We arrived in the heel of Italy sweaty and under-dressed. On our walk from the train station, it became apparent that everyone wears linen here, and leather sandals (our Zorali’s do not count). Polignano a Mare (pronounced poli-nyar-no, not polig-narno), with its white marble streets and white washed buildings, is very glam and it would be necessary to break out our good clothes and “dressy” shoes. Around the old town, there were long time citizens of Polignano on every street corner, conducting neigbourhood watch from their balconies and front door stoops. On checking in, we were advised our neighbour Nonna was fond of the long conversation, and we should engage with caution lest we get stuck, unable to politely disengage with our limited vocabulary.
Suitably dressed, we hit the main street for our first aperitivo, and were shortly joined by Sarah and Sarah. SarahV is a friend from Fremantle, and SarahM is SarahV’s friend from Ireland (with roots in Fremantle). It was nice to converse with some fresh faces, and in English.
After an extended aperitivo we returned home to find the power out. Our dirty Naples clothes proved too much for the washing machine and old wiring. After some failed experimentation with the fuse box, our host arrived with candles and started dashing up and down our flights of stairs like wee-willy-winky. She pulled all the plugs out of the wall whilst flipping fuse switches until eventually “the offending plug” was pulled, and power was restored. This is Italy (TII) we reminded ourselves.
The next day, after a swim at the beach, we unknowingly had the best focaccia of our lives. Barese focaccia (northern Puglia) is made differently to Salento focaccia (southern Puglia) - it’s baked in a cast iron pan with lots of oil, and mash potato is added to dough. Its next level, and we had no idea it was such a local specialty or we’d have eaten much more of it.
That evening we were joined by Rosie’s friend Cara (we had a procession of friends meeting us in Polignano), and we kicked off our shared time together with a dinner party on our roof terrace. Keeping the fare local, we served an orecchiette (little ears) pasta and tried to impress our guests by adding fresh burrata (another local specialty).
No one needed much convincing to join a boat trip the next day. The coast is cliffy and it would be a chance to explore the grottos and dive into the open water. Our captain Giuseppe got the group revved up by blasting Volare, the official anthem of Polignano.
We popped in and out of grottos, listening to stories about which Saint they were named after (a lot of stuff is named after Saints over here), and admiring the clifftop town from sea level. Amber was very impressed by Guiseppe’s skipper skills, the grottos weren’t much bigger than the boat but he had no reservations about getting right in there. When everyone was ready to swim, we plunged from the diving board, some more graceful than others. After we cooled off in the sea we climbed back aboard and necked some prosecco like the classy queens we all are. With the sun on our backs and the taste of prosecco on our lips we slowly meandered back to the marina, feeling like we’d had a very Mediterranean afternoon.
Our second dinner party was a delicious spread, prepared by the Sarah’s in their cool basement digs (with bonus dungeon room). SarahV’s velvety smooth mashed potato, prepared with only a fork, deserves a special mention. Fed and watered, we called it a night early(ish). Our efforts to sync to southern Italian time are being hindered by sleeping arrangements and bad sleep. We have found sleeping arrangements in Italy are generally such that you can expect a maximum of two from the following:
a comfortable mattress
a comfortable sleeping temperature
no loud noises (firecrackers, ambulance sirens, roadworks etc)
no religious paraphernalia above the bed
Even ear plugs and Rosie’s hearing loss aren’t enough to block out some of the worst sound tracks over here (poor Amber getting it at full volume), but fortunately we have a lot of time to nap. Our chatty Kathy neighbor is up all hours of the night and still manages a hoarse almost post tracheostomy like rasp of “Ciao bella” in the morning.
With some reservations, Rosie agreed to drive a hire car out to Valle d’Itria the next day. As a left hand drive manual and four passengers, it was a level up from scooting around the island. The roads weren’t too busy making the drive manageable, but the 4-5 way intersections where roads converge on each other without signage were a bit stressful. We parked in an olive grove and wandered into Alberobello’s trulli town.
They are very iconic houses, and only found in a small area of Puglia. Interestingly one of the architectural features that makes them iconic is their conical roofs. It is theorised that residents would quickly remove the top of the roof when the tax man was making their rounds, rendering the building a non-dwelling hence no tax. The area we visited is UNESCO World Heritage listed, and thus full of tourists. Rosie and Cara snuck in a tasting of torelli and liqueur, whilst Amber took photos and the Sarahs wandered around. We had a quick coffee and some more focaccia, then set off for our next stop - Ostuni.
Ostuni is another quaint little town, it’s historical centre laid out concentrically atop a hill. It is literally a maze, and this became obvious as we tried to find our lunch spot. If some of the group weren’t hangry (Rosie, guilty), it would’ve been a lovely wander through the streets, but road works made navigating challenging and we must’ve walked almost every one of Ostuni’s lanes before we found our destination. Everyone’s mood improved after a drink and some delicious sandwiches. We wandered a little more, and then headed home up the coast.
As we said goodbye to our friends who were travelling onwards, we were joined by another - Bea. Bea came bearing a very important and highly anticipated gift - vegemite. Amber had been lamenting that we didn’t think to bring any ourselves, given we had plenty of (theoretical) room between our two 70L packs. It was received with much gratitude and promptly spread on the best toasting bread we could find.
Being a more active soul, Bea had arranged a kayaking trip along the same course we took the boat. Unfortunately, the swell had other plans and ours were thus cancelled consecutively over three days. Amber and Bea went to explore San Vito in lieu of a paddle, and made the first of several visits to the Appian Way cocktail bar, their new favourite watering hole.
A short train ride down the coast, we arrived at Monopoli for an explore and swim. The city beach was lovely and inviting and we all enjoyed several dips into the ocean to build up an appetite for lunch. Bea eagerly suggested a Chinese restaurant in town, we’ve been in Italy long enough to be suspicious of cuisines outside of Italian and we tried to gently dissuade Bea. Unperturbed Bea pushed on and our concerns somewhat allayed when we saw the waitstaff were Chinese themselves. We ended up having one of the best meals of our stay so far, so much so we returned a few days later.
Rosie was again nominated to drive on a return trip to Valle d’Itria. We took in the sights of Alberobello again, and tried but failed to order iced coffees to beat the heat. We are finding cafe culture changes from region to region, and Puglia does several iced versions, which go down a treat if you can successfully order what it is that you want. The difficulty lies in getting enough iced coffee (sometimes it’s just a shot of espresso over ice) for it to be sufficiently refreshing, and the correct milk. In Puglia, they have an almond syrup that is routinely served in iced coffee, that unfortunately for Bea made getting an almond milk iced coffee very difficult. Adding milk to coffee seems to be a point of confusion over here, Italians seem perplexed by other styles of coffee with milk that aren’t the cappuccino (and don’t ask Amber about their milk frothing techniques).
After Alberobello we drove through some truly stunning countryside to a Masseria (working farm with tours) for our cheese tour. We kitted up in booties, hair nets and aprons and headed into the cheese production room. Our guide translated as the cheese guy (professional name?) prepared a whole variety of cheese in front of us with his seriously macerated hands. It was all made from the same base, a white stretchy putty that turns into what most of us know as mozzarella, but also little knots, big knots, plaits, animal shapes for children, and burrata. There was a generous offering of samples at the end, and then we slipped off our plastic aprons and booties and walked around the farm proper.
After a morning of walking we were ready for the tour to conclude and mangiare (eat). We were asked what wine we’d like with lunch and when we couldn’t decide between red or white they suggested we have both. Two bottles of house-made wine appeared on the table, and to our pleasant surprise, they were replaced when they were empty! To accompany the wine, we had a board of cheese and cured meats from the masseria (and bread of course). We’d opted for the light lunch, which was still very substantial, and we felt no regret for not ordering the full menu. For those that had, we watched plate after plate arrive on their tables and knew their bellies must be uncomfortably tight from politely sampling all that was being offered to them. After sitting and digesting, we headed towards home, making a stop enroute at a beach to cool off.
Several rounds of Uno and several visits to the Appian Way bar were made before Bea left for Australia. After seeing her off, and only a handful of nights left in Polignano, we tried to stick to a routine of running and swimming daily to balance out the calorie consumption of the two weeks prior.
The festival for the towns Saint began the day before we left. It’s commencement was marked by the very loud firing of canons, and at first we weren’t sure if it was warfare or a celebration. Even though they were some way out of town, they sounded like they were being fired from our roof. The lighting we’d watched being installed all fortnight was finally switched on, and everyone came out in their Sunday best to enjoy the festivity. There were several marching bands, marching processions and loads of market stalls. We were treated to an amazing sunset that evening, much the like the one when we first arrived. And as a final treat before leaving Polignano, the marching band walked past our balcony the next morning.
What a great time in the heel - not sure about the ‘beaches’ which don’t seem comfy!! A bit like some of your mattresses I gather. Did you get a recipe for the focaccia? Xoxox
Another great adventure!!! Love it ladies!!!