Trip overview/ highlights:

1. Lecce
2. Otranto
3. Gallipoli
4. The Adriatic coastal road from Otranto to Santa Maria di Leuca
5. Locorotondo (and nearby Cisternino)
6. Some unsung towns of great charm that we discovered, all in the vicinity of Galatone: Ugento, Nardo' and Consentino

Here is the first day of our trip, including our departure from Milan:

Monday, October 18:
After 2 days of rain, we awaken to a brilliant, cloudless sky. My image of Milan changes sharply: this grimy city has charm. Around 10 AM, we head from Caiazzo station to the Duomo. After a short visit to the cathedral, we wander through the Galleria, past La Scala toward the Castello. The huge courtyards are bathed in sunlight. The museums are closed today, so there are relatively few people about. We admire the sculptural fragments that have been rescued from demolished buildings in the neighbourhood.

Too soon, we must rush home (with a quick stop at the supermercato for the makings of sandwiches), pack up, pay our bill to the slender girl who manages the Residence office, then scamper to the Malpensa bus. Check in at Malpensa takes 5 minutes, leaving us over an hour to sit outside in the sun and admire the distant snow-capped foothills of the Alps. When we finally reach the far, far corner of Malpensa from which we are to depart, the desk staff are literally hopping with anxiety (though we are 15 minutes from departure time). Apparently, they have already started the search for our bags, to off-load them.

For the whole of this Air One flight (new plane, half empty -- we have 3 seats each) I type my blog. We fly above a blanket of cloud that now stretches the length of Italy. Soon we arrive at Brindisi, whose landing strip ends at the sea. What a luxury to descend stairs and to walk across tarmac to a terminal, the way we used to travel. Our bags arrive in minutes, we are set with our outsized, boxy ``Picasso`` in a few minutes more. Everything is on a human scale; even the lanes on the freeway are narrower than up north. In under an hour, we are driving down the main road in Galatone, to our apartment at 52 v. S. Sebastiano.

We ring first at number 50, where we are greeted by Francesco`s handsome teenage son, a giant named Patrick. He ushers us into our apartment: newly renovated and equipped, a series of stone-vaulted rooms. We have a large sitting-dining room, a spacious modern kitchen, a small but high bedroom with minute, chic shower, basin and toilet… plus a beautiful barrel-vaulted bathroom with stone fireplace and a tiny closed-in courtyard.

A few minutes later papa` Francesco rings at our door. He collects the rent in cash, then breaks the news that all local restaurants are closed tonight (Monday). He gives directions to the local supermercato, offering to accompany us. I think we can manage on our own -- too bad it is now raining rather hard. In the event, R. improvises a brilliant dish: Pugliese orrechiette, coarse-cut pancetta, melanzane, pomidoro ciliegi, finocchio, onion, black olives, radicchio and garlic. With it, we have a bottle of 2E Rosso dei Greci Primitivo.

Tuesday, October 19:
I have discovered a book on the Salento peninsula, called “Salento: Istruzioni per l`uso”. I am drawn to the description of nearby Nardò. In pouring rain -- with no street drains, the runoff that pours into streets also stays there -- we drive to Nardò.

Oncoming cars send up fountains of spray. We park by the Castello (Palazzo Personè) and wander in the direction of the Piazza Salandra. Richly figural Baroque carving graces several churches and palazzi. Despite the rain, we are captivated by the opulence of this small town, particularly its central square, Piazza Salandra. We visit the cathedral, a couple of other churches and a cloister now given over to a market and a town library. For a moment, the sun peeps out.

From Nardò, we take the straight, fast road toward Porto Cesareo. The return of stormy weather encourages us to turn off before we reach our destination.

We are heading south now, toward Gallipoli. The flat landscape starts to undulate: we climb and dip. At each turning, we have a view of the angry, driven Ionian Sea. Wind and waves lash the shore. The spray of the waves off the rocks is prodigious: no swimmer or surfer could survive in these waters. Eventually, we reach Gallipoli, where we park in the lee of the storm underneath the battlements of the old castle.

R. comments on the exotic appearance of Gallipoli: with its Moorish arches and whitewashed facades, it seems like North Africa. We struggle ahead in the fierce wind; finally, we find a restaurant for lunch, the Scoglio delle Sirene.

We want to eat modestly, since we have a dinner reservation for the Tana del Lupo, a notoriously generous trattoria. We start with simple Pugliese salads -- some grim iceberg lettuce and tuna. Then I have ordered Grigliata di seppia (grilled cuttlefish) and R. has ordered zuppa di cozze, a mussels dish.

The waitress eventually delivers to R. a zuppa di pesce, a huge, pricey platter of mussels, langoustines, octopus, cuttlefish, swordfish and who knows what else, in a tomato broth. I am enlisted to help demolish this feast and I do. With a half-litre of house white and a litre of carbonated water, the bill is 43E50.

Later we wander through Gallipoli under the rain: my umbrella is pulled inside out and the rain soaks our trouser-legs. We look into one church in which artisans are refinishing all the pews and woodwork (echoes of the faux-marbre refinisher in a church in Nardò). Another neo-classical palazzo has a large marble plaque attesting to the connoisseurship of Sir Anthony Blunt, who “discovered” this building. Thus are British traitors celebrated and commemorated in Salento.

For dinner, we repair to the Tana del Lupo in nearby Galatina.

I have read so many references to this place that I am slightly daunted: this will be a blow-out feast. We arrive at an empty storefront restaurant whose Signora is welcoming but far from daunting. She explains that she will “serve what there is and you eat what you like”. We already know that the price is the same each day and for each customer: 25E a head.

The Signora brings water, rosé wine, bread and a handsome round of ricotta.

Next come the antipasti: fried eggplant, a frittata of funghi and cheese, peperoncini in agrodolce, black-eyed peas with capers, slices of pickled beet and zucca, grilled eggplant and zucchini and a plate of green beans and sundried tomatoes.

The primo is orecchiette in a broccoli broth. The secondo is a series of meat dishes with contorni: veal involtini with spinach, polpette in a tomato sauce, boiled cicoria with strips of meat, stewed beef and a purée of fave.

At some point we are presented with an aged ricotta, which is very good. Dessert is fruit, to which we add some ricotta, and a madeleine-shaped cake filled with custard. We help ourselves to the Signora`s homemade coffee liqueur at the end.

It would be pleasant to report that the food has blown us away but alas, it has not. It is all rather plain fare, lacking colour and zest. Perhaps the locals have made this discovery, too: on a rainy Tuesday evening, there is only one other customer, a young man who spends most of the evening on his cellphone.

The Signora`s husband and a large, heavy-jawed young woman (bearing dessert) appear part way through the evening and sit down at another table for their dinner. The Signora joins them and the trio is still sitting and smoking when we, full and moderately pleased with the evening, head off into the rain.

Wednesday, October 20:
A sunny, warm day at last. Around 9:30 we leave for the eastern shore of Salento: We will visit Otranto, then wander down the coast (AKA The Little Amalfi Coast) to Santa Maria di Leuca.

Though the distance is only 40 km, the drive to Otranto takes forever. Most towns have bypass roads. However, the bypass roads are all closed for re-construction. Once, we are diverted by a road closure and find the alternative road has been taken over by a street market. (We follow a local driver through back streets to escape the town.)

At Maglie, we find ourselves diverted again and ask a older man on a motor bicycle how to get out of town. He offers to lead us out -- we follow him until we reach an open road.

We easily find parking in Otranto (No charge on Wednesdays at the parking lot we choose -- a sign of our blessed state today).

We enter the old town by a northern gate and are stunned by the prospect that opens before us: A broad white stone terrace with balustrade; a smooth arc of seafront and sand beach; a towering jumble of medieval and renaissance buildings in golden stone.

We visit first the Cathedral, an ancient but much-renovated building best known for its tree-of-life mosaic floor. We have been warned that much of it is under plastic, awaiting restoration. The parts we can see are bold in execution, vigorously delineated, massive in scale.

Apart from the elaborate medieval floor and the exquisite carved and painted ceiling, much of the fabric of the church is ascetic and plain. The result is not violent contrast but a mellow balance.

We visit the Castello Aragonese, a building dating from 1000 years ago that the Angevins remodelled in the Middle Ages, the Saracens levelled in 1480 and the Spanish rebuilt and embellished from 1481 onward.

We can visit the courtyard and battlements freely; only a small number of the castle’s rooms are open, however. These oddly shaped spaces (Triangular Room, circular rooms in the towers) harbour small exhibitions such as the winning entries from the Rotary Club furniture design competition. We are almost alone in these beautifully restored spaces.

Later, we walk through the old town, whose, bleached-white houses have shutters and woodwork in the shade I call Tyrrhenian Blue.

Back on the road, we follow a dead-level but strangely looping road (a layout dictated by the local military camp, perhaps) across barren fields. There are no trees. The cliffs drop sharply to the sea, which is always at our shoulder.

We arrive at the tiny hamlet of Porto Badisco, hailed on Fodors as a picturesque cove. Next we come to the old thermal spa of S.ta Cesarea Terme, where huge hotel-relics crowd around a fabulous Moorish villa, complete with Brighton Pavilion dome and minarets.

We progress slowly down the coast, from Castro to Tricase to S.ta Maria di Leuca. Most of the time, we are alone on the road. We pull over wherever we wish. In fact, much of the coastline is still undeveloped.

We are struck by the democratic feel of this coast: Sure, there are gates and fences but there is also abundant provision for public access to the (always churning) sea; public infrastructure abounds; there is plenty of parking, too.

At S.ta Maria di Leuca, we stop for a late lunch -- a frittata of calamari with white wine at a nondscript trattoria on the front.

We push a bit further along the coast, to Torre Vedo, then pick up the fast, limited-access highway toward Galatone.

We make one final stop at Ugento, a hill-town of distinguished buildings. There are many signs of civic pride: small museums bespeak a local tradition of scholarship and love of place. Contrasting with that is the abundance of graffiti: Fede`Ti Amo 6 Incredibile. We are not sure where the young brigands come from who inflict these aesthetic wounds: everyone we see is an ancient weather-beaten peasant or toothless crone.

Back in Galatone, R. goes food shopping and I wander the town, checking out churches. A local man -- with characteristically sketchy dentition as noted earlier -- insists I see the interior of a Baroque church. Most important to him is the fragment of the True Cross enshrined there. Ìf we didn`t have that, we`d have nothing, he tells me in all seriousness.

He also takes me to the local tourist information office, to get material on Galatone: I balk at the 1E price for the booklet: I am carrying no money. Oh, it doesn`t matter, says the young woman.

R. in turn has been aided by a man who assists with weighing and pricing vegetables. The man later pursues him to ensure he knows the box wine he has chosen is Vino bianco. NON VINO ROSSO. Vino bianco.

We finish our evening with another fine version of R`s orecchiette with pancetta and eggplant -- this is now complemented by a salad of frisée and seafood, notably octopus and squid, and the local Primitivo, Torre dei Greci -- 1E 99 a bottle and 16% alcohol!

Tegdale: I've been waiting to hear how you fared! So far the going seems good except for the rain. I take it that you did not agree about Porto Badisco, but did you drive down the dirt road to the actual cove? Was the water along this coast still the transparent turquoise that I related last month? Eagerly awaiting more....

Porto Badisco was nice -- we drove down to the cove and I got a couple of nice shots.

But none of the places we saw that day really invited swimming, as the sea was quite rough. As well, the water tended to be murky near shore, because of the churn.

By contrast, yesterday was very still and quite warm and the Ionian sea around Gallipoli was gorgeous. We were airport bound so I could not swim but it was certainly as warm as any Canadian lake in summer.

We saw only 2 swimmers though and they looked like serious swimmners.

(The Pugliese seem pretty wimpy about *the cold*. They were in parkas the day I and all the Germans visiting Ostuni were in shorts.)

By the way, I made a sloppy ERROR above, writing Consentino for COPERTINO.

(Consentino is a great name for a town but no town of that name exists, as far as I know)

What did you think of Galatone? Good base for seeing the area by car? What are your thoughts about the apartment you rented? Many thanks!

It is a working class town with only a few noteworthy sights. However, it was a fine base and a friendly place. We even were befriended by the barber across the street.

As we were always on the go, we were looking for 1. comfortable accommodation and 2. ease of access and egress more than for prettiness/atmosphere.

It is connected by excellent motorways with Lecce and points north of Lecce. Gallipoli is 10-15 minutes. Beach 10-15 minutes. South coast of Salento is 30 minutes by motorway.

We ate in at night but it has at least one decent, simple restaurant (Scianne) and good food stores -- one was 3 minutes away on foot.

In Nardò, 5 miles away, there is a very smart café called Mood that looks very hip. In Gallipoli there are any number of restaurants.

The apartment was great -- 100% newly renovated/restored from a sad state of disrepair. Kitchen cabinetry was top notch, as was the bathroom and shower-room. New furniture, stylish too. Large interior volumes except that the bedroom was a mite small, by the standard of those of us used to NA tradition of domestic gigantism. But really it was fine...

The owner was exceptionally obliging, too.

Kodi, who posts here, is renting another property of his in nearby Galatina in February. Galatina is a great town too -- much more going on there but it is further off the motorway.

I am really enjoying this!

Thank you
Susan

Thursday, October 21:
Another bright, mild day.

I propose that we make this our `big` day of driving, to take in sights in more northerly areas, above the Salento peninsula: Ostuni, Cisternino, Locorotondo, Alberobello.

We make an earlyish start and do well until we turn off the freeway north of Brindisi, to head across country to Ostuni. Though the distance is short, our progress is slow.

We make a quick stop by the shore, so I can see the Adriatic: The sea is still rough, though warm. I wonder that anyone ever dares go in the water, its surges and the rocks are so forbidding.

We head to Ostuni through an area half-wild, half-suburbanized. Throughout the day, we encounter this un-charming phenomenon: smallholdings and villette, in a rocky and largely treeless landscape. Everyone, it seems, must have his four acres and a mule. We are never quite in the country and never quite in the town.

Ostuni turns out to be huge -- another recurrent motif in our visit to these more northerly regions is the unexpected scale of recent development.

Fifty years ago (and I can remember back fifty years) all these communities must have been sleepy backwaters. Now they are cities, in which a tiny and precious core is surrounded by miles of highrise apartments and light industry.

We crawl into Ostuni and providentially find free parking in a city lot not far from the historic centre, as the crow flies. The horizontal distance to the main sights is not great; the vertical distance is considerable.

R. says he is able to make it. We climb slowly to a vantage point, from which we can see the royal-blue Adriatic spread beneath us.

For the first time on this leg of our trip, we are aware of tourists: They are wearing shorts or capris, as I am. The Italians are wearing scarves -- in some cases, parkas.

I am unable to enter the Cathedral -- I had forgotten the interdiction on short pants. Instead, I duck down picturesque whitewashed alleys and check out the views of the distant Adriatic.

We drive off just after noon, heading for Cisternino, another cute and picturesque town engulfed and submerged by Progress, in the form of apartment blocks and office complexes.

The centre of Cisternino is a honeycomb of humble, whitewashed houses on which external staircases feature largely: Everyone seems to live upstairs from someone else; vertiginous, glossy steps mount upward to the sky.

We are sufficiently attracted by the place that we stop for lunch at a local trattoria, called Le Mandorle, on the edge of the historic district. This is a popular and well run place -- even the arrival of a family party of 14 does not faze the single waitress, who deftly handles all our orders.

Our lunch is prodigious:

Before we order, we are served: Squares of focaccia with tomato and cheese topping; a dish of olives and a dish of crisp, doughnut-shaped biscuits (tiralli or tirallini). Then:

R: Vegetable antipasto plate: Fava bean purée on bread; huge girolle mushroom slices in oil; grilled vegetables -- eggplant, sweet peppers, peperoncini, onion, zucchini; sundried tomatoes -- all on frisée salad

T: Five types of meat: ham, bresaola, salumi, plus bufala mozzarella and ricotta cheese -- all on frisée salad

Next, R: Fricelli pasta with mushrooms and sausage

T: Strascinate integrali - homemade whole-wheat pasta with a tomato sugo, grated cacio ricotta and basil

…With a half litre of house white, a half litre of fizzy water and 2 coffees. Not bad, at a total with service of 20E/ $28 each.

We push on, down trulli-strewn roads, to Locorotondo. I am again surprised how here in a backwater, a sizeable modern community has arisen.

But here the centro storico has been preserved with minute care. By comparison, charming Ostuni and Cisternino seem slovenly and neglected. Every inch of the historic district is manicured. The guide at the local Pro Loco speaks proudly of the architectural distinction of Locorotondo:

* Lime-washing, both internal and external, has been mandatory for almost 400 years as a protection against disease.
* The characteristic high gable roofs are unique in Italy.
* Locorotondo has a tradition of hanging and displaying flowers and succulents outside every house. The effect is cosy, human, harmonious in its uniformity.

Finally, we head to Alberobello, the home of the greatest concentration of trulli. There they are, a thousand of them surrounded by unsympathetic five-storey apartment blocks.

Yes, they are cute, if improbable. We are glad to have seen them -- but a half-hour in town is enough.

We head home via Fasano: we reach the edge of the high plateau overlooking the Adriatic, drop suddenly to the coastal plain, climb onto the freeway. Except for a final 10 minute stop, to stare once more at the sea (at a roadside spot that appears to be a place of assignation for local men) we drive straight home to Galatone.

I spend a few minutes at the noisy Internet point, R. makes up another light seafood salad, I wrestle with the pay-phone to change our Friday reservation in Lecce at Le Zie.

And to bed.

Really enjoying this. Thanks so much for all the detail.

julia1 I clicked on your name and saw your next trip is a photography venture in Val d'Orcia. I'm there now -- our third stay here -- and it is looking pretty splendid. Glad to answer any questions you may have about that area too.

Here are the coordinates for the restaurants mentioned in my report, including Le Zie, which I have yet to post about:

Le Zie
Via Colonnello Archimede Costadura, 19 (near the Santa Croce church), Lecce
08 32 245178

And here is the address for La Tana del Lupo, for which I cannot find a phone number...I think I have it somewhere....

Via del Balzo, 26 (quite near the Cathedral)
Galatina

I wish we had also tried its near neighbour, a few doors down in via del Balzo -- Le Tre Grazie, which gets several positive reviews on Tripadvisor:

ENOTECA LE TRE GRAZIE
GALATINA
Tel. 0836 564297

Le Mandorle in Cisternino has a website:
http://www.trattorialemandorle.it/

Trattoria "Le Mandorle
via San Quirico, 65 Cisternino (Brindisi)
tel./fax: +39 080 444 8569
lemandorle@libero.it

As has Lo Scoglio delle Sirene:
Riviera N. Sauro 83, Gallipoli
Tel / Fax 08 33.261091.
GPS POINT 40.0547 N - 17.9733 E ...
www.scogliodellesirene.com

Your detail is excellent--I had forgotten the beautiful pocket gardens in front of many of the Locorotondo buildings. That town was exquisite. I have to admit, though, that I did not noticed anything disheveled about Ostuni or Cisternino (although I was only in Cisternino for a few minutes, in the blinding rain!) That is why I find it so interesting to read your report, and others about the area, and hear the various opinions of places that I visited. REaching the center of these towns was a bit of a problem for us, and we tended to park too far away because I felt worried about getting stuck on some narrow one-way street in the historic core.

Thanks so much for this report..

OK, here is the cell phone number for Tana del Lupo
339 684 1750

Just brilliant, tedgale. I have really enjoyed your report.

Friday, October 22:
Today is consecrated to Lecce and to Leccese cooking, as practised at the Le Zie (The Aunts), a trattoria now celebrated in the publications of Mr. Condé Nast.

I am conscious of how seriously the people of the Salento take the siesta and how tightly shut everything is during those hours. We want to maximize our time before the iron curtain drops at 1 PM. Accordingly, we leave home quite early for the 20 minute drive into Lecce.

On our trips past Lecce on the motorway, I have been appalled at the density and spread of the place. I am petrified at the idea of driving into the core of this huge, amorphous metropolis (pop. 105,000).

With the help of a good map, we find a quick way into the centre and also chance upon a convenient parking spot -- 1E an hour, with free parking 2 to 4 PM.

The core of Lecce is largely car-free -- a zona di traffico limitato. Since we are in Italy, the exceptions to the interdiction are many: police, taxis, the handicapped and persons on official business, of which there is quite a bit in this provincial capital.

Officialdom seems also to have got its pick of the many, many magnificent 17th and 18th C palazzi that grace the core. Each one has bold and intensely elaborate Baroque carving in the warm pietra Luccese -- around doorways and windows, on the undersides of balconies, on exterior balustrades and cornices.

But the real eye-poppers are the churches, whose exteriors are a riot of figurative carving: saints, devils, plants and animals, supplementing an already profuse embellishment of decorative devices.

Their interiors are likewise riotously elaborate -- for example, with side-chapels framed with twisted stone pillars decorated from top to bottom with carved figures.

My favourite is Santa Croce, saved from garishness by the lack of colour: wild though the interior decoration is, it is mostly executed in a cool, pure white and grey.

The most magnificent space in town is the Piazza del Duomo: the Duomo, its accompanying free-standing 70 metre white campanile, an adjacent seminary (from which came most of the castrato singers of the South -- yikes) and various minor buildings are grouped around a vast empty square.

Other notable sights: Santa Irene, San Matteo, the Chiesa Greca (Greek Church), the Roman arena and a large cloister, now secularized, in which local women are selling handicrafts, including some of the ugliest paintings on the Italian peninsula.

For lunch, we have reserved at the celebrated Le Zie (The Aunts); a kindly woman in the tourist office has given us directions to the barely marked premises.

We arrive just on the stroke of 1 PM, the usual opening hour for restaurants here, and ring at a locked door. The room into which we are ushered is high, windowless, plainly furnished, with shiny white wainscoting. With a few touches from a decorator, it could be made shabby-chic. But this place has no such pretensions.

A young woman in jeans briskly takes orders -- perhaps it would be more accurate to say “gives orders” -- for wine, water and our antipasto: “I’ll bring you a selection of grilled and cooked vegetables, shall I?”

The room starts to fill up: all men. Here, women cook and serve (very deftly and with an evident pride) and men eat, converse conspiratorially and take lengthy calls on their cellphones. They also confer lengthily with the servers, then deliver their decisions abruptly and emphatically.

Shortly we are served grilled eggplant, sweet pepperoni in agro dolce, white beans with mint and a delicious mixture of sliced potatoes, carrots, onion and tomato.

As primi, I choose pappardelle with polpette and chunks of meat in a tomato sauce, while R opts for stufata (minestrone) of onion, potato, zucchini, eggplant, carrot and fennel.

We are feeling rather full but R. cannot pass up a secondo, which we share: Polpe (octopus), black peppercorns and potato in a rich tomato reduction. With water, a half litre of white and half litre of red, the bill comes to 54E.

We emerge into a dazzle of sunlight.

During the siesta, Lecce is as empty as a plague-city: windows are shuttered, streets are empty of tourists and locals alike. We revisit some of the large public spaces we visited this morning, such as Piazza del Duomo, simply for the pleasure of experiencing them in silence, and in the glare of midday.

Lecce is about 15 minutes from the Adriatic, by a fast if ugly road. We head to the shore, where we travel south along a modern two-lane highway that often swings close to the sea and a series of small-scale and pleasantly tacky communities.

I am reminded of out-of-season Tybee Island, outside Savannah GA. At Torre dell’ Orso we drive off the road, down a dirt lane, and find ourselves near the edge of an escarpment, overlooking a stretch of jagged rocks and the sea. A lone fisherman tends his lines.

We make our way by smallish back roads to Galatina, a town of 25,000.

As with so many Italian towns, dismal outskirts conceal a precious circular core of grand public spaces and distinguished buildings. The largest of the churches, on the main square, has an elaborate and impressive Baroque façade; its interior disappoints, however.

Far more compelling is the smaller, older church of Santa Caterina, whose entire interior is decorated with brilliantly coloured frescoes (presumably early Renaissance) of Biblical scenes. In the adjacent cloister, the polychrome frescoes are later, delicately coloured Baroque works.

It is almost dusk when we return to Galatone.

Tonight, R will cook the last of the orecchiette, this time with seafood. We also have a bottle of Prosecco from the apartment owner to consume before we go. The rest of the evening is spent packing and straightening.

And here are the coordinates for that hip-looking restaurant in Nardò, which I thought was called Mood but turns out to be called Modò

NOTE: their sign and their business cards read
MO
OD
so my error was understandable....

Modò
via Duomo 20 , Nardò
08 33 579538
www.ristorantemodo.it

Damn, I see my *helpful* spellcheck has been at it again: "sweet peperoncini" becomes (above, Le Zie discussion) "sweet pepperoni".

I assure you I DO know the difference.

BTW I just caught spellcheck's transmutation of "pappardelle" into "appareled"!

Oh, goody - another Tedgale trip report. Your writing is just superb, and your detail is so welcome.

I have a Bookmark file called "Tedgale" in which go all of your suggestions and experiences.

I will stay anyplace you have stayed. (Perhaps you should be getting commissions!)

Thanks for it all -- waiting for more, and always glad to hear more about the Val d'Orcia, where we luckily spent a week last June.

Saturday, October 23:
Galatone is a working-class town but it preserves a few remnants of an earlier grandeur. I have visited these on my own but R has not seen them, apart from the 18th C Porta San Sebastiano, through which we daily pilot our outsized vehicle.

On our final morning, we take a walk through the historic centre and visit one golden-stone church after another: three major ones (including the impressively carved and gilded church of the Crucifix, where the fragment of the true cross reputedly lies) and one minute chapel, sheltered behind a massive stone grille, that is unexpectedly open today.

An indifferent cleaner continues her work as we peer at this little gem. It obviously has been under repair, a process now approaching completion. Dust coats the floor and all the chapel’s chairs are piled in the tiny courtyard between the grille and the chapel door.

After our goodbyes to Francesco’s wife, we are on the road to Gallipoli by 10 AM.

The contrast with the rain-lashed town we saw on Tuesday is staggering: the sky is a brilliant blue, the sea is the proverbial ultramarine, the old town positively gleams white. We park at the foot of the impressive castle, where a road snakes down to a boat launch.

We snag the last parking spot. A young man roars down right after us and parks across the boat launch, which leads to a volley of curses (in impenetrable Pugliese dialect) from a toothless old man who is working at the water`s edge.

The obnoxious young man screams back, then strides off. The old man mounts an antiquated motor-bicycle and tootles away, still complaining loudly to no one in particular.

We discover that this Saturday is one of a series in which churches are staffed by volunteer guides, generally bookish-looking young men. We stroll the whole way around the circular promontory that surrounds the old town (actually an island, linked to the rest of town by a causeway), visiting as we go.

The churches run the gamut -- from the Cathedral`s sombre Baroque magnificence to primitive kitsch in some of the small chapels. The variety is staggering and a couple of the churches are true gems.

There are few foreign tourists here -- the visitors` books show only Italian visitors -- but the place nevertheless has a festive air, as though everyone had the day off. Proximity to the seaside seems to lighten the heart: this is the only place in Puglia where we have seen locals in T-shirts, shorts and sandals, for example.

At noon we start up the Ionian coast for a quick picnic lunch. The pretty seaside towns near Gallipoli -- Rivabella, Santa Maria al Bagno, Santa Caterina -- are lovely and, even in the off-season, have a carnival air.

A bit further north, the land flattens out, the vegetation gets scrubby and the rocky shoreline discourages bathing. We eat our lunch at San Isidoro, in the shadow of a huge defensive stone tower, one of many that line the Salento coastline.

As time is getting short, we now head to Lecce via Copertino.

Our final hours in Puglia illustrate the variety, the exoticism and the unpredictability of this place: Copertino turns out to have an historic centre entirely surrounded by defensive walls in spectacular condition. A grand Baroque gate opens the way into this district but …we cannot stop.

On the road out of town, we pass two young men leading camels: then we spot the Big Top, a caged peacock and a giraffe. Must be the Circo di Praga that we have seen advertised locally.

Our route is also blocked, as we near the motorway, by a huge flock of flop-eared sheep, which a shepherd is leading home.

We pass another flock, which is being driven by the shepherd down a newly laid-out suburban road, past still incomplete low-rise apartment blocks. The contrast of an ancient way of life and raw modern development is delightful.

From the motorway, we reach the airport quickly. We have already determined in advance that the Agip by the motorway exit remains open through the afternoon.

(Our gasoline purchase entitles us to buy a piece of genuine Pugliese artigianato (I choose a large-ish earthenware pitcher) for 1E 50. Tacky... but I love it.

Brindisi airport is tiny, ultra-modern and very easy to navigate. Car drop off takes 2 minutes; check in takes scarcely longer. There is, on average, one flight an hour -- so at any one time, most of the people in the airport are heading to or from the same flights.

Security is very casual: no notices about liquids or gels, no booming announcements about untended bags. In fact, there are no PA announcements at all.

We walk to the plane and choose between fore and rear entrances. Our flight departs a few minutes early -- we are all present and accounted for, so why not leave?

The plane banks over the ocean and we see a long stretch of sandy, scantily developed farmland, fronting a turquoise sea. Over to the west I can see the glittering Arch of the Boot -- the Ionian shoreline of Basilicata.

We are on our way to the North!

Heavenly.

Taconic: I think we can safely talk about the Val d'Orcia here -- there doesn't seem to be much general Fodorite interest in Puglia, apart from the 4 readers who so kindly commented and complimented my posts.

Sunday we retraced our steps from previous visits to the Val d'Orcia: Pienza, followed by San Quirico, then Montalcino and the Abbey of Sant' Antimo.

I'm not too fussy about Montalcino but I think the other towns are superb.

Sant' Antimo is like going back 800 years in time. When I first saw it, I really GOT what people find so compelling about Romanesque architecture: The simplicity, purity, austere grandeur.

Its plainness is part of its power; where there is elaboration, it seems to arise from some higher impulse -- say, to glorify God -- rather than from a vulgar need to fancy things up.

A nice contrast to the over-the-top Baroque wedding-cake architecture of Puglia!

Tomorrow I'll fulfil a long-time Val d'Orcia dream: a visit to the gardens (who knows what state they will be in at this season) at La Foce, home of the Origo family.

The gardens were designed by a British designer in the 20s-30s, were financed by Marchesa Origo's NYC grandmother, reflect the gardens at the Irish country seat of her Anglo-Irish grandfather, the Earl Dysart...

All this horticultural splendour is set within what was, when they bought the property in the 20s, a waterless near-desert amidst the "creti senesi".

Tedgale I love love love your reports and this one is wonderful. Thank you.

Thanks -- I'm glad people like to read about these trips!

BTW I'm told Ottawa has the rare distinction of being WARMER than Tuscany today.

A weather front moved through central Italy and it was REALLY chilly and very blustery beside.

I would not have been surprised to see some snow flakes in the air. We are supposed to return to sun and seasonal temps tomorrow.

Did it really get near 20 C in Ottawa????

Indeed it did, according to Environment Canada; 20°C for more than an hour this afternoon.

tedgale, your trip reports are authoritative, elegant, and enticing. Pass on my regards to R.

E

Ted, a real joy to read! Thank you. I am going to print your report for future reference. I can't wait for my trip, and reading your report gives me more reason to be excited.

Where did you get the book on Salento Peninsula?

Ted when I went out to Farm Boy today to buy some salmon for supper it was 19C! Two days ago it was 3C. Last week the colours were wonderful but not many leaves left on the trees in Ottawa now.

Belatedly, thank you for this report. You've painted a wonderful picture! You've helped put Puglia on my wish list. After a day in front of the computer at work, I still can't wait to get home to (hopefully) a new installment. I'm remiss in not letting it be known that I am following along and appreciating your efforts in this report - and how much I've enjoyed your other contributions. You're good! You're really, really good!

great report.

Great report...as usual!

Tedgale; Just catching up! We stayed at one of the La Foce houses in June: (Montauto,) with friends. My fourth stay in the val d'Orcia starting in 1997, and third time at a La Foce house.

I'm anxious to hear what you think of Cecil Pinsent's gardens. I quite like to combo of the Italian structure and the English/Irish touches.

Hope you got a great tour, and have you met Benedetta Origo? The manager Benedetta Isidori is also very welcoming. the whole family story is most compelling, and I presume you and others have read The War in The Val d'Orcia, by Iris Origo.

I've read that plus Caroline Morehead's bio of Iris, plus Iris' autobiography: Images and Shadows. All very good reading for those who are interested in the area.

And, yes, Sant'Antimo (esp. sans crowds) is really an experience, and no I'm not crazy about Montalcino either, I wonder why? I do love the Brunello, and the Rosso di Montalcino though.

I almost missed this wonderful trip report, Glad to have checked in here.

I have read all three of those books.

I'm an Edith Wharton/ Henry James fan, so the connection of Iris' mother with that crowd (via her later husbands) was also of interest.

I must get my report done on the gardens, which I very much admired. Not much colour in this season -- but that just made the structure stand out so much more clearly.

We also saw quite a bit of the property, by car. I'll put it all in my report today.

But now, as our heating and water heater seem to have stopped working in the night, I need to contact the apt. owners in Rome. Guess I'll have to buy a phone card, for starters!

Since people seem to like what I write and since I have nothing more to post about Puglia, I decided -- and this is sheer exhibitionism on my part -- to post the text of my blog for the start of our trip: Our departure from Canada and our weekend in Milan.

It may not really be Fodors-worthy because there is little travel info or sight-seeing advice. Some of it is rather personal, hence of limited interest to others.

But it does have some human interest. Moreover, since I was brought into contact with a number of interesting Milanese, it may be of interest to those who know and like that city. Finally, some of it is QUITE funny, in a sardonic, rueful, self-depreciating way....

With those caveats, I invite you to read on.
__________________________________

Friday October 15:
The usual KLM bus to Montreal. The driver calmly announces a few minutes after our nominal departure time that the bus will not start and he has already called Maintenance, who will be there in minutes.

The repair man does not come. And does not come.

The driver is offered a replacement bus by the driver for Air France but declines it, for reasons known only to himself. Passengers start exchanging mutinous looks. Finally, the jaunty young repairman boosts the engine and we are off to the airport.

At KLM check-in, a nasty surprise: our cherished aisle seats have been given away. Richard says we have printed confirmation of our seat assignments. “Confirmed but not guaranteed” is the response.

The agent commiserates -- but we are still stuck with middle seats, way back in rows 30 and 31.

I call Dan at his office and bleat out my tale. As always, he has the savvy take of a constant traveler: Check in on-line and print your boarding pass at home: your seats are locked in. Next time, I will.

The middle-seat fiasco is bad enough but worse awaits us:

The window seat is occupied by a shaven-headed Buddha whose arms barely meet over his gut. I take my seat and stoically await the other slice of bread for this sandwich.

This presently looms above me: A grey-haired Quebecois, 6’2 or 3, fat, pedo moustache, clad in unseasonal shorts and sandals, no doubt for their ease of fit.

The flight is slightly less awful than it might have been. The blimp in the aisle seat also does not sleep, so I am able to get past him when I need to get to the WC: (Had he been asleep, I could not even have climbed over him, so fully does he block the passage to the aisle).

The KLM seats are quite wide and the legroom quite ample, so I sit in relative comfort -- on another plane, my plight would be worse.

At midnight, 5 hours after takeoff, I start to feel I could sleep at last.

At this point the cabin crew switches on the overhead lights and begins serving breakfast. An hour and a half later (7:30 AM local time) we land at Schiphol.

October 16:
There seems to have been a change in the tax laws: Passengers to other EU countries can now pay “duty free” prices for booze, just like those leaving the EU. During our 2 hour stopover in Amsterdam, I buy a litre of good Genever, cheap and flavourful.

The KLM flight to Milan Malpensa is uneventful. No views of the Alps, as all is overcast.

We arrive on time, then wait endlessly for luggage. By the time we find the Malpensa shuttle bus (Gate 6, not Gate 5 as the on-line info has it) 1h10 has elapsed. The bus to Milano Centrale takes another 1h10. An irony, since the flight itself was only 1h40.

At least two companies run shuttles to Malpensa from Milano Centrale: Malpensa Express and Malpensa Shuttle (which we used) depart from the same spot. The Shuttle bus leaves 10 minutes late, stops at Terminal 2, stops at FieroMilano on the outskirts of town and then winds its way painfully toward the train station.

Had we not already bought (12 E) round-trip tickets, we would not return to Malpensa by this bus.

Later I realize how much more convenient is the train service to Milano Cadorna: The train takes 26 minutes, leaves from the airport terminal, arrives at a far more central spot than the bus.

Milano Cadorna is a lovely modern station -- everything at street level; trains just inside the front doors; direct connection to the Metro service; 5 minutes walk from the Castello Sforzesco. There is even a check-in counter for Malpensa flights.

On arrival at the elephantine Fascist-era Milano Centrale station, we are only 4 minutes’ walk from our rental apartment at Residence de la Gare. The building, in via Macchi is handsome and the side street in which is stands is isolated from the traffic that swirls around it.

We buzz and are admitted to a virtual construction site. Plastic sheeting hangs over the entrance to the Reception area. A small man bustles out from a door in the rear courtyard, bearing keys. We are set. The regular secretary returns only Monday morning; we are to pay when we leave.

The one-bedroom apartment is well fitted with everything we need for a short stay; the spacious marble-floored bathroom is immaculate, the kitchenette new and decently equipped. The internet connection works well. Windows in the high-ceilinged rooms are large -- we also have a small balcony overlooking the backs of other buildings.

(Higher-priced apartments that overlook the street have no balcony.)

The furnishings, carpets and curtains look a bit cheap and sad, though new.

We are mystified when we see no one else all weekend, though our apartment was the last one available when I booked. (The mystery is resolved Monday at 8 AM, when the jack-hammering starts on the floor below. Lower floors are currently un-occupiable.)

By now it is 2 and we have to meet Roberto at the Duomo entrance of the Galleria at 3:30. We make a short stop at the nearby supermercato for breakfast supplies, then hop onto the excellent Metro (1E, day pass 3 E) for the Duomo stop.

At Piazza del Duomo, we stand uncertainly under the entrance to the impressive Galleria. Around us surge Japanese, Americans and some of the locals on their passeggiata.

Suddenly, from behind, a flying tackle: Roberto is hugging me. The verbal fireworks start immediately. Dearest friend of my youth, he is as intense, as deeply curious, as impassioned as when he was a stripling of 18.

Roberto takes us out of the Piazza del Duomo toward the via Dante. Friends have organized an international competition of posters on 7 humanitarian themes. Entries came from perhaps 70 countries. A panel has judged them. The winners are mounted the length of via Dante, all the way to the Castello.

At the exhibition, Roberto introduces me to a young journalist just returned from North Africa: He tells me this man is “crazy’ but also “brilliant“.

Next we meet Pasquale, creator of the competition, and young female collaborator Gabriella, a Luccese with whom we excitedly discuss our trip to Lecce.

Roberto takes us down via Dante to stop at the Piccolo Teatro, where his friend the highly successful entrepreneur Marco joins us. Marco has just returned from SF and Silicone Valley. We talk (I, stumblingly) about the impact of the internet on politics, on relationships, on love…

We excuse ourselves to allow Roberto and Marco to proceed to a meeting with Pasquale. Roberto tells us we are to meet at the Gorla metro stop at 8:40 PM.

I wonder a bit that Roberto, who is so casual about time, can be so precise in this instance.

I have my explanation shortly after we disembark at the Gorla station and see Roberto filming us: We walk together to the enoteca and discover Roberto’s wife and 9 other guests assembled at a long table. Roberto promised me a festa and here it is.

Prosecco di Valdobbiadene to start. A fine Valpolicella to follow. Antipasto misto with speck and salumi and cheeses.

I follow with spaghettoni with funghi and saffron that arrives without the saffron: Roberto announces that the tiny kitchen is somewhat overwhelmed by our orders and may have run out of some ingredients.

As the evening advances, there are avowals of undying friendship and deep fraternal regard. Roberto rises to give a speech when a cake, lit with candles, arrives: He has brought a CD of a Canadian singer, our near-neighbour Lynn Miles, for atmosphere.

I am obliged to rise in response. I salute Roberto, his wife, the generous guests. Finally, we spill onto the rainy street, where Roberto poses us for a final photo against the rain-slicked road. Eugenio drives us home, along with Sean, an American friend of Roberto.

Sunday October 17:
Jetlag convulses us.

I expected to sleep deeply: I awake around 8:30 am. R. claws his way to consciousness 2 hours later. We are to meet Roberto at Piazza del Duomo at 11:30 AM.

Hurriedly, we shower, dress and head off via the Metro to the Duomo stop. Roberto suggests we walk to the Triennale, whose all-white café has a chic buffet brunch.

It is starting to rain. We meander to a bookstore, the Castello Sforzesco and a restored theatre. When we finally get to the Triennale café, we find there are no free tables.

My instinctive reaction is “OF COURSE there are no tables and why didn’t you reserve?” ....but Roberto has talked his way around the man at the front: We may have a table if we are out in 45 minutes.

A fixed charge of 28 E per head for “All you can eat”; an enticing selection of food; a strict time limit: I know only one way to respond to this triple challenge. For the next 45 minutes I become the seasoned trencherman, briskly downing uova strappazate, lasagne with funghi, smoked salmon, grilled sweet peppers, salad, chocolate mousse and pear and almond tart. We finish with coffees at the bar.

Richard is collapsing with fatigue and wants to go home.

We walk him to the nearby Cadorna station, with its witty “Fashion” sculpture: A huge needle threaded with multiple colours plunges into the ground; on the other side of the traffic, the multicolour knot and tail of thread -- the other end of a line of stitches -- is seen.

I plan to take the 3 PM guided tour of the Castello Sforzesco, which involves climbing battlements and ducking into tunnels (“Please bring your own torch”).

We discover, however, that reservations are required and no one has reserved. Tour cancelled. Accordingly, I accompany Roberto -- again by Metro -- to Milano Centrale and see him off on his train to Florence.

Returning home, I spend a listless evening between wakefulness and sleep, watching first a bit of Forrest Gump (just to savour the scenes of Savannah) and then the more interesting (and even tackier) 1949 melodrama Riso Amero, starring Silvana Mangano.

Called “Bitter Rice” in North America, the film’s title is actually a play on words: Riso Amero = Bitter Rice but also Bitter Laughter.

In the late 1940s, female workers in the Po Valley rice fields evidently found lots of ways to get their thin blouses soaking wet. And of course, their work required them to hike their skirts up to their thighs. In all other respects, a fine drama with elements of “searing social commentary”, in quotes.

Monday, October 18:
We awaken us to a brilliant, cloudless sky.

(And then my Puglia blog begins -- see above)

Ted: Your "exhibitionism" is absolutely welcome! As your tale unwinds in such a fluid easy way, you manage to impart huge amounts of information, AND to evoke such memories of Milan for me -- many thanks again and again.

This June, we stayed out at Malpensa at the First Hotel, so that we could spend a day at Lago di Orta, but I have stayed in Milan, and had such nice memories of Milanese that I met, at a strange event, which was the dedication of the re-creation, or actually, the first creation of the Da Vince horse, which had been cast in nearby Beacon, NY.

Through a friend, with whom I was traveling to La Foce, we got invited to the dedication. This elegant event, held at the Hippodromo, was replete with the usual Italian laying on of Prosecco and elegant buffet, and resulted in our meeting with some charming young Milanese, and even invited to ride on their Vespas (we are both well into our seventies! - so very flattered)

Also part of the dedication events were: supper at the restaurant where Risotto Milanese was apparently invented, and fabulous seats at La Scala where Muti made Beethoven's Fifth sound like something I had never heard before!

Milan has lots to offer...

Meanwhile I will await more blog and more about the La Foce gardens.

I can't help but smile at your description of your outbound KLM flight. We had a similar situation happen last spring with our Air France flight to Paris and ultimately Bilbao.

Long story short I tried in vane to to check-in on line with Air France, but couldn't and arrival into ATL was delayed, with no boarding passes when we got to the departure gate in ATL we were relagated to middle seats, not even close togther (rows 30-something and 60-something!) Fortunately mom was able to swap with her seat mate for an aisle and I had a rather lithe and well beahaved pre-teen sitting next to me who was a pleasure to sit next too.

We will be flying KLM on our flight to Bologna in a few weeks and I'm hoping to be able to 1) check-in on-line and 2) have the same slightly roomier seats your outbound plane did!

ttt for later.

La Foce coming up shortly.

BTW, that zigzag road bordered with cypresses, opposite La Foce. Yes, the most photographed road in Tuscany,

The "cypress avenue" idea was a collaboration of Iris Origo and Cecil Pinsent.

So. If you are ever tempted to drive that "white" road, just to see what it's like....

DON'T. DON'T. DON'T!!!!

At first you say This is rough but our little car can manage it.

Then you breast the summit of the hill... La Foce disappears behind you ...and you are out there in the Crete Senesi.

You, a deficient rental Fiat Panda and about 100,000 small sharp rocks and their boulder uncles.

This was not an "unmade road". Some of it was, in fact, carefully laid. We saw the neatly aligned flints -- someone circa 1500 thought this was a great piece of engineering. Our tires thought otherwise.

If your idea of modern highway design is the via Appia Antica, you'll love this.

Otherwise, stay on the asphalted bits. "White" roads look great. From a distance. Avoid like the plague!

Hey, Ted: I've been up that road! and you are correct, it is rocky, but do able -- though not recommended! I think there is now an upscale B & B or Agriturismo there - I loved going up there and walking on the Crete Senesi -- but you have to be there for a while to be able to take the time to wander...

What I loved was being in that area for three weeks, with enough time to wander on the "stradale bianci" or is it "bianchi" or "bianche" (see how Italian fades from memory in this uberAmerican language place called USA) where we made such lovely discoveries, like Castigliogncello d'Orcia, a tiny hamlet south of La Foce, but up a very steep road, with lovely views of the valley, where there used to be a divine restaurant. pas encore.

So glad you are there, and enjoying the off-season-ness of the val d'Orcia.

Here is a link to a Facebook album that shows the apartment in Galatone that we rented:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2086522&id=1126123095&l=05353e73f8

The apartment can also be seen at http://www.holiday-rentals.co.uk/p444365

And here is a link to my album of favourite (rather "arty") shots of Puglia -- a lot of this is architecture, which is my special interest:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2086562&id=1126123095&l=93dcbb02be

Tedgale: Thanks for posting these--I have no home computer at the moment (using in library for a few minutes only) but will be sure to take a good look once the problem is fixed...

Our various computers here seem to be acting up as well: One old laptop has lately proven irreparable, hence useful only as a word processor.

The screen of the second laptop went black this morning.

Our main PC is suddenly acting very weird, ever since I downloaded yet another slew (586) of trip photos: I do have Internet connection but most of the time Google tells me it cannot open the page I seek (incl. Fodors).

We are left with one tiny and rather limited NetBook to share between 2 people who work professionally -- and generally communicate with the world -- entirely via e-mail and the Web....

So I shall be *encouraged* to stay off Fodors and other "social media" for the near term.

what a lovely apartment - and a steal too.

Puglia is suddenly looking even more attractive!

For taconic and others: I just posted to my Tuscany trip report this album of La Foce photos, with this comment:

"Not a lot of bloom in this season, of course. But one appreciates all the more the "bones" of the garden: it is very much a set of exterior rooms, defined by walls, by decorative elements in stone and by changes in level."

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2087761&id=1126123095&l=949e28528e

Hi Ted: I just saw them on your other report. Super photos, you're a prince! Have you seen the "coffee table" book that Benedetta Origo did a few years ago? Some of your photos would have made the cut for that lovely treasure.

bkmk

Hi Ted -- Kodi directed me to your TR. Said u also took pics of the Galatina apt?

Yes. Let me look for them and I'll post them here.

Sorry, not the Galatina apt that Kodi planned to rent (which is amply illustrated, however, on the rental site) but photos of our Galatone apartment....

The first photos in this album are the Galatone apt:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1628787916016.2086522.1126123095&type=3&l=05353e73f8

...and here, in case I did not post them somewhere above, are my fave shots of this part of Puglia:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1629446652484.2086562.1126123095&type=3&l=93dcbb02be

Thanks! Your apt looks beautiful. Do I understand correctly that it is not owned by the same guys who own the one in Galatina that Kodi looked at?

Also love your photos of Puglia -- really has me anticipating this trip.

Kodi shared some of your notes on the area and they were very helpful -- always love restaurant tips.

Thanks so much for sharing your lovely photos!