RAIN IN SOUTHERN ITALY

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THE RAIN IN SOUTHERN ITALY FALLS MAINLY IN SMALL, SPARSELY SPACED, DROPS
After seeing the newspaper weather map showing rain along the coast, I almost cancelled my plans to go to Trani, a port town about half hour away by train, but another couple here at the B&B from Sardinia was going and didn’t seem concerned, so I followed their lead and went anyway. It did rain, maybe for two minutes a couple different times, but nothing got wet that I could see.
I did my usual—wandered around the historic area, walked out on the jetty, stopped at a small grocery store that had a meat and cheese refrigerated case, and had the woman put together a “panino” for me with whatever I see that looks good, cheese, ham, slices of dried tomatoes in olive oil, sometimes some eggplant also olive oil soaked, a few mushrooms, etc., and sat on a park bench to eat. I’m still not into having a big meal at 1:30. I did eat a tomato wrap at McCafe last night. Very sad—almost couldn’t find the tomato. The piece of deep fried chicken was OK, but I won’t go back except to go to their coffee bar that has a chocolate desert that looks incredible.
In Trani, I came on a group of Japanese ladies who are staying there for three days to do pen and ink drawings. You can see in the photos that they are working on a grand scale. They were having trouble keeping the paper canvas from blowing away in the wind.
If you look closely at the photo of shoes in the store window, you’ll see the reflection of my clunky Danskos that I thought would look somewhat stylish—NOT. I gotta quit marveling at the shoes and just accept them as normal.
I’ve seen many gnarled trees here that seem so twisted I can’t believe they’re alive. Many of the olive trees I see from the train windows are like that, too. Seems odd since I don’t think they get that much wind. In the background, on the right of the bent trees, you can see some women running. It is not unusual to see people running here now. I say now, because I tried to do in back in 1980 when I was here and people looked at me strangely, or so I thought anyway.
Going into the bank is closely monitored. There’s a little “beam me up, Scottie” kind of glass cage that you push a button to enter. After it closes behind you, the front opens to let you step out. Same process for leaving. Note there is also a guard on duty.
I once wrote a poem about a happy patch of dirt in the city that got to see daylight when the city decided to plant trees and removed the sidewalk that had covered it for years. Here, the dirt has been covered for centuries, hence the photo of the backhoe digging up the street and revealing dirt below.
So much is different here, but some things are similar. There’s a lot of construction in the area just outside Bari, and it looks to be typical of other places where the cultivated land is shrinking and the built-up areas expanding. Another similarity, at least to Alaska, tourists walk around looking, eating, and buying, but tend to look right past locals who are working. The guy standing at the wall is one of many who are taking off plaster and restoring church walls to their original stone. The cat doesn't look like it, but it's working hard.
If I hadn’t see Stacy rolling out her Fiat Cinque Cento, I would have thought the driver of the SUV was very skinny, but I’m sure they used the same process to put it in that tiny space.
Tomorrow, I go to Alberobello to see the Trulli houses, rain or not.

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Comments

[diane dunn]

belissimo
Great travel writing - I sent another email, but don't know if it was sent. dd