A note to readers. The keen-eyed amongst you may well detect that several months have passed between days 11 and 12. There has been a healthy dose of life in the interval which has seen the death of a loved one, illness and changes in the employment status. Still, determination to complete this missive has won out and, as much as memory prompted by photographic supporting evidence will allow, I’m back to complete this journey on (virtual) paper now.
A Monday. The day designated to replace the snowy previous Friday and on which to make our way back to Cisternino and our man there, Pierdonato.
Cisternino required an early departure, being about one and a half hours drive to the north-west of Lecce, and today we let the GPS take us there, though we really wanted to re-visit the roadhouse we’d stumbled into last week at Francavilla Fontana for breakfasty goodness. The GPS was having none of that and led us much further up the SS379 to Fasano before steering us inland to Cisternino. We would therefore arrive un-caffeinated and unfed, which did not improve our disposition when the GPS which was to deliver us unto Pierdonato’s office, delivered us instead unto the middle of the weekly market. To be fair, the market did involve closing down a number of streets essential to our progress, and also to be fair, our tiny Fiat was able to scatter the signors and signoras and allow us passage through the shoppers, and to be even more fair, we did arrive at our destination and could have purchased a range of fruit and vegetables from the car window as we drove through the market.
Real estate agents the world over seem to have very similar offices – Italian ones are not as flash as some of those in our home town, and the concept of the paper-less office seems to have passed them by, but by and large, an agent is an agent is an agent’s office. Pierdonato ushered us into a paper stacking warehouse that doubled as his office and went through a number of properties we might like to look at on his PC. He is the first agent we have consulted in Italy, so research was really the aim of our visit, and to get some idea of what we might expect in this area.
Pierdonato’s office was just outside the old town, so, keys in hand, coats, gloves and hats on, we headed out of his office for a walk up through the now packing-up market to the white (paint) part of the city. Four apartments were targeted. The first was atop a steep stairway (I pause here to describe what I mean by steep – imagine a riser about 35cm and a tread about 15cm – more a stone ladder really) and was a gorgeous little place with a tiny kitchen and bedroom on the first level. This room also has a modern glass gantry and staircase across the middle of it, which joined another bedroom to a steep staircase which, apart from having a bathroom halfway up, led out onto a large roof terrace. Odd layout, but you get that in the old city.
Number two had a more conventional feel and more of those steep steps, but less of the ‘vibe’. It was in the pedestrian part of the old city, not far from the piazza. Number three was right on the piazza and was accessed by even more of those stairways with a cramped bathroom at the front door, a large bedroom with an en-suite and a living space on the entry level, then, up a tunnel-like stairway to the second level and the kitchen and another living area. It had vibe and roof-terrace.
Four was the most attractive and the smallest. Up some more stairs, (these were icy) passed a tethered cat in front of another apartment entrance and into a beautiful tiny space. Vaulted ceilings had featured in all the places we looked at – these were lovely. A small bathroom, small kitchen and small living room and a not-so-small bedroom. 47 sq meters in all. Fully renovated and with a locked storage space on the ground. We left this one with Pierdonato and he headed back to his paper stacks, while we headed to find coffee and urgently required food. We only found coffee, but that was enough to steel us for the next section of our real estate journey.
Another 40 minutes up the road is Castellana Grotte, a town that was 10 minutes away from where we stayed on our first trip to Puglia. The ‘Grotte’ part of the name refers to the caves that lie under part of the town and are a famous tourist destination in these parts. Apartment five was in the old city in a three storey building. Our woman in Castellana Grotte (our girl, actually), Stefania would meet us there. We were early, which gave us a much needed opportunity to visit the bar across the road for panini and drinks. A simple sandwich of prosciutto, tomato, mozzarella and basil, almost everywhere in Italy, tastes like heaven. I think it’s the bread, the prosciutto, the tomatoes, the oil and the mozzarella that make it so.
Stefania awaited. This place had a big front door with a dimly lit staircase directly behind it. Up to the first floor and into three large rooms with very high ceilings and much terrazzo. There were the odd religious paintings, a crucifix and assorted bits of rubble, but the place had no kitchen, a cramped 60’s bathroom and two large bedrooms facing out onto the backstreet (two street frontage!) There was also a niche at the front which could have served to either chain up backpackers, or, at a pinch, be converted into a galley-style kitchen. A nice big apartment, but a lot of work required for the price. We bade our farewells, accepted business cards and jumped back in the car to head home.
Along the way, we picked a random seaside town to visit. This one was called Villanova and was on the Costa Adriatico, kind of near Ostuni. These places are great in winter. Naturally they are designed for all sorts of summer fun and are abandoned for the rest of the year. The resorts are boarded up; the streets are empty. I feel like I’m on a Fellini set without the cheesy mandolin playing. Pip has some trouble enjoying them to the same degree that I do, but she goes along with it. The beach on a sunny, windy, 3C afternoon was a great place to be.
We were home at sunset, round 5pm and spent a couple of hours resting before heading out to dinner. We were heading to a restaurant famous in these parts for having hosted Anthony Bourdain, but sadly, it wasn’t going to host us as it was closed. We fell back to one of the many restaurants we had passed on the way and dined at I Latini, where I had the tagliate (sliced beef) of ultimate tenderosity, and, as is the tradition here, as we left at 10pm a large table of 8 with a couple of kids was arriving. (This gets us every time!)
Mondoworld 