Day 63: Stairway to Minori

Up early to start packing up. It had rained in the night and was still doing so, so the way down to the car was a bit slippery, which made my many trips back and forth ferrying stuff just that bit more interesting. 

 

We eventually got away just after 11am, heading out of the heel of the Italian boot and over to an area on the front of the ankle - the Amalfi Coast. Our first views of the sea coincided with the road getting significantly windier. To our left was a steep drop to the sea, to our right, a steep terraced rise populated by the Amalfi Coast's famous lemon orchards. 

Our destination was the little town of Maiori, which is about halfway along the southern coast of the little spur that juts out here. Sally took us to the hotel where we were meant to pick up the keys to our apartment but there was no-one there, so we settled into the reception area, logging on to their wi fi and using their toilets. After a while, we got bored and went for a walk along the seafront – and spotted the actual hotel that had our keys. It was all shut up for the winter, but we found a buzzer and were let in by a very helpful young woman who kitted us out with everything we needed. She then handed us over to a cheerful Sri Lankan man who rode his bike to the apartment while we followed along behind in the car. 

After parking and ferrying some stuff to the apartment, we headed out to check out the town. The helpful woman had told us that we could walk to the next town along, which apparently had lots of nice Christmas lights. So, we found the path, which was up some stairs, double checking with a young girl that this was indeed the path to Minori. We went up some more stairs, then some more stairs, then some more stairs. Just when we thought that the path was levelling out, we kept coming to more stairs. After a relatively short time, we were high above the lights of the town, walking along a narrow path that wound along the hillside, past the lemon orchards.

Finally, we started going down and not long after, we made it to Minori. Sadly, after all that effort, the Christmas lights were more than slightly underwhelming (not a patch on Winchester's). We also struggled to find somewhere nice for dinner, so after grabbing a few arancini from a little takeaway pizzeria, we headed back to Maiori along the coast road – with the cars zipping past at disconcertingly close proximity - getting back there in about a quarter of the time.

We looked around there for somewhere to eat but ended up back at the apartment, where I threw together some random ingredients, in the process inventing a new pasta dish that has gone on to become a staple for the trip.

Day 62: Another visitor

After a long, late breakfast we drove out to Locorotondo, yet another historic hill-top village. It was very windy, so we cut our exploration down to a quick peruse and then looked for something to eat. We bought some bread and salami from a mini market and ate it in yet another park with a view over yet another expanse of trulli-infested farmland.

On the way home, we stopped off at a park that we had spotted on the way into town. It had an impressive array of things to climb around on (although sadly its zipwire was broken), as well as enough wooden benches to seat about 100 people. 

Sally took us home via a complicated route that took in several narrow, sinuous back roads, but we didn't mind, as the countryside was particularly picturesque - a mix of olive groves, vineyards and dry stone walls, with a healthy sprinkling of trullis. 

At 5.30pm we got a call from Jacky, the English woman whose house we had minded on Syros. She was on her way back to Greece and we had offered to let her stay with us (the girls were over the moon as it meant that they got to spend a night up in the turret room). Unfortunately, she was driving without the benefit of Sally or one of her friends, and our directions hadn't been quite clear enough, so we had to spend a while attempting to guide her in via a series of phone calls. Eventually, a kind local took pity on her and led her to the car park.

We had a lovely evening with her, telling her tales of our cat-related adventures in Greece and hearing her (horror) stories of transporting cats back to the UK.

Day 60: Tiles and bones

We went for a longer drive today – to the coastal town of Otranto. A World Heritage site since 2010, the old town boasts an impressive fort and a really cool 11^th-century cathedral. It was the cathedral that we were particularly interested in visiting, and for one reason in particular – its floor. Filling most of the space is a spectacular 12^th-century mosaic that depicts scenes from the Old Testament and chivalric cycles, figures from medieval bestiaries, and a 'tree of life' that shows human experience from the Fall to salvation.

The cathedral also has a crypt supported by 42 marble columns and some rather macabre glass cabinets filled with the skulls and bones of the Martyrs of Otranto, the 813 inhabitants of the city who were killed on 14 August 1480 after Otranto fell to an Ottoman force under Gedik Ahmed Pasha.

We then drove back to the city of Lecce, which is known as the Florence of the south, thanks to its impressive collection of Baroque architectural monuments. There we ate some focaccia overlooking the second-century Roman amphitheatre and wandered around taking in the sights. 

Day 59: The long walk to freedom

This morning we drove out to the town next door – Carovigno – to check out their market and do a bit more shopping. Kate loves trying out new fruit and at the market she came across an odd-looking example – pinkish with a regular pattern of small dark-brown spots all over it. We eventually figured out that it was the fruit of the prickly pear, which helped to solve a mystery that dated back to our time on Syros. On the way out to the bakery at Finikas for our baklava fix, we passed a plot of prickly pears that were obviously being cultivated. In Australia, the prickly pear is a pest, so I wondered why anyone would be farming them – for the fruit, apparently. (Kate and Sarah loved the fruit, which apparently tasted a bit like watermelon.)

Shopping done, we headed back to the apartment. Now, in much of Europe, staying in the old part of town often involves a trade-off. What you gain in aesthetics, you pay in the lack of convenience. When it comes to our apartment in Ostuni, that price is pretty steep – literally. The nearest place we can leave the car is in a free car park adjacent to a school. From there, it's a couple of hundred metres just to the town walls, followed by a steep climb up narrow roads and numerous stairs to the apartment, as illustrated here by Sarah.

Is it worth it? Without question. The view alone is payback enough. 

Day 58: Trulli, madly, deeply

This morning we drove to the nearby town of Cisternino to check out its weekly market. It was mostly clothing and I managed to get separated from the others – impatiently going ahead to look for the foodie bit while they pottered along checking out the clothes. By the time we found each other again, we were all feeling a bit peckish, so we dropped in to a nearby bakery, where we were rewarded with the best tomato focaccia I've ever eaten. We ended up going back in twice more to buy more, much to the amusement of the woman behind the counter.

We then had a bit of a wander through the old town – Cisternino is similar to Ostuni, with a maze-like neighbourhood of narrow alleys and whitewashed buildings. Coming out the other side, we found a park with a view down over the adjacent fields, many of which had trulli buildings in them. Trullis are unique to this region – funny-looking round structures with conical roofs that mostly date back to the 19^th century, built primarily as temporary field shelters and storehouses, but also as residences.

After a quick coffee – Kate and I are now having espressos standing at the bar as it's the cheapest, quickest way to get our fix – we went back to the market. While Kate and the girls browsed at a boot stall, I checked out a sweet little wine shop, eventually leaving with a bottle of Primitivo that the owner told me had been made using the old methods – aged in amphorae rather than oak casks. We then drove to Alberobello, a World Heritage-listed trulli town, but as it was siesta time, so a lot of the shops would be shut, and the parking was extortionate, we returned to the apartment.

Back at Ostuni, we went in search of somewhere to buy fruit and veg and meat and bread and so on but just got totally disoriented – we had tried to make our way over to the other side of the old town but eventually emerged right by our apartment. So, we headed into the main part of town, where we came across an information centre and got directions. Then, while Kate and the girls went to check if a wine bar we had spotted earlier was open (it wasn't), I visited the bakery we had been to on the day we arrived. When I got there, a woman was buying some nice-looking tomato focaccia and I silently prepared to buy the remainder. There was another woman in the shop and I politely let her go ahead of me, only to watch her buy all of the focaccia! When it was my turn, I forlornly asked about the possibility of more and was rewarded by a fresh, steaming tomato and mozzarella version. I reunited with the others and we fell upon the bread like vultures as they told me about the angry drunk who was shuffling about the town railing against the world. 

On the way back to the apartment we stopped for a glass of wine each. They took an awfully long time to come, eventually emerging accompanied by four bowls of nibbles, including little bits of fresh tomato with cream cheese on top.