Getting to Know the Carabinieri: An Overdue Italy Trip Report
Feb 13th, 2009, 12:26 PM
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DH and I visited Pesaro several times when we lived just south of there (in the Abruzzo) and became very fond of it.I loved seeing your photos. But, even though it is a huge hit with Italians, Pesaro doesn't usually get on a tourist agenda. I was curious as to what drew you and your friend there and whether you would direct other North Americans to experience this very Italian-style resort?
Feb 13th, 2009, 12:43 PM
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LJ,
Pesaro was our choice mainly because it was on the way to Puglia and was a good spot from which to visit Urbino by public transport. My friend R had much to say about the merits of Pesaro as a beach resort, or the lack thereof in her opinion. But she is a native of Rimini and does her two beach weeks on the wider stretch of sand there. Certainly in March we weren't there for the beach . . .
Pesaro was our choice mainly because it was on the way to Puglia and was a good spot from which to visit Urbino by public transport. My friend R had much to say about the merits of Pesaro as a beach resort, or the lack thereof in her opinion. But she is a native of Rimini and does her two beach weeks on the wider stretch of sand there. Certainly in March we weren't there for the beach . . .
Feb 14th, 2009, 09:07 AM
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DAY 6: Saturday, 8 March 2008 - Pesaro and Urbino
Il Giorno de la Donna
The sun is shining. The streets are dry. The hotel offers only the simplest of breakfasts: coffee or tea and a cornetto. But I don't care because I feel well rested for the first time in days. Because we don't get out the door 30 minutes sooner, our bus is not the rapido. This means that the 35 kilometer trip to Urbino takes 1 hour and 15 minutes as we make stops in every little town along the route. The bright sunshine makes for a pleasant ride though rolling green countryside, the usual Italian contrast of farmhouses from another century set beside shopping malls and industrial parks. Slowly we climb into the hills, eventually reaching Borgo Mercantile, a large car park and bus station just outside Urbino's city walls.
University students fill the streets, enjoying the sunny day as we climb the steepest street in the world into town. We explore the city walls around the Palazzo Ducale and then go inside. Since it is il Giorno de la Donna (International Working Woman's Day), we're waved past the ticket booth, and then watch the men behind us pause to pay. Initially the palace seems warm and sunny inside, but soon I'm buttoning my coat and donning gloves against the chill. The palace is all about the art displayed. There's little furniture, mostly clean white walls with gilded plaster carvings around the doors. The collection features some interesting religious art, mostly by names unfamiliar to me, though Tiziano, Veronese, Guido Reni, Uccello, and Raffaello make appearances. A big surprise was finding Piero della Francesca's La Citta Ideale - the famous image is surprisingly small.
One room of note: R is excited to show me the Studiolo of Duke Federico. Years ago we visited the duke's brother's palace in Gubbio and found an empty, stripped room where his studiolo had been. As we studied the didatic panel, I realized that the beautiful inlaid panels had been purchased and reassembled in a small room in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC –I’ve visited them many times. When we were in Gubbio, R mentioned that Urbino's studiolo was more beautiful. As we follow a boisterous noisy high school group through the palace, we hang back to let them pass. When we reach the studiolo, it is indeed as she said. The trompe-l'oeil woodwork is amazing. We share the small space with one other visitor. R asks the guard and he unlocks a door so we three can step out onto the loggia that we had seen from the town walls. The door is locked behind us as we move on. Many doors between the rooms continue the theme of fine wood inlays.
I don't think Urbino has a single flat street, each one sends you up or down a hill. Our lunch choice, Trattoria del Leone (Via Battisti), is tucked under a church and when the bus turns the corner it seems as if will drive through the window and into our table. We decide to try the local specialties advertised. R and I both have the tagliatelle with regional olive oil and bread crumbs. While the homemade pasta is delightful, the bread crumbs absorb all the oil and turn to mush. R describes her frittata as "stupid" - seems like a slice cut from a loaf of frittata. My salsicce with local cheese is good but filling. The pecorino grated over the delicious spinach seems like overkill. R is disappointed with the roasted potatoes, describing last night's potatoes as ideal. Total bill €40.
The Duomo is a real surprise - huge, bright, and minty green. R is puzzled by the age of the paintings that fit the space so well compared to the age of the building. The guard explains that the church, except for two chapels, was destroyed in an earthquake. The new church was built to fit the old art. He went on to explain that two days before our viait it snowed in Urbino and everything was covered in white. Had we visited earlier, we would have been unprepared to walk the steep streets in such conditions. He also complained about those same noisy kids we'd seen in the palace. After a climb to the top of town for a great view over the countryside, we walk slowly down the hill, window-shopping along the way to the bus stop. We can see storms approaching across the valley and are happy to get on the bus.
Back in Pesaro the streets, so empty yesterday, are packed with people. R heads back to her room while I join the crowd, grabbing a chocolate and pistachio gelato along the way. Families are everywhere and small children are enjoying the little carousel at the end of the street.
Trattoria Da Sante manages to fit us in since we arrive early. They will be fully booked later in the evening for the holiday. The waiter brings us both some yellow mimosa, the traditional gift for il Giorno de la Donna. We can't resist ordering spaghetti in bianca alla vongole again. R has the coda di rospo and I have cotaletta Milanese, and we both have insalata mista. Somehow the bill is the same as last night -- €37. We walk Pesaro's streets, planning a stroll to the sea in the morning before we catch the train to Molfetta.
Tomorrow: Molfetta Green
Il Giorno de la Donna
The sun is shining. The streets are dry. The hotel offers only the simplest of breakfasts: coffee or tea and a cornetto. But I don't care because I feel well rested for the first time in days. Because we don't get out the door 30 minutes sooner, our bus is not the rapido. This means that the 35 kilometer trip to Urbino takes 1 hour and 15 minutes as we make stops in every little town along the route. The bright sunshine makes for a pleasant ride though rolling green countryside, the usual Italian contrast of farmhouses from another century set beside shopping malls and industrial parks. Slowly we climb into the hills, eventually reaching Borgo Mercantile, a large car park and bus station just outside Urbino's city walls.
University students fill the streets, enjoying the sunny day as we climb the steepest street in the world into town. We explore the city walls around the Palazzo Ducale and then go inside. Since it is il Giorno de la Donna (International Working Woman's Day), we're waved past the ticket booth, and then watch the men behind us pause to pay. Initially the palace seems warm and sunny inside, but soon I'm buttoning my coat and donning gloves against the chill. The palace is all about the art displayed. There's little furniture, mostly clean white walls with gilded plaster carvings around the doors. The collection features some interesting religious art, mostly by names unfamiliar to me, though Tiziano, Veronese, Guido Reni, Uccello, and Raffaello make appearances. A big surprise was finding Piero della Francesca's La Citta Ideale - the famous image is surprisingly small.
One room of note: R is excited to show me the Studiolo of Duke Federico. Years ago we visited the duke's brother's palace in Gubbio and found an empty, stripped room where his studiolo had been. As we studied the didatic panel, I realized that the beautiful inlaid panels had been purchased and reassembled in a small room in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC –I’ve visited them many times. When we were in Gubbio, R mentioned that Urbino's studiolo was more beautiful. As we follow a boisterous noisy high school group through the palace, we hang back to let them pass. When we reach the studiolo, it is indeed as she said. The trompe-l'oeil woodwork is amazing. We share the small space with one other visitor. R asks the guard and he unlocks a door so we three can step out onto the loggia that we had seen from the town walls. The door is locked behind us as we move on. Many doors between the rooms continue the theme of fine wood inlays.
I don't think Urbino has a single flat street, each one sends you up or down a hill. Our lunch choice, Trattoria del Leone (Via Battisti), is tucked under a church and when the bus turns the corner it seems as if will drive through the window and into our table. We decide to try the local specialties advertised. R and I both have the tagliatelle with regional olive oil and bread crumbs. While the homemade pasta is delightful, the bread crumbs absorb all the oil and turn to mush. R describes her frittata as "stupid" - seems like a slice cut from a loaf of frittata. My salsicce with local cheese is good but filling. The pecorino grated over the delicious spinach seems like overkill. R is disappointed with the roasted potatoes, describing last night's potatoes as ideal. Total bill €40.
The Duomo is a real surprise - huge, bright, and minty green. R is puzzled by the age of the paintings that fit the space so well compared to the age of the building. The guard explains that the church, except for two chapels, was destroyed in an earthquake. The new church was built to fit the old art. He went on to explain that two days before our viait it snowed in Urbino and everything was covered in white. Had we visited earlier, we would have been unprepared to walk the steep streets in such conditions. He also complained about those same noisy kids we'd seen in the palace. After a climb to the top of town for a great view over the countryside, we walk slowly down the hill, window-shopping along the way to the bus stop. We can see storms approaching across the valley and are happy to get on the bus.
Back in Pesaro the streets, so empty yesterday, are packed with people. R heads back to her room while I join the crowd, grabbing a chocolate and pistachio gelato along the way. Families are everywhere and small children are enjoying the little carousel at the end of the street.
Trattoria Da Sante manages to fit us in since we arrive early. They will be fully booked later in the evening for the holiday. The waiter brings us both some yellow mimosa, the traditional gift for il Giorno de la Donna. We can't resist ordering spaghetti in bianca alla vongole again. R has the coda di rospo and I have cotaletta Milanese, and we both have insalata mista. Somehow the bill is the same as last night -- €37. We walk Pesaro's streets, planning a stroll to the sea in the morning before we catch the train to Molfetta.
Tomorrow: Molfetta Green
Feb 19th, 2009, 06:31 AM
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DAY 7: Saturday, 8 March 2008 - Pesaro and Urbino
Molfetta Green
The day is sunny and bright and looks to stay that way. We have our meager breakfast, settle the hotel bill, and store our bags for our departure. This is a perfect morning for a stroll to the seaside.
It's early, yet families are already outdoors enjoying the day. In the piazza by the Palazzo Ducale a fundraising booth is selling giant Easter eggs and giving kids punch balls. Excited children run about, crisscrossing the piazza as they wave their colorful punch balls. We continue our straight line to the sea and reach the duomo. R suggests it's a good place to visit. Worship just finished so we are free to examine the impressive floor mosaics. Two previous churches stood on this site and sections of the current cathedral's floor have been cut away and glassed over to reveal the other two layers below. A €1 coin buys us seven minutes of illumination so we scurry from "window" to "window" to see what we can see. One recurring theme we see here for the first time on our trip: a mermaid with two tails. A few show violent scenes: a leopard attacking a deer, and a whale dismembering a man with head a foot floating nearby.
Soon we're clear of the old center and walking past the homes and hotels of the seaside resort. More families, more dog-walkers out in the sunshine. Some of the homes from the turn of the last century have highly decorated facades. A particularly fine example by the seaside promenade, shows fine art nouveau decoration with lily pads, vines, and even lobsters holding up the eaves. As we walk the promenade, R explains a day at an Italian beach, singing the praises of the much wider beach where she vacations in Rimini. My beach experience in the U.S. does not include pristine rows of chairs and attendants she describes. I walk on the hard sand and pick up a few shells and tumbled tile. We pause on a sunny bench and watch the town pass by. Too soon it is time to head back for our bags to catch the train.
We walk from the hotel to the station, really quite easy with rolling bags and no rain. Our IC train is headed to Crotone though our stop is Molfetta, a 5.5-hour ride. In our six-seat compartment, our reserved seats are in the middle, but we take the empty window seats and hope. If the owners of these seats ever arrived, they didn't ask us to switch seats. One passenger rides the entire way with us, but the passengers in the other seats change frequently. I have made this trip before, the countryside to one side, the sea to the other, and would have enjoyed the sights. However, with the sun warming me through the window, I doze much of the way. We lunch on bananas - simple and filling. Time flies, as does the train. We keep getting ahead of schedule and must wait at each station to adjust. Soon enough the sun is setting and we are pulling out of Barletta - next stop Molfetta.
As we drag our bags through town, I am pleased that Molfetta seems familiar to me, still the same green shutters known as "Molfetta Green" on so many buildings, still strangely uninhabited feeling with all the shutters closed on residential streets. We arrive at the apartment on Via Amedeo and R begins the opening-the-apartment ritual that comes with having ancient doors that do not meet today's security standards. Then it's flick on the electricity and water and off with the dust covers from every piece of furniture. The apartment is a series of rooms, one connecting to the next, kitchen (with bathroom) to dining/living room to my bedroom to R's bedroom. Since my last visit, R has had the apartment rewired following the old style with wires exposed. The twisted cloth-covered wires are mounted from porcelain peg to peg along the top edge of the wall, dipping down to meet lighting fixtures and switches - it is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. R suggests I take the bed next to the lamp. I've slept in this short, narrow, saggy, aged bed before. The bed across the room looks flatter, but doesn't have a lamp. I like to read in bed . . . hammock it is. We unbar the windows, make the beds, do a cursory dusting, and now we are truly hungry.
Vecchia Roma is a restaurant/pizzeria a few blocks away that R found and enjoyed on a recent visit. Unfortunately there is a TV and stereo playing (Why? No one is watching.) but otherwise we have an enjoyable meal. R has a twisted pasta (trofie?) with frutti di mare and I have cavatelli with sausage and mushrooms. We both have the orata with olives and tomatoes - very good. We share desserts of torta di ricotta (good) and torta di pignoli (disappointing). We joke that the price will be €37 and it is . . . €36. We leave a €2 in case we return.
It's a good thing Via Amedeo is nearby - we're both tired from a day of sitting. How does that happen? Getting ready for bed I note that R has also removed some of the saintly material from various rooms. On my last visit, my room had seven (yes, seven) 18-inch-tall saints staring out from bell jars - more in other rooms. Even doorway and light switch featured images of saints clipped from religious periodicals pasted nearby and saintly pictures framed on the wall. Four saints and a few pictures remain in my room. I open my closet and find some of the saints. (What does one do with leftover saints?) I close the closet and decide the bed opposite will be my storage spot.
TOMORROW: Stepping Out in Giovinazzo
Molfetta Green
The day is sunny and bright and looks to stay that way. We have our meager breakfast, settle the hotel bill, and store our bags for our departure. This is a perfect morning for a stroll to the seaside.
It's early, yet families are already outdoors enjoying the day. In the piazza by the Palazzo Ducale a fundraising booth is selling giant Easter eggs and giving kids punch balls. Excited children run about, crisscrossing the piazza as they wave their colorful punch balls. We continue our straight line to the sea and reach the duomo. R suggests it's a good place to visit. Worship just finished so we are free to examine the impressive floor mosaics. Two previous churches stood on this site and sections of the current cathedral's floor have been cut away and glassed over to reveal the other two layers below. A €1 coin buys us seven minutes of illumination so we scurry from "window" to "window" to see what we can see. One recurring theme we see here for the first time on our trip: a mermaid with two tails. A few show violent scenes: a leopard attacking a deer, and a whale dismembering a man with head a foot floating nearby.
Soon we're clear of the old center and walking past the homes and hotels of the seaside resort. More families, more dog-walkers out in the sunshine. Some of the homes from the turn of the last century have highly decorated facades. A particularly fine example by the seaside promenade, shows fine art nouveau decoration with lily pads, vines, and even lobsters holding up the eaves. As we walk the promenade, R explains a day at an Italian beach, singing the praises of the much wider beach where she vacations in Rimini. My beach experience in the U.S. does not include pristine rows of chairs and attendants she describes. I walk on the hard sand and pick up a few shells and tumbled tile. We pause on a sunny bench and watch the town pass by. Too soon it is time to head back for our bags to catch the train.
We walk from the hotel to the station, really quite easy with rolling bags and no rain. Our IC train is headed to Crotone though our stop is Molfetta, a 5.5-hour ride. In our six-seat compartment, our reserved seats are in the middle, but we take the empty window seats and hope. If the owners of these seats ever arrived, they didn't ask us to switch seats. One passenger rides the entire way with us, but the passengers in the other seats change frequently. I have made this trip before, the countryside to one side, the sea to the other, and would have enjoyed the sights. However, with the sun warming me through the window, I doze much of the way. We lunch on bananas - simple and filling. Time flies, as does the train. We keep getting ahead of schedule and must wait at each station to adjust. Soon enough the sun is setting and we are pulling out of Barletta - next stop Molfetta.
As we drag our bags through town, I am pleased that Molfetta seems familiar to me, still the same green shutters known as "Molfetta Green" on so many buildings, still strangely uninhabited feeling with all the shutters closed on residential streets. We arrive at the apartment on Via Amedeo and R begins the opening-the-apartment ritual that comes with having ancient doors that do not meet today's security standards. Then it's flick on the electricity and water and off with the dust covers from every piece of furniture. The apartment is a series of rooms, one connecting to the next, kitchen (with bathroom) to dining/living room to my bedroom to R's bedroom. Since my last visit, R has had the apartment rewired following the old style with wires exposed. The twisted cloth-covered wires are mounted from porcelain peg to peg along the top edge of the wall, dipping down to meet lighting fixtures and switches - it is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. R suggests I take the bed next to the lamp. I've slept in this short, narrow, saggy, aged bed before. The bed across the room looks flatter, but doesn't have a lamp. I like to read in bed . . . hammock it is. We unbar the windows, make the beds, do a cursory dusting, and now we are truly hungry.
Vecchia Roma is a restaurant/pizzeria a few blocks away that R found and enjoyed on a recent visit. Unfortunately there is a TV and stereo playing (Why? No one is watching.) but otherwise we have an enjoyable meal. R has a twisted pasta (trofie?) with frutti di mare and I have cavatelli with sausage and mushrooms. We both have the orata with olives and tomatoes - very good. We share desserts of torta di ricotta (good) and torta di pignoli (disappointing). We joke that the price will be €37 and it is . . . €36. We leave a €2 in case we return.
It's a good thing Via Amedeo is nearby - we're both tired from a day of sitting. How does that happen? Getting ready for bed I note that R has also removed some of the saintly material from various rooms. On my last visit, my room had seven (yes, seven) 18-inch-tall saints staring out from bell jars - more in other rooms. Even doorway and light switch featured images of saints clipped from religious periodicals pasted nearby and saintly pictures framed on the wall. Four saints and a few pictures remain in my room. I open my closet and find some of the saints. (What does one do with leftover saints?) I close the closet and decide the bed opposite will be my storage spot.
TOMORROW: Stepping Out in Giovinazzo
Feb 19th, 2009, 01:56 PM
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Love your trip report ellenm. Being forunate to have many Italian friends in Italy I have always thought most of my day to day activities would be boring to report but after reading up to your last post I find I am enthralled with the details of your time with your friend and all the details. I don't know..what DOES one do with leftover saints, lol. A good question indeed!
Feb 20th, 2009, 06:46 AM
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Thanks for sticking with me on this.
Just noticed that I cut and pasted in the last post but didn't change the date. Last post should have been
DAY 7: Sunday, 9 March 2008 - Pesaro to Molfetta
Later today . . . Stepping Out in Giovinazzo
Soon to come . . . Getting to Know the Carabinieri
Just noticed that I cut and pasted in the last post but didn't change the date. Last post should have been
DAY 7: Sunday, 9 March 2008 - Pesaro to Molfetta
Later today . . . Stepping Out in Giovinazzo
Soon to come . . . Getting to Know the Carabinieri
Feb 20th, 2009, 08:01 AM
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DAY 8: Monday, 10 March 2008 – Molfetta and Giovinazzo
Stepping Out in Giovinazzo
The bed is a hammock, but I actually sleep pretty well – must have been tired. I wake to the neighborhood sounds of shutters opening and people stirring. There’s a chill in the apartment, so I snuggle in bed and even doze a little. I don’t think the apartment actually has a heat source, aside from the old woodburning kitchen range that is no longer in use.
I finally get up just before 8 AM and am delighted to wash in HOT water. The “renovated” kitchen and bathroom make for a much more pleasant visit than before. In my trip report about my first Molfetta visit, I described them this way:
“It is 100 years ago in Italy. A small stone sink to the right of the door has a single spigot over it. Next to it, a minuscule closet holds the original toilet no longer in use (with room for little else, including the person using it). Opposite, a stone counter has a shallow depression and drain board but no drain or spigot. R admits she has no idea of its use, though now a two-burner propane hotplate sits on it. Next to it is an aged wooden table with a slab of stone set on top. Next to that is an amazing cooking center: a large old-fashioned tiled range with small doors in the lower front to add fuel to heat each section. On top a large copper pot is set almost flush with the counter for heating perhaps 15 gallons of water at a time. Next to that is a stove burner, then the oven, then another stove burner. Crammed into the opposite corner is a small WC with antique commode and a small reasonably-new sink, again with a single spigot. Yes, it's true. Since the range is no longer operational, we have no shower, no hot water.”
R has renovated, but not to the extreme. There’s a new slightly larger kitchen sink with cabinet above and below. The original toilet still hides in its minuscule home. The two-burner stove is as before. The small refrigerator has been moved into the kitchen from the dining room. The biggest change: the small WC has been enlarged by erecting a new wall from one side of the kitchen to the other, bisecting the old range. Part of the old range is now in the kitchen, part is in the new bathroom. The bathroom has a new toilet, new small sink, and small shower that is open to the rest of the room. Since the bathroom is still relatively small, this would not be much of a problem except for the fact that the bathroom has no door yet, so it is open to the kitchen. And the connecting door between the kitchen and dining room is ancient and warped so it doesn’t quite close. Thus, if one sat on the toilet and leaned to the right a bit, he or she would have a fine view of anyone in the dining room, and vice versa. Already the night before R and I were carefully avoiding the dining room and kitchen when the other headed toward the bathroom.
R complained that the worker who did the renovation maintained that it was impossible to remove the old range, or at least the part she most hoped to remove that is in the bathroom. It takes up valuable space and has an added strangeness because this half includes the old oven. With the door of the oven open, on can see sunlight shining down the chimney into the oven. On my first chilly morning, during my first shower, this meant I felt a definite breeze from that direction. This inability to get workers to do what you actually want has been a complaint for all the years I have known R. “I asked him to paint the room white. The painter said, ‘It’s always better if you add a little black to it.’ I said I wanted it pure white. After he painted it I said it didn’t look pure white to me. He said, ‘That’s because I added some black to the white paint. It always looks better that way.’” (It may seem like I’m rambling, but I’m setting up more of the story for later.)
Soon R is up and we have a first breakfast of coffee and tea before we head out to provision the house. The day seems to be warming, but we still need our wool coats. The streets are busy with people though most students and workers are already on the job. Our companions are mostly retirees, men of similar age, height, and coloring already holding court at various cafes. I’m 5ft 5in but feel like a giantess among this population. We stop at a local market and meet the women associated with the aforementioned men, shopping for the day’s provisions. Just across the street is the Paneficio Spigo which has been renovated and enlarged. Most of the neighborhood women have already been in to purchase all the bread from the first baking of the day. R and I buy a fresh warm focaccia, enjoying a quarter as a second breakfast on the way back to Via Amedeo.
We shed our wool coats for jackets and head to our next stop, the lattecini, only to find that there are NO BURATA remaining – a tragedy. We’ve already been dreaming of this fresh creamy oozy cheese. We are assured there will be some tomorrow, so we have to settle for fresh bocconcini of mozzarella. (An amazing second best) Dropping our packages at the apartment, we head out for our first real stroll of the town. We head down the main street to the Villa, the park, which has been totally renovated. From there it’s a few minutes more to the marina. A large unsightly seawall has been added, making it seem as if there is no way to reach the sea. As we sit on a bench and enjoy the sunny view and the noontime bells, R informs me that the ugly, giant, too-numerous light posts that were installed under a pay-off scandal on the waterfront promenade have been removed . . . because they kept falling down. A fitting and appropriately silly end to the story that began on my first visit.
On the way home, we purchase bus tickets for a few local trips and then stop again at Paneficio Spigo. We’ve already missed the second baking of the day – the neighborhood ladies know the schedule – but settle for a prepared mixture of potatoes, artichokes, and other vegetables, which makes a lovely lunch. We notice that clouds are passing, dropping rain for thirty seconds, then sunny again. We opt for wool coats and head out to the bus stop.
Giovinazzo is just 7 km away so the bus ride is quick. We alight at the large main piazza but head directly to the old town by the marina and sea. R is disappointed to see that construction of sea walls has ruined the charm of this small marina. (My album includes a photo of this marina as best I as could do considering the ongoing construction.) Old Giovinazzo is charming. Rather than the “fishbone” street plan of Molfetta, with side streets radiating from a central spine, the arrangement of streets is maze-like, as in Bari. The buildings are clean and in good repair because the old town has always been inhabited, unlike in Molfetta. R points out a detail she noticed on her last visit: unlike the other old towns in the area, Old Giovinazzo has many staircases going off in all directions, steps up, steps down, steps in a tunnel, steps under an arch. It’s a fun warren of streets with lots of arches, tunnels and exterior stairs going up and up again. At certain points I’m reminded of an M.C. Escher drawing. We stop at the main cathedral, the duomo, with its Romanesque façade and Baroque interior. We are unable to visit the mosaics in the sanctuary because a service is in progress, but we apply in the sacristy and the sexton unlocks the crypt and gives us a tour of this ancient worship space.
Back at the main piazza we stop for a snack at Gran Bar Pugliese before catching our return bus. I have pistachio and nociolo gelato while R has a zeppola -- the small pastry topped with cream and fruit in honor of San Giuseppe. At only €.50, she quickly decides to have another.
After a quick bus ride back we relax for a bit at Via Amedeo. Even though I slept reasonably well, I take time to switch beds, thinking that the flatter bed with the board will be more comfortable in the long run than the hammock. We head out for pizza at Trattoria Dentro la Mura, under the walls of the old town of Molfetta as its name implies. I have a capricciosa, R has a margherita. On the way back, we stop at the Chiesa di Purgatorio to view the statues on display inside the church that will be carried in the Passion Processions later in the week. We climb the hill to Via Amedeo and I settle in to my flatter bed for the night
TOMORROW: Getting to Know the Carabinieri
Stepping Out in Giovinazzo
The bed is a hammock, but I actually sleep pretty well – must have been tired. I wake to the neighborhood sounds of shutters opening and people stirring. There’s a chill in the apartment, so I snuggle in bed and even doze a little. I don’t think the apartment actually has a heat source, aside from the old woodburning kitchen range that is no longer in use.
I finally get up just before 8 AM and am delighted to wash in HOT water. The “renovated” kitchen and bathroom make for a much more pleasant visit than before. In my trip report about my first Molfetta visit, I described them this way:
“It is 100 years ago in Italy. A small stone sink to the right of the door has a single spigot over it. Next to it, a minuscule closet holds the original toilet no longer in use (with room for little else, including the person using it). Opposite, a stone counter has a shallow depression and drain board but no drain or spigot. R admits she has no idea of its use, though now a two-burner propane hotplate sits on it. Next to it is an aged wooden table with a slab of stone set on top. Next to that is an amazing cooking center: a large old-fashioned tiled range with small doors in the lower front to add fuel to heat each section. On top a large copper pot is set almost flush with the counter for heating perhaps 15 gallons of water at a time. Next to that is a stove burner, then the oven, then another stove burner. Crammed into the opposite corner is a small WC with antique commode and a small reasonably-new sink, again with a single spigot. Yes, it's true. Since the range is no longer operational, we have no shower, no hot water.”
R has renovated, but not to the extreme. There’s a new slightly larger kitchen sink with cabinet above and below. The original toilet still hides in its minuscule home. The two-burner stove is as before. The small refrigerator has been moved into the kitchen from the dining room. The biggest change: the small WC has been enlarged by erecting a new wall from one side of the kitchen to the other, bisecting the old range. Part of the old range is now in the kitchen, part is in the new bathroom. The bathroom has a new toilet, new small sink, and small shower that is open to the rest of the room. Since the bathroom is still relatively small, this would not be much of a problem except for the fact that the bathroom has no door yet, so it is open to the kitchen. And the connecting door between the kitchen and dining room is ancient and warped so it doesn’t quite close. Thus, if one sat on the toilet and leaned to the right a bit, he or she would have a fine view of anyone in the dining room, and vice versa. Already the night before R and I were carefully avoiding the dining room and kitchen when the other headed toward the bathroom.
R complained that the worker who did the renovation maintained that it was impossible to remove the old range, or at least the part she most hoped to remove that is in the bathroom. It takes up valuable space and has an added strangeness because this half includes the old oven. With the door of the oven open, on can see sunlight shining down the chimney into the oven. On my first chilly morning, during my first shower, this meant I felt a definite breeze from that direction. This inability to get workers to do what you actually want has been a complaint for all the years I have known R. “I asked him to paint the room white. The painter said, ‘It’s always better if you add a little black to it.’ I said I wanted it pure white. After he painted it I said it didn’t look pure white to me. He said, ‘That’s because I added some black to the white paint. It always looks better that way.’” (It may seem like I’m rambling, but I’m setting up more of the story for later.)
Soon R is up and we have a first breakfast of coffee and tea before we head out to provision the house. The day seems to be warming, but we still need our wool coats. The streets are busy with people though most students and workers are already on the job. Our companions are mostly retirees, men of similar age, height, and coloring already holding court at various cafes. I’m 5ft 5in but feel like a giantess among this population. We stop at a local market and meet the women associated with the aforementioned men, shopping for the day’s provisions. Just across the street is the Paneficio Spigo which has been renovated and enlarged. Most of the neighborhood women have already been in to purchase all the bread from the first baking of the day. R and I buy a fresh warm focaccia, enjoying a quarter as a second breakfast on the way back to Via Amedeo.
We shed our wool coats for jackets and head to our next stop, the lattecini, only to find that there are NO BURATA remaining – a tragedy. We’ve already been dreaming of this fresh creamy oozy cheese. We are assured there will be some tomorrow, so we have to settle for fresh bocconcini of mozzarella. (An amazing second best) Dropping our packages at the apartment, we head out for our first real stroll of the town. We head down the main street to the Villa, the park, which has been totally renovated. From there it’s a few minutes more to the marina. A large unsightly seawall has been added, making it seem as if there is no way to reach the sea. As we sit on a bench and enjoy the sunny view and the noontime bells, R informs me that the ugly, giant, too-numerous light posts that were installed under a pay-off scandal on the waterfront promenade have been removed . . . because they kept falling down. A fitting and appropriately silly end to the story that began on my first visit.
On the way home, we purchase bus tickets for a few local trips and then stop again at Paneficio Spigo. We’ve already missed the second baking of the day – the neighborhood ladies know the schedule – but settle for a prepared mixture of potatoes, artichokes, and other vegetables, which makes a lovely lunch. We notice that clouds are passing, dropping rain for thirty seconds, then sunny again. We opt for wool coats and head out to the bus stop.
Giovinazzo is just 7 km away so the bus ride is quick. We alight at the large main piazza but head directly to the old town by the marina and sea. R is disappointed to see that construction of sea walls has ruined the charm of this small marina. (My album includes a photo of this marina as best I as could do considering the ongoing construction.) Old Giovinazzo is charming. Rather than the “fishbone” street plan of Molfetta, with side streets radiating from a central spine, the arrangement of streets is maze-like, as in Bari. The buildings are clean and in good repair because the old town has always been inhabited, unlike in Molfetta. R points out a detail she noticed on her last visit: unlike the other old towns in the area, Old Giovinazzo has many staircases going off in all directions, steps up, steps down, steps in a tunnel, steps under an arch. It’s a fun warren of streets with lots of arches, tunnels and exterior stairs going up and up again. At certain points I’m reminded of an M.C. Escher drawing. We stop at the main cathedral, the duomo, with its Romanesque façade and Baroque interior. We are unable to visit the mosaics in the sanctuary because a service is in progress, but we apply in the sacristy and the sexton unlocks the crypt and gives us a tour of this ancient worship space.
Back at the main piazza we stop for a snack at Gran Bar Pugliese before catching our return bus. I have pistachio and nociolo gelato while R has a zeppola -- the small pastry topped with cream and fruit in honor of San Giuseppe. At only €.50, she quickly decides to have another.
After a quick bus ride back we relax for a bit at Via Amedeo. Even though I slept reasonably well, I take time to switch beds, thinking that the flatter bed with the board will be more comfortable in the long run than the hammock. We head out for pizza at Trattoria Dentro la Mura, under the walls of the old town of Molfetta as its name implies. I have a capricciosa, R has a margherita. On the way back, we stop at the Chiesa di Purgatorio to view the statues on display inside the church that will be carried in the Passion Processions later in the week. We climb the hill to Via Amedeo and I settle in to my flatter bed for the night
TOMORROW: Getting to Know the Carabinieri
Feb 21st, 2009, 05:01 AM
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DAY 9: Tuesday, 11 March 2008 - Molfetta and Bari
Getting to Know the Carabinieri
I thought switching beds yesterday would help me sleep. Instead of springs like a hammock, this old metal bedstead has a board. The flat bed is better, until that moment in the night when the board shifts below me and the bedstead lets out a horrible metal >>CLANG<< the must have woken the neighbors, never mind R. I was slightly awake at the time, but it was still pretty shocking even for me.
My morning shower is quick and to the point because of the chill and also because I'm concerned about making too much of a mess splashing water all over the room. We enjoy our breakfast of fresh fruit, cheese, coffee, and tea before making a quick foray for a burrata. Then we close up the house and we're off to Bari.
Our train is a Regionale and is packed. Luckily we have seats because this slow train takes its time -- almost 45 minutes to reach Bari -- but it only costs �1,60. On a previous visit we'd been unable to visit the cathedral since it was under renovation. We hurry through the modern part of town, rushing past the information booth (closed, it had poor maps and little else on our last visit) to get to the cathedral before it closes.
The exterior of the cathedral is sparkling clean and crisp, inside the same. The proportions are lovely, with sets of three small arches above two tall arches. We can hear jackhammers in the crypt, so we know that area is inaccessible. We take our time exploring different areas, stopping to study a famous Madonna and Child painting that usually hangs in the crypt. A helpful sexton answers R's questions and gives each of us the gift of a booklet about the cathedral, one in Italian, one in English. Originally written in 1966 and updated in the early 1980s, many renovations predicted in the booklet can be seen before us. The cathedral was built and rebuilt over many centuries, surviving in its Romanesque form until the 18th century, when it was "Baroque-ized." In the late 19th century, some of the Baroque stucco fell off and they realized what beauty remained underneath. With new appreciation for the Romanesque style, efforts have been made over the years to re-Romanesque the cathedral. In many cases, bits and pieces that had been removed were gathered and jigsaw-puzzled together again, while many missing parts had to be replicated. We left donations for the booklet and set out to lunch.
R led the way to a restaurant she'd found on her last visit. As we find our way through the maze-like streets of the old town, we pass open doorways that lead directly into living rooms. In small courtyards, homemade cavatelli is set out on racks to dry. We manage to find Ristorante La Credenze (Arco Onofrio 16) without a problem. We have the two dining rooms to ourselves for our entire meal. The menu is verbal. For primi, only cavatelli (the local favorite) is available but with a variety of sauces. R has the rape sauce and I have mine with tomatoes and pancetta. R follows with a nice roasted orata while I enjoy a fritto misto of shrimp and squid. We both finish with a pastry with a name that literally means "Makes Your Face Messy" - a sort of flaky cream puff covered with powdered sugar. Bill: �20 each.
It is raining outside, lightly at first, and then more heavily, so we break out our umbrellas. We head back toward the cathedral to visit the castello before catching our return train. We're aiming for a 3:10pm train since R has an important meeting of the Via Amedeo condominium board at 5:00pm.
As we walk past the cathedral, I'm a few steps ahead of R when I hear her begin to yell. I turn in time to see a man violently rip her purse from her body and run down a nearby alley. (Even though she'd worn it bandolero-style across her body, the strap broke easily and gave way.) R is screaming and chasing, I am chasing and yelling "Stop him!" as if that will help in Bari Gothico. He runs far ahead and turns right. R and I reach the turn and look but can no longer see him. After the turn, alleys branch in a few directions. A man on the street watched the thief run right by. People come out on their balconies. R walks back toward the group gathering while I stare off down the alley. I clutch my bag to me, knowing that I'm carrying my passport, though also know that my purse has a much sturdier strap than R's. I turn to join R and the group, noticing as I approach that all seems like a surreal stage set, the narrow alley, the old buildings that lean toward one another, the women on the two balconies above talking with R, the man, and a boy on a bicycle below.
I feel inept and unable to offer my friend more comfort than an arm around the shoulder as she weeps. I can follow her distraught Italian a bit as she begs the boy to ride down the alley to see if her bag has been tossed aside. She keeps crying about "I chiavi," the only keys to the Via Amedeo apartment that were in the bag. "How will we get in without the keys!?!" she weeps. One of the balcony women comes down to walk us to the local carabinieri station a few minutes away. The rain has stopped. As we walk R confesses that she had a premonition during the night - she was awake when my bed clanged - about keeping the keys and cards safe, but forgot about it in the morning. Her bag didn't contain much - only �20, a bancomat card (easily cancelled and replaced), an ID card for Cesena (where she no longer lives). Her great losses were a favorite lipstick in a discontinued color, a portfolio-type wallet that had been her mother's, and the Molfetta house keys. The only other set of these keys are back in Florence. Fortunately there is nothing to attach the Molfetta keys to the address.
The woman leaves us at the door of the palazzo housing the Carabinieri and we are buzzed in. R reports her losses and, amazingly enough, knows the telephone number of her bank so she is also able to call and cancel her card. She tries to describe where the attack took place when I spot a brochure in the waiting area - it has the best map of Bari we've seen so we are able to provide accurate detail about the chase. (In the back of my mind I wonder why one of the two officers helping us didn't suggest a map first.) One officer says he will go check the area. He opens the door and faces a wall of water - another cinematic moment etched in my mind. R and I exchange glances, knowing that the weather will cause the search to be less comprehensive. The officer and another go off in a car while we wait.
R remarks, "We should have gone to Parma."
As we sit I recall our last visit to Bari. It was the first and only time that R has warned me about pickpockets and crime. She named some of those organized-crime-family names and spoke of violent crime and murder. After a while, the officers return with nothing, so we go on our way. We've missed our intended train and are unsure of the schedule since it was in R's purse along with her train ticket. R is full of concern about borrowing money from me to pay for her new ticket. Meanwhile, I'm thinking that R never lets me pay for a thing, except my tickets and restaurant meals. She is all unnerved -- I just want to get her back to Molfetta on the next train. When we get to the station, there is a Regionale about to depart. The ticket seller assures us we can make it and sells her a ticket. We run to the platform in time to see it pull away. She is distraught. I declare that I will pay for whatever ticket, whatever extra fee involved, to get us out of Bari and on the next train that stops in Molfetta, no matter the cost. My firm tone calms her. We upgrade our tickets for the IC that will arrive shortly - all her concern about my paying is about �7,40 extra. Our IC leaves Bari at 4:15pm and arrives in Molfetta at 4:35pm. With all this drama, we have actually returned in time for R to attend her meeting if she cares to do so.
The neighbor across the landing buzzes us in. To get into the apartment, first one must unlock a gate that leads onto an L-shaped terrace in a courtyard. The neighbor has a key to the gate, but nothing more. Glass french doors with interior shutters lead from the terrace into the kitchen, dining room, and my room. Since both the glass exterior doors and the interior shutters swing in, it is impossible to lock the wooden doors from the outside. On the kitchen doorway, one glass door is removed and this wooden door is the one we lock when we go out. We've left the other wooden shutters open (good thing or else this would have been much worse), but all the french doors are fastened shut. Now we have to decide which original-to-the-house pane of glass to break in order to reach the mechanism that will release the door's latch. The neighbor brings a hammer, chooses carefully, breaks pane, and we are in.
We take a close look at the front door lock, which looks like it can be easily removed from the inside. The trick will be to find someone who has a replacement lock of the same aged style and will actually show up and do the job in two days before we must leave. R decides to go to her meeting. I had intended to visit Old Molfetta during her meeting, but somehow don't feel like walking its narrow, darkening streets by myself. Instead I walk the straight main streets with a purpose, a little on edge, a little suspicious, trying to clear my mind of this unsettling day. I've lived in NYC for thirty years and have never had an experience like today. I return to Via Amedeo and soon R returns as well, full of odd stories about fixing the roof and people's reluctance NOT to pay under the table. We have a quick dinner of beef cutlets, salad with fresh fennel, and fruit. Then we chat about everything and nothing, emptying our brains and adjusting our tomorrow's plans to include banks and locksmiths.
TOMORROW: A Lock and a Colossus
Getting to Know the Carabinieri
I thought switching beds yesterday would help me sleep. Instead of springs like a hammock, this old metal bedstead has a board. The flat bed is better, until that moment in the night when the board shifts below me and the bedstead lets out a horrible metal >>CLANG<< the must have woken the neighbors, never mind R. I was slightly awake at the time, but it was still pretty shocking even for me.
My morning shower is quick and to the point because of the chill and also because I'm concerned about making too much of a mess splashing water all over the room. We enjoy our breakfast of fresh fruit, cheese, coffee, and tea before making a quick foray for a burrata. Then we close up the house and we're off to Bari.
Our train is a Regionale and is packed. Luckily we have seats because this slow train takes its time -- almost 45 minutes to reach Bari -- but it only costs �1,60. On a previous visit we'd been unable to visit the cathedral since it was under renovation. We hurry through the modern part of town, rushing past the information booth (closed, it had poor maps and little else on our last visit) to get to the cathedral before it closes.
The exterior of the cathedral is sparkling clean and crisp, inside the same. The proportions are lovely, with sets of three small arches above two tall arches. We can hear jackhammers in the crypt, so we know that area is inaccessible. We take our time exploring different areas, stopping to study a famous Madonna and Child painting that usually hangs in the crypt. A helpful sexton answers R's questions and gives each of us the gift of a booklet about the cathedral, one in Italian, one in English. Originally written in 1966 and updated in the early 1980s, many renovations predicted in the booklet can be seen before us. The cathedral was built and rebuilt over many centuries, surviving in its Romanesque form until the 18th century, when it was "Baroque-ized." In the late 19th century, some of the Baroque stucco fell off and they realized what beauty remained underneath. With new appreciation for the Romanesque style, efforts have been made over the years to re-Romanesque the cathedral. In many cases, bits and pieces that had been removed were gathered and jigsaw-puzzled together again, while many missing parts had to be replicated. We left donations for the booklet and set out to lunch.
R led the way to a restaurant she'd found on her last visit. As we find our way through the maze-like streets of the old town, we pass open doorways that lead directly into living rooms. In small courtyards, homemade cavatelli is set out on racks to dry. We manage to find Ristorante La Credenze (Arco Onofrio 16) without a problem. We have the two dining rooms to ourselves for our entire meal. The menu is verbal. For primi, only cavatelli (the local favorite) is available but with a variety of sauces. R has the rape sauce and I have mine with tomatoes and pancetta. R follows with a nice roasted orata while I enjoy a fritto misto of shrimp and squid. We both finish with a pastry with a name that literally means "Makes Your Face Messy" - a sort of flaky cream puff covered with powdered sugar. Bill: �20 each.
It is raining outside, lightly at first, and then more heavily, so we break out our umbrellas. We head back toward the cathedral to visit the castello before catching our return train. We're aiming for a 3:10pm train since R has an important meeting of the Via Amedeo condominium board at 5:00pm.
As we walk past the cathedral, I'm a few steps ahead of R when I hear her begin to yell. I turn in time to see a man violently rip her purse from her body and run down a nearby alley. (Even though she'd worn it bandolero-style across her body, the strap broke easily and gave way.) R is screaming and chasing, I am chasing and yelling "Stop him!" as if that will help in Bari Gothico. He runs far ahead and turns right. R and I reach the turn and look but can no longer see him. After the turn, alleys branch in a few directions. A man on the street watched the thief run right by. People come out on their balconies. R walks back toward the group gathering while I stare off down the alley. I clutch my bag to me, knowing that I'm carrying my passport, though also know that my purse has a much sturdier strap than R's. I turn to join R and the group, noticing as I approach that all seems like a surreal stage set, the narrow alley, the old buildings that lean toward one another, the women on the two balconies above talking with R, the man, and a boy on a bicycle below.
I feel inept and unable to offer my friend more comfort than an arm around the shoulder as she weeps. I can follow her distraught Italian a bit as she begs the boy to ride down the alley to see if her bag has been tossed aside. She keeps crying about "I chiavi," the only keys to the Via Amedeo apartment that were in the bag. "How will we get in without the keys!?!" she weeps. One of the balcony women comes down to walk us to the local carabinieri station a few minutes away. The rain has stopped. As we walk R confesses that she had a premonition during the night - she was awake when my bed clanged - about keeping the keys and cards safe, but forgot about it in the morning. Her bag didn't contain much - only �20, a bancomat card (easily cancelled and replaced), an ID card for Cesena (where she no longer lives). Her great losses were a favorite lipstick in a discontinued color, a portfolio-type wallet that had been her mother's, and the Molfetta house keys. The only other set of these keys are back in Florence. Fortunately there is nothing to attach the Molfetta keys to the address.
The woman leaves us at the door of the palazzo housing the Carabinieri and we are buzzed in. R reports her losses and, amazingly enough, knows the telephone number of her bank so she is also able to call and cancel her card. She tries to describe where the attack took place when I spot a brochure in the waiting area - it has the best map of Bari we've seen so we are able to provide accurate detail about the chase. (In the back of my mind I wonder why one of the two officers helping us didn't suggest a map first.) One officer says he will go check the area. He opens the door and faces a wall of water - another cinematic moment etched in my mind. R and I exchange glances, knowing that the weather will cause the search to be less comprehensive. The officer and another go off in a car while we wait.
R remarks, "We should have gone to Parma."
As we sit I recall our last visit to Bari. It was the first and only time that R has warned me about pickpockets and crime. She named some of those organized-crime-family names and spoke of violent crime and murder. After a while, the officers return with nothing, so we go on our way. We've missed our intended train and are unsure of the schedule since it was in R's purse along with her train ticket. R is full of concern about borrowing money from me to pay for her new ticket. Meanwhile, I'm thinking that R never lets me pay for a thing, except my tickets and restaurant meals. She is all unnerved -- I just want to get her back to Molfetta on the next train. When we get to the station, there is a Regionale about to depart. The ticket seller assures us we can make it and sells her a ticket. We run to the platform in time to see it pull away. She is distraught. I declare that I will pay for whatever ticket, whatever extra fee involved, to get us out of Bari and on the next train that stops in Molfetta, no matter the cost. My firm tone calms her. We upgrade our tickets for the IC that will arrive shortly - all her concern about my paying is about �7,40 extra. Our IC leaves Bari at 4:15pm and arrives in Molfetta at 4:35pm. With all this drama, we have actually returned in time for R to attend her meeting if she cares to do so.
The neighbor across the landing buzzes us in. To get into the apartment, first one must unlock a gate that leads onto an L-shaped terrace in a courtyard. The neighbor has a key to the gate, but nothing more. Glass french doors with interior shutters lead from the terrace into the kitchen, dining room, and my room. Since both the glass exterior doors and the interior shutters swing in, it is impossible to lock the wooden doors from the outside. On the kitchen doorway, one glass door is removed and this wooden door is the one we lock when we go out. We've left the other wooden shutters open (good thing or else this would have been much worse), but all the french doors are fastened shut. Now we have to decide which original-to-the-house pane of glass to break in order to reach the mechanism that will release the door's latch. The neighbor brings a hammer, chooses carefully, breaks pane, and we are in.
We take a close look at the front door lock, which looks like it can be easily removed from the inside. The trick will be to find someone who has a replacement lock of the same aged style and will actually show up and do the job in two days before we must leave. R decides to go to her meeting. I had intended to visit Old Molfetta during her meeting, but somehow don't feel like walking its narrow, darkening streets by myself. Instead I walk the straight main streets with a purpose, a little on edge, a little suspicious, trying to clear my mind of this unsettling day. I've lived in NYC for thirty years and have never had an experience like today. I return to Via Amedeo and soon R returns as well, full of odd stories about fixing the roof and people's reluctance NOT to pay under the table. We have a quick dinner of beef cutlets, salad with fresh fennel, and fruit. Then we chat about everything and nothing, emptying our brains and adjusting our tomorrow's plans to include banks and locksmiths.
TOMORROW: A Lock and a Colossus
