A MAN WHO HAS NOT BEEN TO ITALY, IS ALWAYS CONSCIOUS OF AN INFERIORITY

(Samuel Johnson)

I try to remember when I have last been in Italy. Has it been six years? Or seven maybe? I am officially half Italian and carry an Italian first name. However, my relationship with the country is not so strong. Since my move to England there doesn’t seem to be too much space for yet another part of my identity.
In short; it is time for me to go to Italy, breathe the language, taste the food and reacquaint myself with the culture.

Of course I leave in a rush...packing up all my stuff to move out of the house I am living in and at the same time getting ready for a holiday...Perhaps a bit too much....three hours sleep is actually not enough...

Puglia is my destination of choice. Southern Italy, the ‘heel’ of the ‘boot’.

The day before I leave, I remember the website www.couchsurfing.com, where random local people offer to host you, or to drink a cup of coffee with you.

I arrive in Napels, where I of course eat a pizza, buy a hat and then board for the next destination: Vieste. It is a long trip, as I have a stopover in Foggia and then wait a few hours for the next bus. It gives me time to see its cathedral.

In Vieste I learn quickly that the tourist season is over; the hotels on the lower side of the price scale are closed. Still manage to haggle; I go to bed at nine and wake up eleven hours later.

This place is a good start of my holiday. A picturesque old city centre, surrounded by a beautiful sea. The boat trip to the caves is cancelled halfway due to bad weather. Walking back in the evening a guy, who is playing basketball calls me over. Something that regularly happens in Italy; even old ladies say ‘Che bella’ passing by. Must be the hat... He asks me out for dinner, which I politely turn down, but we meet later on. He is very friendly, shows me around, takes me to his local pub, explains life here and in the end we go to a beach place, where he hangs out with his friends every weekend (including dj and ping pong. The next day it is Bye Bye hotel Bikini, and hello Italians!

Next destination: Barletta. I have a phone number of one guy from the website. I call him unexpectedly from the station and before I know it, he shows up and takes me to his house. It might sound weird to just go home with an almost stranger, but I decide that a lot of people are simply like you and me and just want to meet nice people. Also, everyone can leave a review of their visit. It is clear that Italian men have much better taste; his bachelor’s pad looks nothing like those I have seen in London. This one has colour and even matching bits and pieces! Floriano is another gentleman. He projects an Italian film on the wall, feeds me and shows me around this white stoned beautiful town. To my surprise there is a working synagogue in the old part. The next day Floriano brings me to the cute white walled village of Monopoli, where we spent a wonderful afternoon drinking aperitifs and eating lunch with his friends, who tell about life in a village in the south. Floriano then drives to his family house on the country side, where we enjoy the silence and sounds of crickets, which I have not heard in many years. He drops me off at the Caves of Castellana, where I spend the next two hours marvelling at all the different shapes and drooping stalactites.

Again I show up semi unexpected at my next address; Teresa is actually too busy, but as a proper Italian, it would never be a reason not to host someone and she feeds me lunch and tells her brother to take me to Alberobello. Alberobello is a village that consists of small houses, known as Trulli. One expects Snow-white and the seven dwarfs to come out of them any minute. Once back, Enrica, Teresa’s three years old comes running at me with open arms-we have a good connection, obviously the right age for me. In the evenings I stay up late, discussing Italian’s most popular subject with her husband: Politics. No need to say Berlusconi is not very loved in the south, unemployment is high and corruption alive, which is highly frustrating for all these hard workers I meet. The next day Teresa leaves me alone with her little one and gives me the key. Coming from a big city this kind of trust is surprising, but also simple; I am nice to you, you are nice to me, why would anyone spoil that by doing any harm? The whole couchsurf experience sincerely makes me feel that it is indeed trying to make the world feel better...

I make acquaintance with Annalisa, who owns and works 6 days a week in a local bar. We have an immediate click and in the evening we go to Ostuno-needless to say that this is another stunning place- for dinner. My birthday the next day passes by almost unnoticed, isn’t it for her showing up with a lovely bottle of local wine. No time to celebrate though, as I am off to my next destination; Lecce. On the way I stop in Bari, where someone gives me a quick tour of it. She is instructed by Annalisa; from when I get in touch with Italians, they sort my holiday out..

Lecce is a real gem, different in style, as it is baroque and walking around in it over and over never bores me. Mario is my host here. He is quite the Italian flatterer, but when I decline still cool... I stay here a few days and make a trip out of town, in order to take a lovely dive in the splendid sea (Gallipoli) -this while at home it’s raining badly...

The next day I struggle to get to Taranto, as I just miss the train. At arrival Ezio takes me to a restaurant and puts me in the car to visit a friend of his who owns a winery. Before I know it I am on my way back with 3 two litre bottles filled with fresh local wine. Add to that the litres of Lemon liquor (Limoncello) I buy as well and you will understand that most of my suitcase is filled with alcohol!

Back to Annalisa (the bar owner) where I stay for the next few days. We visit a place I have been wanting to see since I read ‘ Cristo si e fermato a Eboli’ (1945) ten years prior, a memoir of Carlo Levi about his time spent in exile there during WWII. He has put the province of Basilicata which is historically one of the poorest and most backward regions of the impoverished Italian south, on the national map. We are lucky to also find his lively paintings of the locals and their daily hardships which are impressive and in my opinion can be considered as historical documents. Matera itself as it turns out, has been worth the wait. The ancient town of the Sassi are houses dug into the calcereous rock and originate from a prehistoric settlement, and are suspected to be some of the first human settlements in Italy. The ancient town grew in height on one slope of the ravine created by a river that is now a small stream.

This is my last trip on my journey....I find myself and the end of my holiday- glad that I did this, as after the stress plays up...but that’s a whole different story...

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