I’m head over heels for Puglia
The foot of Italy is often overlooked for the Romes and Venices, but it has its charms too... and its unique conical houses
PUGLIA, pronounced ‘poolia’ but in reality the Italian region of Apulia, is also known as the heel on Italy’s boot. On a map it might look like the end of the line, but for centuries this was a stepping-stone to the Holy Land. Mediaeval Crusaders would stop off here while their enemies, folk like the Saracens, would wait nearby to stymie their chances of reaching omni-coveted Jerusalem. Thank goodness that’s all sorted out now.
Puglia became the staging post for those other great uninvited guests of the ancient world: Greeks, Phoenicians, Cretans, Normans, the Angevins – all fetched up here, on the way to somewhere else. The region became, in effect, the Connolly Station of the Mediterranean.
But now Puglia’s stand-alone charms are being recognised in their own right. Its medieval towns and cities are, by and large, still run on behalf of the locals and not the tourists, which immediately makes them attractive. Many, such as Locorotondo or Martina Franca with their bonkers baroque architecture, could be contenders for the title of most beautiful town in Italy.
The coastline is beguiling, and quite gentle
– apart from the mediaeval watchtowers. Beaches which stretch to the southern tip of the region are lined with long strands of talc-fine sand and washed by crystal-clear water. Best seaside day I had, was at the Taverna da Santos in Torre Canne where you can lie on a sunbed on the rocks, swim in the surf, then lunch in the stand-out restaurant.
The weather is perfect for beach holidays –occasionally a southerly sirocco wind from north Africa raises temperatures a little high – but go in October, as I did, and you’ll have lovely weather, and beaches shared with only a handful of locals.
The landscape inland is not spectacular – it works too hard for a living to be beautiful. Vineyards, gnarled olive trees, stone walls festooned with lichens, laneways of red clay running through fields of almond trees – that’s pretty much what you’ll see.
THIS is benign countryside, but with one USP – trulli, or dry-stone, conical houses. These are strange circular dwellings originally built without mortar. There’s over 1,000 of them in the town of Alberobello, a UNESCOdesignated place. The town is to trulli what skyscrapers are to New York.
What the origins of the constructions are, and why they only appear in the stiletto heel of Italy, is unclear. One reason often cited is that if an earthquake threatens – not unknown in Puglia – the stones can shift as there’s no mortar to cause internal stress. But that barely accounts for the fact that these buildings have no counterpart anywhere else on earth.
Another explanation is that in medieval times the houses could be dismantled easily and quickly. This was back in the days when the rulers would tax houses, so removing the buildings meant tax withheld.
But whether the trulli owe their existence to tectonic plates or tax avoidance schemes, they remain a fascinating feature of the landscape.
And I was staying in one. Or to be more accurate, four. Trulli dei Pini a villa looking out towards the medieval town of Cisternino, is con- structed round four trulli. But it comes with many amenities not normally associated with trulli – not least the generous-sized swimming pool.
In the evening, you can float on your back in the pool and watch the sun setting over the old mediaeval town. You need only get out to replenish your prosecco or check that the barbecue is smouldering nicely.
The owner, Nicola Calella, gave me a conducted tour of the dei Pini estate. He has 83 olive trees – seems to know the exact age of every single one. ‘Olives are at the very heart of Puglia,’ he said as he lovingly stroked one of the oldest trees. It was probably there when the Crusaders were passing through.
At the side of the olive grove another tree produces the largest, and sweetest persimmons I have ever come across. A persimmon is like a giant ball of syrup, and utterly delicious with the locallyproduced yoghurt.
Nicola said help yourself – I did – and you need have no worries about insecticides or additives in the olives, pomegranates, peaches, oranges and other abundant fruitiness.
This is an entirely organic orchard; also a working one. Each olive tree produces the equivalent of about four large bottles of oil annually. Naturally, there are bottles to use in the villa – you’ll find them just beside the carafes of local wine. They’ve all probably been replenished by now.
Trulli Dei Pini is about equidistant from the two great ports of Puglia, Brindisi and Taranto, which are linked by the Appian Way.
I set out on this ancient superhighway (which leads to Rome, as per the old saying) heading towards the Adriatic coast and Monopoli, an old fishing port.
As I neared the town, I thought – this is the sort of place you could probably get some grilled monkfish, served with orrechiette pasta, mixed with broccoli and a smidgen of chopped garlic. I was right! In the town square, at Vini e Panini they had exactly that on the menu.
To get there I first walked along the promenade, and inside the walls of the old harbour. A large crowd had gathered. The evening Passeggiata, I assumed, when the whole town strolls about, chatting, laughing and flirting.
But no, it soon became clear that this was something more. It was the shouting that first alerted me, plus an awful lot of gesticulating, and quite a bit of laughter.
All was readily explained. A lady in the crowd told me with some glee that four ‘idiotas’ from Bari had driven along the promenade and plunged into the harbour. They all survived, but now the tricky job of removing the car was giving the crowd great enjoyment. I was tempted to begin gesticulating too, joining in with the shouts of advice to firemen and police. Small-town Italy gets you like
hat. But then I heard it. The unmisakable sound of a brass band. Definitely a marching band. Good grief. The car incident was such a singular event that they’d turned out the town band.
I immediately headed for the source of the beating drums and blaring brass. But it transpired hat this was, in fact, a religious parade. A little statue was being carried through the town with great ceremony, accompanied by a brass band. It was St Francis’s Feast Day, a local told me, showng me a picture of the saint in case I doubted it.
I thanked him, and headed for my monkfish.
In reality, if you’re staying at Trulli dei Pini, you probably don’t want to spend too much time on the Appian Way, or any of the other great routes of the Roman Empire. Especially if you’re looking for a restaurant.
Just down the road from the villa – within walking distance – is the restaurant Osteria Sant’Anna. On the edge of Cisternino this restored masseria, or fortified farmhouse, has an elegant dining room. The food is exemplary – from the most delicate of pizzas to oversized plates of mussels gratin. And at the meal’s end, some very moreish local liqueurs.
You could happily eat here every day of your holiday.
PUGLIA is, to dust down that useful cliché, undiscovered Italy. It arguably enjoyed a higher profile during the Middle Ages with all that crusading and derring-do than it does today. The tourists have begun arriving, but if you’re an Italian region in the market for visitors, and your competition is Rome or Venice, then you’re gonna struggle. Florence gave birth to the Renaissance, Cremona gave the world the violin, Naples the mandolin – plus the pizza for good measure. Puglia – not so much.
But the region has plenty going for it. I visited on a week when at the other end of the country Venetian locals had gathered in the Venice lagoon to protest at the arrival of cruise ships. They made their presence felt all right, although being Italians they used fireworks and flags – sadly, many of the passengers aboard the liners thought their cruise was being welcomed in spectacular fashion, and cheered until the truth dawned.
Puglia: it was the opposite. Nobody threw a firework at me; people were unfailingly friendly and helpful, the towns were uncrowded and unhurried. I speak a little Italian, and that was just about enough to get me by. I’m going to brush up on it over the winter, because I’ll definitely be going back.