protecting me and colouring the white of this (too short) holiday in Apulia of emerald and turquoise colours.

Link to the article in Italian, published in ‘Ciao Magazine’ here