Knock knock

Who's there?
Puglia.
Puglia who?
Puglia wallet out and buy some plane tickets to Italy!

We reluctantly left Capri and took a train to Bari. Well, it was supposed to be a train trip. However, a landslide on the tracks between Benevento and Foggia required us to take a bus around the site. The landslide is five months old; they are just now beginning to clear it.

We left the lushness and insanity of Naples and arrived in a more arid region of the country, just below the spur on Italy's boot. We tried not to, but ended up renting yet another Fiat Punto. We are destined to drive only Fiat Puntos in Italy. It's okay, I suppose, since that's what everyone drives over there. But I don't understand their popularity, because as I've mentioned before, Puntos have no ground clearance and Italy is a country of rutted dirt roads.

We made it to our villa, which incidentally sits at the end of the most rutted, stony dirt road we've yet encountered, unless you count the super duper shortcut I liked to take to school when Paul wasn't around. It was worth the drive; Masseria Il Trappeto sits amidst vigorous, 1000-year-old olive trees, in the flats that slope down from Ostuni to the Adriatic, seven kilometers away. The olive trees in Puglia are nothing like the 98-pound weaklings in Florence. Here, they all look like big, twisted, tortured men with bad backs caught in the middle of their morning calisthenics.

At night, we could look up and see the city perched high on the only hill for miles around, as the whitewashed outer walls were floodlit from below. During the day, we looked north to the Adriatic. Once, we thought we could see Albania through the haze from Iceland's volcano, but probably not.

We rented bikes, and rode the Via Traiana one day along the coast. It runs past miles of robust olive trees with millions of red poppies at their feet. Several times we were stopped by herds of sheep, which forced me to lie on the landing card upon entering the U.S., where it asks if you've been in close contact with livestock. Shhh.

The Via Traiana was built by the Emperor Trajan (well, he had help) to improve communication with Brindisi and the east. It parallels the Appian Way, which makes you wonder why they didn't just apply for some Stimulus money and improve the Via Appia instead. I'm glad they didn't, even if it was a shovel-ready project, because the Via Traiana is lovely. There are places along it where you can still see the wheel ruts in the original limestone surface.

There are ruined towers every few miles along the Adriatic coast. They were built to give inhabitants fair warning upon the arrival of Saracen invaders, Greek invaders, Roman invaders, Carthaginian invaders, Normans, Angevins, Aragonese, Venetians, Turks or anyone else with a dinghy and a hankering for pasta. The towers are no longer necessary, but the culture bears the marks of so many influences: homes in Greek and African style; names and places with Arab and Spanish roots; trulli (who knows where they came from); a funny accent; Albanian enclaves; and different dishes in the kitchen.

Somehow, miraculously, Puglia remains thoroughly Italian.

Italian phrase of the day: "Toc toc. Chi e? Puglia. Puglia chi? Puglia soldi e fare un giro in Italia!" (Knock knock. Who's there? Puglia. Puglia who? Puglia money and take a trip to Italy!)