We landed in Bari on a Saturday in September, past dinner time. We had spent the day – the week even – in anticipation, thinking about our first meal in Puglia, perhaps outside on a terrace, with the air still balmy and the white wine well chilled. We both needed this weekend away
so desperately. Not because of London
per se. The city had been particularly generous with us throughout the early fall – warm and sunny, with very little rain – and we loved how we could always pick and choose something different to do every weekend. But we were restless and exhausted. We needed a few days of that lifestyle we both adore and miss so much: easy, inexpensive, next to the sea, and most of all, slow. A lifestyle that only belongs to holiday time now, and that we seem to find only in Mediterranean coastal areas – like Puglia.
When did it happen that Italy became the idyllic place to spend one's holidays? When did I stop calling it
home, or hoping it would be one anytime soon? When did I end bragging about how much better the (insert: lifestyle, food, wine, weather, landscape, culture…) is, and started realising that all these things are available to me only if I choose to spend my vacation time (and hard-earned money) there? I think I hadn't completely realised it until the end of this trip.
We booked a small apartment in Polignano for the whole length of our stay. The listing didn't have any reviews yet, but it was very inexpensive and looked promising, clean and bright – we decided to go for it. Our host had even agreed to pick us up at the airport for a small fee so that we could avoid renting a car in case we didn't need one. We accepted, ready to drop any responsibility, any scheduling, any 'must see'; ready to embrace the aimless wandering, the idle contemplation, the slow pace of whom have no clear plan. His name was Paolo. When I first saw him, waiting for us at the arrivals hall, I immediately thought he resembled my roommate Paolo from University: thirty-ish, very tall, with short jeans above his bony knees, an almost bold head, and a warming smile. For some reasons, this connection, this similarity with a person I love and trust made me like him at first sight. He was kind and helped me with my little carry-on.
A fifty-minute drive separates Bari airport from the little, hidden, stunning gem of a town that is Polignano a Mare. Paolo was chatty enough to make the drive extremely pleasant, and quick. In his broken English, he asked us a lot of innocent yet personal questions, of the kind a stranger would never ask in London. "Ok, so let me ask you this – why Polignano?" he said at one point, accompanying his question with a very Italian, inquisitive hand gesture. It took us off guard. Why
not Polignano? Wasn't it the most beautiful corner of Eden on earth – peaceful, dramatic, with its beautiful sea and its panoramic views? We tried to give him some good reasons – we said that it all started when we stopped in Polignano during our
Master's study trip around Puglia, that we only had half-day to wonder and enjoy, and that we felt we needed to be back ever since. He nodded, but still didn't quite understand – to him, it was probably just a boring, small, provincial town that held some fun only during the busiest summer months.
He escorted us inside the newly renovated apartment his family owned just outside the old town. A house on three floors, he explained – with steep stairs between them – like they used to build at the beginning of the last century. He showed us around, set up the wi-fi and checked on the clean towels, then headed to the kitchen, speaded a map of Polignano on the table, and started drawing points and arrows. "This spot is great for drinks, good Mojitos; this makes the best
focaccia, it stays open until late; here you get good seafood, and here good pizza, but small, order
antipasti as well; oh, and here they have great
cornetti for breakfast, but go early 'cause they run out fast". Then he picked up his stuff and left, promising to come back on the Tuesday at 6 to drive us back to the airport, leaving his contacts for any necessity. As he closed the door, I was invaded by these thoughts of gratitude, of empathy even, toward this young Italian man who was so generous with us, and so open. I love traveling this way, knowing the locals, getting the insider's tips. I love meeting these people.
