After a spontaneous whirlwind of a year that saw me spending extended periods in Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, the Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia and traversing pretty much the entirety of India, I find myself back in Bari. Specifically, the colourful quartiere of Madonnella, where I’ve called home for the past four years, after moving there as a sort-of life experiment from South London, towards the tail end of 2019.
Madonnella hugs Bari’s Lungomare(“seafront” – it’s the longest in Italy) and is a neighbourhood where you find an abundance of nonnas (both of the friendly and rather stern variety), clan foot soldiers, young working professionals and more recently, AirBnB guests all going about their lives simultaneously, yet also minding their own business.
A snapshot of Bari life; late-summer 2023.
It’s also incredibly multicultural and on my tiny street – as well as a stray Englishman with distant Khasi (on his father’s side) and Mancunian roots (his mother’s side) – there are Chinese, Indians, Mauritians, as well as Italians. One of my most memorable Madonnella experiences was one Sunday afternoon a few years ago, when the immigration police paid a visit to the street and decided to check that a few families’ paperwork was in order. A number of the nonnas suddenly appeared on their balconies and leapt to their defence, shouting down to the police and telling them to leave them alone and move onto more important matters. Over time, I’ve developed a real affection for daily life here and all of its idiosyncrasies.
I was only meant to leave for one month. I took off for Vietnam in mid-August last year, with the intention of returning in September but quickly became captivated by its culture, its food and the heady combination of hectic cities, tranquil rice paddy-dotted countryside and stunning bays and coastal vistas. I fast-developed a taste for life on the road and the endless new experiences it offered, found that I was still able to do freelance work as an arts PR consultant remotely from the other side of the world, and one month turned into three, then six and eventually became an entire year.
After Vietnam, I ventured into Cambodia, Thailand and Laos. I still have a huge Khasi family on my grandmother’s side in Shillong in Meghalaya, North-East India (they are actually closer to parts of Myanmar, Thailand and Laos than some of ‘mainland’ India) and soon various cousins were suggesting that I tried to fit in a visit too. I arrived in late-October, was very generously offered the use of her vacant home by an Aunty who spends half of the year in the South of the country, and for the next three months set up in base in Shillong and went about my daily life there, almost as a quasi-local.
1.) Sitting down for a bowl of local steamed clams, Huế, Vietnam. 2.) Mullick Ghat Flower Market, Kolkata. 3.) Paradise beaches and the best seafood curry, Mahabalipuram, Tamil Nadu. 4.) Exploring Bangkok’s canals. 5.) The Manila cityscape, the Philippines. 6.) Browsing for shadow puppets, Jalan Surabaya, Jakarta.
I was kindly looked after and made to feel welcome by my Indian family, became very well-acquainted with the Evening Club (an excellent live music venue run by Jeff Laloo, and in my opinion, one of the best grassroots platforms in all of India), started zipping around the lanes of Shillong and the surrounding areas, mainly using the Rapido scooter taxi service or the black-but-yellow-roofed Maruti 800 local cabs as my means of transport, attended two Khasi weddings and three funerals, and was able to do some digging into family history, in particular finding out that my grandmother’s father was in fact raised in India and not in Ireland, as we had been led to believe all of these years.
The streets of Shillong, Meghalaya, including Police Bazar, its main shopping area. The Shillong side of the family (most people in this photo are descended from either my grandmother’s sisters or brothers).
I continued to use Shillong a base for the next few months as I explored as much of the rest of India as possible, from Puri to Amritsar, Rishikesh to Pondicherry, Jodphur to Mysore and Madurai to Delhi (and naturally, everywhere in-between). I crammed in a lot during my time, had some of the most amazing experiences and delicious food and was even able to fit in a two-month sojourn to Thailand, the Philippines, Indonesia and Malaysia, whilst I waited for my Indian visa to renew.
The trip wasn’t without its challenges though. A mysterious malaria-like illness gripped me late-last year, lingered for several months, caused me to lose my appetite and saw me lose two stone; I mislaid a debit card and had the other one cancelled by my bank’s fraud team; my first flight into Shillong from Hanoi was cancelled due to a cyclone; I suffered a sciatica flare-up in Kolkata and sustained permanent scars after coming off a scooter in Sidemen, Bali, there was an unsettling incident with a security guard in the Punjab, an argument with a rogue taxi driver in Varanasi that led to him dumping me and all of my luggage out of his car in the middle of the road, nearly causing me to miss my train and laughably, my suitcase was lost by the airline on the final homeward leg of my journey to Mangalore (luckily it was returned one day later).
In the words of George Harrison though, all things must pass and whilst I sense that I will regularly have to resist the temptation to just pack up and run off back to Asia or head towards Latin America in the opposite direction, Bari is home. As I reintegrate into the rhythm of daily Pugliese life, I’m not just returning; I’m rewriting. Fresh connections, new colleagues, potential bandmates, a reappreciation of the importance of community and various burgeoning creative projects signal a phase that’s brimming with potential. A pipe dream that’s been in the ether for a while now, may also see Madonnella becoming a more permanent semi-base for years to come. It’s all been an equal mix of the alluring and exhausting – in many respects…
However, September and October are always months of busyness, flux and change and things will settle down in November and December and then the next chapter become clearer.
Back in July 2011, I had one of my favourite trips-ever to Lisbon in Portugal with four of my oldest friends, Chris, Matty and Scott. We were young, naïve and probably rather irritating to share a room with but had a blast and attracted new friends like flies to honey. In our hostel dorm at Travellers House in the Baixa district, a young Canadian dude in his early-20s bunked in the same room as us for a couple of nights. On the day he checked out to continue his journey, he shook our hands and urged us to “Enjoy your crazy life adventure guys”. He must be in his 30s by now and probably has a very sensible career and a mortgage but that phrase has always stayed with me. Here’s to be being grateful for the past but looking towards the future.
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards” –
Listen to this (‘Never Lose Your Sense of Wonder’, a little-known 2005 single by Yeti, a band fronted by John Hassall, bass player of The Libertines. An excellent Byrds-esque jangle of a tune and a mantra to live your life by): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NAso8g5rKk
It’s been a while since I’ve written and published anything on this site. 2022 ended up being a busy year, balancing two jobs, enjoying the benefits of a renewed post-pandemic social life, all whilst continuing my Italian life experiment living in Bari in Puglia, Southern Italy. I took off for an extended period of travel in late-August, beginning with Vietnam and then moving onto Cambodia, Thailand and Laos, before deciding to fly over to North-East India to spend some time with family on my paternal grandmother’s side in Shillong, Meghalaya. I’ve been here since 24th October and as I’m lucky enough to be able to continue working remotely from here, am likely to remain in India until mid-April 2023.
Over the past couple of months, I’ve been ruminating about the significance of the name ‘The 2i’s’ (most familiar in modern pop culture as the name of an influential Soho coffee house-turned-music venue). Below is something of a sprawling, stream-of-consciousness piece of writing that looks back at my experiences over these past three years of living overseas, namely the curious similarities between India and Italy and what I’ve learned from the time I’ve spent in these countries. Much of this article flowed out of me one afternoon over numerous cups of coffee whilst sat on the balcony of Café Shillong in Laitumkhrah, Shillong. I’ve revisited and wordsmithed it a couple of times so hopefully it now resembles something coherent…
1.) The 2i’s. The Soho coffee bar that in the 1950s and ’60s became the birthplace of rock ‘n’ roll and the modern popular music industry as we know it today.
2.) The 2i’s. Italy and India. The two countries where I’ve decided to spend the majority of my time over these past three years.
3.) The 2i’s. The twins representing my astrological sign, Gemini. Geminis are said to have two sides to them but don’t we all? It’s not something I’ve paid a huge amount of attention to in the past but in India where I’m currently residing, people take astrology very seriously and prospective spouses are even matched, based on birth charts and compatibility readings.
1.) The 2i’s Coffee Bar, Soho, London
A coffee bar that was located in the basement of 59 Old Compton Street in the heart of London’s Soho, and as the Westminster City Council blue plaque outside it now proclaims, “the birthplace of rock ‘n’ roll’ and the modern popular music industry”. The likes of Cliff Richard, Hank Marvin, Tommy Steele, Adam Faith and Joe Brown were all discovered performing here and despite only having a standing capacity of 20, The 2i’s is arguably the most influential British music venue of the 20th century.
The bar was the inspiration behind Liverpool’s Casbah Coffee Club, which played a key role in the development of an early line-up of The Beatles, and Bruno Koschmider, the manager of Hamburg’s Kaiserkeller visited the bar in 1960 to scout out British musicians to play at his venue. Derry and The Seniors were one of the groups he spotted and Allan Williams, who looked after them was also the first manager of The Beatles and arranged for them to play a run of shows in Hamburg. The rest is history…
The 2i’s, 59 Old Compton Street. Soho, London.
The 2i’s’ name derived from the surname of its first owners, brothers Freddie and Sammy Irani and although it closed in 1970, the legacy it created lives on. Serendipitously, my final PR Director job before leaving London in 2019 was for a company based at 58 Old Compton Street, opposite the site of The 2i’s (it’s now home to Poppie’s Fish & Chips, although the rock and roll-themed basement seating area pays homage to its musical past). Music was pivotal in my formative years (particularly that of an off-kilter or rebellious nature), gave me an identity and the significance of working so close to a such revered part of pop music heritage was not lost on me.
2.) The 2i’s; Italy and India
Some people in life are destined to be seekers. Sal Paradise in Jack Kerouc’s ‘On The Road’ was one (not to mention Kerouac himself), as was Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz’. Some even say that Elvis was a seeker and spent his life searching for a deeper meaning (his former wife Priscilla described him as “a searcher”). According to literary critic Dr A.J. Dranathi, seekers are individuals “questing for love, adventure, redemption and enlightenment” or to quote Holisticism.com, “may be highly-intuitive and feel guided to certain ideas or topics”.
The unlikely trio of Jack Kerouac, The Wizard of Oz’s Dorothy Gale and Elvis Presley.
When I left London three years ago, I was naturally and instinctively drawn to Italy and India. India was the first place I took off to, with my flight to Mumbai touching down in the early hours of 13th November 2019. Italy was then where I decided to temporarily adopt as home for the next two years, relocating to Bari in the South of the country in early January 2020.
A question I get asked a lot is “why Italy?” or “why India?”. My standard reply is that I have family in India on my grandmother’s side and that Italy was far enough away from Britain for a change but near enough to easily return if I needed to. However, looking a little deeper, the similarities between Italy and India are pronounced.
Firstly, in both countries, food is seen as sacrosanct. Both cultures greet guests with food as a way of expressing warmth and hospitality and meal times are seen as sacred and are not to be interfered with. The concept of grabbing a quick bit to eat for lunch or eating at your desk doesn’t exist in Italy (as is reflected by the 1.30pm – 5pm siesta or pisolino) and in India it’s very much the same. I’ve been scolded by Italians via Instagram for changing an ingredient or improvising on one of their revered traditional dishes and in both countries, each region has its own distinctive food culture, with dishes often being unrecognisable to neighbouring states. For example, Khasi food in Meghalaya tends to be milder than in the rest of India, whilst in Italy, Basilicata and Calabria in the South are the only regions that use chilli in their cooking. Both countries eat dinner late too; in Italy don’t even think about sitting down in a restaurant before 8.30pm and in India I’ve noticed that many families eat late in the evening as their final activity of the day, just prior to going to bed.
An Italian family in the Abruzzo region and an Indian family in West Bengal tucking in for lunch. Meal times are seen as sacred in both countries.
Family and community are also crucial to Indians and Italians too. I’ve written about this before, but in a way that’s very different to modern British and American society, many generations will live together under the same roof, or in the same complex or compound. Children, whilst raised by their parents, will often grow up under the watchful gaze of grandparents, aunts, uncles, great aunts, older cousins and so on. In many respects, it’s a much more natural way to be, with family members freely popping in and out of each other’s homes on a daily basis, rather than planning lengthier overnight, yet more sporadic visits.
I write this from the balcony of Café Shillong in Laitumkhrah, Shillong, whilst an 8,000-person-strong crowd marches along the street below me for the annual Roman Catholic Eucharistic procession. Religion plays a huge role in daily life in both Italy and India and surprisingly to many, the North-East Indian state of Meghalaya where my family resides, is predominantly Christian. Processions, rituals and regular religious holidays are recognised and respected as days of rest, with very few shops open after lunch and Sundays are strictly reserved by many families for church, with the large-scale events and concerts prohibited by the authorities.
The annual Roman Catholic Eucharistic procession (and much of this article coming together), Laitumkhrah, Shillong. November 2022.
The role that religion plays in providing a sense of community cannot be underestimated. On my tiny street in the Madonnella quarter of Bari, a shrine to Saint Antonio of Padua is lovingly cared-for and provides a focal point for the street’s residents, old and young alike. On various saint days, neighbours will gather next to the statuette for small services, saying prayers and singing hymns. Notably, many of the residents who take part in these ceremonies are elderly widows, emphasising the importance of the community aspect.
It’s not always as wholesome though; last summer the shrine provided me with one of the most enduring depictions of daily existence in inner city Bari. On a Saturday afternoon, one of the flats on the street was busted in a drug raid. As the plain clothes undercover police and their trusty Alsatian ransacked the building, the elderly ladies on the other side of the street were quietly beginning their service in reverence to Saint Antonio. The image of the raid and the service taking place simultaneously and metres away from each other entirely sums up my experience of life in Southern Italy. Religion and criminality co-existing side-by-side with nonnas and clan foot soldiers going about their daily business but with a mutual respect and understanding.
The shrine to Saint Antonio at various points throughout the year (Madonnella, Bari). In the final photo, if you squint through the balcony railings, you can just about see the police raid taking place to the right, whilst the Saint Antonio’s devotees prepare for their ceremony to the left.
Religion aside, both countries seems to be a lot less “I”-focussed than some of the more overtly capitalistic countries and despite the right-wing governments currently in power, at a personal level, the wider community is more important than the individual. News travels fast and births, deaths and marriages are celebrated and commemorated by the whole community. In Bari, I witnessed my entire street clapping and shouting neighbourly cries of “ciao!” as an elderly lady was loaded into an ambulance by boiler-suited paramedics during the peak of the first Covid crisis. Luckily, she survived and returned to the street a few weeks later. Italian births are celebrated by the placement of coloured ribbons on the front door of the family home and deaths are marked equally publically with large billboard-style posters (often with photo) being put up outside the home of the deceased or in the town square.
In Shillong, a few weeks ago, I attended a funereal gathering at the home of a Khasi lady who had recently passed away. I’m not exaggerating when I say that there were hundreds paying their respects. Whilst respectful, the mood wasn’t entirely sombre either with plates of Khasi food being served up by helpful neighbours, the younger members of the family of the deceased running around tirelessly serving tea and biscuits, not to mention the large groups of local men who had gathered, smoking cigarettes and chewing kwai (betel nut).
Apparently in Shillong, it’s customary to hold large gatherings like this after a death, and for three days after the passing, the family feel it is their duty to open the doors of their home to whoever wishes to pay their respects. Only a few days ago, I attended the funeral of a much-loved teacher and college owner in the town of Nongpoh, 50 kilometres away from Shillong. The service was attended by hundreds and lasted for nearly five hours with several eulogies from friends, family members and colleagues, biblical readings and songs. In some ways, funerals here are less formal affairs than in Europe and whoever would like to say a few words about the deceased is strongly encouraged to, regardless of whether they are on the official order-of-ceremony or not.
I gave myself two years (and extended it to three years, due to Covid) for this period of ever-so-slightly transient, soul-searching travel to last for. Whatever this next chapter holds, the impact of living in Italy and spending an extended period of time in India will stay with me a very long time, in particular the emphasis both cultures place on community and family.
3.) The 2i’s; the supposed split personality of a Gemini
This talk of religion and the holistic benefits of community leads me nicely to a word about spirituality.
Astrology is something I’ve always taken with a pinch of salt, however in some Indian cultures it’s taken extremely seriously indeed. I had the realisation a few months ago in Italy, that ‘The 2i’s’ were quite literally the symbol of my star sign; the twins of Gemini. It is said that Geminis have two markedly different sides to them and that the twins represent this. I would argue that most people do, however, I have realised that whilst I’m naturally open and extrovert and am someone who enjoys chatting to strangers and gets energy from being with others, there is also another side of me that is introspective, looking for meaning or significance in everything and is actually quite shy in certain situations. With friends (or strangers) in a pub or a café I can be a picture of sociability but put me in an institutionalised setting like the staffroom or a networking event and sometimes I can clam up and will want to get out of there as soon as politely possible.
Whatever our thoughts about astrology, a tradition that really stood out to me in Vietnam was the worship of ancestors. In many Vietnamese homes and offices, a simple shrine will be made with photos of deceased loved ones and often some burning incense and candles, as well as gifts of fruit and sweets. Whilst rooted in ancient folk beliefs, the tradition almost seems devoid of organised religion and leaning more to humanism and the worship of nature (in many ways, humans being no different to other animals, eventually returning to nature and the earth). The practice of ancestor worship is grounded in the Vietnamese beliefs that the past and present exist simultaneously and that the actions in our lives will directly affects the lives of our future descendants.
The twins of Gemini depicted in the 14th century Arabic astrological ‘Book of Wonders’, a typical ancestral shrine in Hanoi, Vietnam and Acharn Helen Jandamit.
In October in Bangkok, Thailand I spent 10 hours in the company of Helen Jandamit, a Vipassana meditation (or “insight meditation”) acharn at her home in the Chatuchak district of the city. Helen was originally raised in Wimbledon, South London but moved to Bangkok to settle with her late Thai husband Vorasak. She had unknowingly started practising meditation aged five, whilst sitting under a folding table in her family home and focusing her attention intensely on a crack of sunlight, shining through a gap between the pieces of wood. For the past 40 years, Helen has dedicated her life to teaching Vipassana meditation, was ordained by the Mook Rim Society (Korean Zen) for 11 years and has worked with both the Young Buddhists Association of Thailand and the Mahachulalongkorn Buddhist University.
Helen taught me the main core principles of Buddhism’s ‘Middle Way’ or ‘Noble Eightfold Path’ and tellingly, explained that practising Buddhists are encouraged to teach others about what they have learned on their journey and that this is one of the core foundations of the religion. We then spent some time practising Vipassana walking and sitting meditation.
An overview of ‘The Middle Way’. Interestingly, having the ‘right livelihood’ (i.e. a job that is ethical and makes a difference to society) is a key belief for practising Buddhists.
It took some time for us to warm up, but eventually Helen and I were chatting away about her journey, what had brought me to South-East Asia and her firm opinion that many educational organisations around the world today are failing students by neglecting to teach them about looking after their mental health and wellbeing. “Too many of us are sleepwalking through our lives”, she went onto explain.
The meditation itself was a challenge, particularly at the beginning (the walking meditation with the exaggerated foot movements and “intention statements” was hard to get used to). However, towards the end of the day, things got a little easier and during the seated meditation practice (during which the words “rising” and “falling” are repeated silently in your mind), I began to see closed-eye patterns and blue-tinted visuals and emerged from the sessions feeling refreshed.
Helen explained that 30 minutes of focused meditation is apparently worth the equivalent of three hours’ sleep, in terms of its restorative effects. She also seemed strangely touched when I asked her what emotions or sensations she had felt during our meditation session. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before”, she remarked. Helen runs the House of Dhamma meditation and healing centre in Chatuchak, Bangkok and more information is available here.
Three years ago, whilst staying at The Kokum Tree in Lonere, Maharashtra, I learned the basics of yoga one early morning with its co-owners Anuja and Sneha (two cousins who had left the corporate world of Mumbai to start an experiential homestay on their grandmother’s farm). Today there aren’t many days on which I don’t do my regular morning practice (although, in fairness, there isn’t a lot of stillness and it’s more of a workout / stretching exercise) and I’m eternally grateful to Anuja and Sneer for introducing me to yoga. Incorporating meditation into daily life has been more of a challenge since my time with Helen though. The ‘lizard’ part of my brain always seems to be naturally more inclined to fill moments of stillness with seven-minute workouts, responding to WhatsApp messages or emails or just doing something. It’s as if I’m fighting a sense of guilt for being lazy or not doing something. However, I am persevering.
The Kokum Tree homestay in Lonere, Maharashtra and its owners Anuja and Sneha with grandmother Aaji and Dr. Gabor Maté and his latest book, ‘The Myth of Normal’.
I’ve been listening to, and reading a lot of physician and renowned author Dr. Gabor Maté’s work recently and particularly, his pioneering work on childhood trauma, addiction and self-worth. Maté believes that up to 90 percent of us are addicts, as a result of the unhealed trauma wounds that we carry with us from our early development years (not just the big ‘T’ traumas such as abuse, neglect and death of a loved one but also the smaller ‘T’ traumas such as stress at home, bullying from peers and repeated harsh comments by well-meaning but emotionally blunt teachers). Whilst alcohol, drugs, gambling and sex are the obvious addictions, Maté claims that perfectionism, workaholicism and a “compulsion to do” are also hidden addictions and can often be just as damaging to our mental and physical health. This has only been exacerbated by the prevalence of smartphones and our age of increased hyper-connectivity.
Perhaps incorporating more time for stillness and as Helen Jandamit describes it, “bare awareness” is something to make a priority.
A final word from Kevin Parker
I first remember hearing Tame Impala’s ‘The Moment’ whilst driving a white Jeep Cherokee along Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles with my good mate Anna as company in August 2015. The song was a progression from the Australian band’s psychedelic garage rock roots and sounded both reflective and futuristic, with an echoed chorus refrain of “it’s getting closer”. The track immediately stood out to me and seven years on, the song still kept rearing its head at various moments during my recent jaunt around Vietnam.
Tame Impala frontman Kevin Parker later explained that he wrote ‘The Moment’ and the whole of the ‘Currents’ album whilst he was experiencing his ‘Saturn Return‘, a period of significant life transition that is said to occur around the ages of 29, 58 and 84 (the same time it takes for the planet to orbit the sun – every 29.5 years). Parker was resolute in his belief that this astrological phenomenon was one of the underlying reasons for the period of major change in his life and the resulting reflective nature of his work around this time.
After these three years overseas, am I any clearer about my purpose and the life I want to live in the future? It’s getting closer…
“I always think that each floor is like walking into a different world” is Aldo Campanelli’s introduction as he begins his tour of Spazio13, a 1,500-square-metre community hub for creative and social organisations, located in an abandoned middle school in the Libertà district of Bari. He’s not wrong, as each level turns out to be an Aladdin’s Cave of workshops, studios and co-working spaces, filled with highly-skilled creative people from Puglia.
Aldo, is the Co-Founder of Tou.Play, an experiential play-focused cooperative who occupy a number of spaces in Spazio13. He founded Tou.Play in 2017 as a “game practice community” for children, young people and adults who want to use play and gaming as a tool for learning, boosting their wellbeing and getting to know each other, in a fun and interactive way.
It’s a pretty inspiring concept and Tou.Play has now grown into one of the most interesting young organisations in Bari. On one hand, they host afterschool clubs and workshops for children from low-income families but on the other hand, they create bespoke games, treasure hunts and ‘quests’ for private birthday parties and even, corporate teambuilding days. It’s a model that’s focused around fun, collaboration and learning through playing and exploration. Tou.Play has also teamed up with Bari’s Museo Civico for a series of events and exhibitions such as Una Notte al Museo and A Brick For Nick.
The ground floor of Spazio13 is partly occupied by Tou.Play and at the time of my visit early on a Thursday evening, it’s buzzing with kids of various ages playing games and making crafts as part of the regular afterschool club. It’s loud but the students seem well-behaved and really engaged in what they’re doing.
Photos courtesy of Tou.Play.
Tou.Play has its ‘Game Room’ on the next floor, where I’m introduced to some other members of the team, including German artist Paul and dancer Franklin who are volunteering at Spazio13 as part of a scheme run by the European Solidarity Corps and European Youth / ErasmusPlus. There’s also a playful and inquisitive two-month old Border Collie puppy who is in the process of being house-trained (she has a few ‘accidents’ whilst I’m there).
The room is very much Tou.Play’s nerve centre with a large gaming table dominating the space and an array of different board games, puzzles, toys and role-playing costumes dotted around it. Aldo shows me a board game that was recently created by the team and is keen to point out that it was purely made of wood. Even the box was wooden, rather than plastic or more disposable cardboard and one would hope that its clear craftsmanship means that it will be treasured and looked after by those who play it. Whilst there are a couple of video game consoles in the corner of the room, it’s refreshing that so many of the games are analogue and not screen-orientated.
Tou.Play’s games room.
Elsewhere in Spazio13, there are a number of classrooms and performance rooms for both adult and under-18 classes, a co-working space and bar area for start-up businesses and it’s on the upper levels where things start to get really interesting. There is an entire floor that’s occupied by artists, designers and printers, including the gifted silkscreen artist Cristina Todisco. There’s a carpentry workshop, where the blueprints of Tou.Play’s recently-created wooden board game were turned into reality. There’s also a decent-sized 3D printing laboratory FabLab, who has recently shipped its creations to as far away as Los Angeles, and finally on the top floor, there is a plush but compact recording studio and audio production facility that’s apparently favoured by Bari’s tight-knit hip-hop community.
Everyone who Aldo introduces me to on every floor is warm, welcoming and happy to chat to me about their work. Whilst each part of the building has its own specific area of expertise, everyone seems to know each other and share the common goal of nurturing and encouraging creativity in the name of social enterprise.
Elsewhere in the Spazio13 building, including its courtyard which transforms into a lively outdoor events space during the warmer months.
It’s an encouraging trait that many of Bari’s burgeoning small businesses seem to have in common. In fact, I first heard about Tou.Play through another social enterprise HaBari Hostel, a low-cost, ethical and responsible ostello also located nearby in the Libertà neighbourhood. HaBari was launched by three friends who were all raised in Bari and believe strongly in “travel as an educational tool”. As well as operating like a regular boutique hostel, HaBari has partnered with a number of likeminded organisations in the area, including non-profit sustainable tourism project In Itinere, legal graffiti collective ReTake Bari, ETNIE a cultural programme that aims to integrate Italians with foreign people living in the country, and of course, Tou.Play itself.
I had originally reached out to HaBari a few months back with the aim of doing some volunteering work there; I thought it might be a way of getting to know some of Bari’s aspiring entrepreneurs and change-makers, as well as improving my Italian. One of its co-founders Silvia very kindly agreed to meet me, gave me some background on the hostel (it’s located in her grandfather’s old apartment and has given his former home a new lease of life) and talked to me about its ethos and the importance of collaboration with its partner organisations. She explained that they wanted to offer travellers more than just the usual hostel experience and that these partners could provide them with volunteering opportunities, socially responsible excursions and the chance to discover more unusual parts of the city, if guests were keen to do so.
The distinctive interior at HaBari Hostel. Photos courtesy of habarihostel.com
The so-called “brain-drain” remains to be a major problem for the Italian South with many educated young people leaving Southern areas like Puglia, Calabria and Campania for university and better job prospects in the more affluent North or overseas. However, many of the students I have taught in their 20s or 30s speak affectionately about Puglia and explain how, one day they plan to return to the area to settle post-university or after making their money in Milan, Rome, Turin or Bologna. In contrast to privileged middle class Britain where families tend to disperse and it’s considered a rite-of-passage to fend for yourself in a new city in your early 20s, here one gets the impression that they’d rather not leave their hometown and that it’s merely done out of necessity.
However, there are more positive signs when it comes to opportunities for young people in Puglia. The number of start-up businesses setting up home in Bari appears to be growing, particularly when it comes to socially-conscious organisations and cooperatives such as Tou.Play and HaBari. Certainly, the incubator-type environment created by Spazio13 and co-working spaces like Impact Hub can help provide a ready-made network of creatives and like-minded professionals for aspiring entrepreneurs and digital freelancers alike. Bari was also recently named one of the “most tech cities in Italy” in terms of companies recruiting there in the technology sector and the city has long been home to established firms such as Bosch and the Peroni Brewery (now owned by Asahi Breweries).
Inside Impact Hub Bari, Fiera del Levante.
A multi-billion Euro project to build a new high-speed rail link between Napoli and Bari is currently underway too. Its aim is to make the South more accessible to the rest of Italy and it will halve the travel time between the two cities, as well as reducing the journey from Bari to Milan to just six hours. This increased accessibility will undoubtedly bring more opportunities to the area and with the increase in remote working caused by the pandemic and more flexible work schedules, perhaps will help to reduce the economic and cultural schism the North and the South of Italy currently experiences.
This time last year, I rounded off 2020 by summing up my year through the books that I had read. The pandemic may have put many of the things in our lives on hold but one of the few positives for me was that I rediscovered reading. For those of who you found that article especially riveting; good news – here’s the 2021 edition…
I read 25 books in 2021; two less than in 2020 but not bad considering that even though the year started in Puglia with an effective lockdown (or “zona rossa”), towards the end of the year there was a lot more travelling and much more socialising (and the occasional late night). There was also the additional challenge I set myself at the start of the year to improve my Italian and I’m currently trying my best to get my head around four hours of intensive conversational lessons a week, plus the accompanying homework (this will also be a continuing objective for 2022 and probably many years beyond that).
The purpose of this post isn’t to boast about the books I’ve read. By nature, I’m not actually naturally bookish and to really absorb what I’m reading, I need to concentrate and put my phone out of sight. However, I wanted to put a spotlight on the authors and some of topics and themes they’ve covered.
The full 2021 reading list is included at the end of this piece but here are five of my highlights:
Éric Ripert is a Michelin-starred chef whose flagship seafood restaurant, New York’s Le Bernardin holds three Michelin stars and is regularly included on lists of the world’s best restaurants. He was also a close friend of the late Tony Bourdain and unusually for the chef world, is deeply spiritual and follows the teachings of Tibetan Buddhism, studying several times with the Dalai Lama himself.
In ’32 Yolks’, Ripert’s autobiography, he charts his journey from a turbulent childhood in France to rising to the top of the culinary world, after spending many years learning and working under world-renowned chefs such as Joël Robuchon and Gilbert Le Coze. In a particularly vivid section of the book, Ripert describes how he was first introduced to the kitchen after his fashion boutique owner mother’s move to Andorra led to him making friends with the owner of rustic local restaurant Chez Jacques. This was the moment that he discovered cooking could become a career and set him on his path to chefdom.
’32 Yolks’ and Ripert in the kitchen of Le Bernardin.
On a trip back to the UK last summer, I saw Stephanie Phillips fronting Black feminist three-piece punk band Big Joanie at the Green Man Festival in South Wales. Curiously, midway through their set, the group performed a stripped-down cover of Solange’s ‘Cranes in the Sky’ and Phillips explained from the stage that she had recently written a book all about her music and the impact she’s had on pop culture today. Later that day, I was wandering around the Babbling Tongues literary area of the festival when I stumbled upon a copy of ‘Why Solange Matters’ in the bookstore there. I bought it and then read most of it whilst on a solo trip exploring some of the more obscure towns and villages in South Puglia in September 2021.
Phillips is clearly an authority on all-things-Solange and talks in detail about her early years, the influence of her high-achieving parents and what life was like, growing up in the shadow of her famous older sister (a certain Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter). She also talks about Solange’s music from both the perspective of an expert and a genuine fan and weaves in her own personal experiences as an activist and a Black female musician. Like all great books about music, ‘Why Solange Matters’ made me want to go back and listen to Solange’s music with a renewed interest and better understanding; namely 2016’s album ‘A Seat At The Table’, which Phillips rightly cites as her creative zenith so far.
The cover of ‘Why Solange Matters’ and Phillips with her band Big Joanie.
I discovered writer Raven Leilani after watching her take part in a discussion with novelist Diana Evans for The Southbank Centre in March (it was during the height of the second Covid wave, so naturally this conversation took place on Zoom). She was being interviewed about her debut novel ‘Luster’, a book that since it was published in August 2020 has gone onto win three literary awards and receive acclaim around the globe.
‘Luster’ tells the story of Edie, a Black woman in her twenties who lives in New York and works as an Editorial Assistant. Struggling at work and finding it difficult to find the motivation to keep up her passion of painting, Edie begins a relationship with an older man named Eric who is in an open marriage and has an adoptive Black 12-year-old daughter, Akira. After she is fired from her publishing job, Edie moves in with Eric and his family in the suburbs and forms a close bond with Akira. Leilani’s writing is uniquely wry and tackles the absurdity of millennial life, office politics and the disturbing realities of being young and Black in the USA today. Music also features prominently in the novel with Edie frequently recalling memories of her late mother through her love of Donna Summer and disco music and Eric’s wife Rebecca attempts to bond with Edie by taking her to a thrash metal gig and then dragging her into a heaving moshpit. If you read one book in 2022, then this should be it. There are already rumours of a forthcoming series on HBO.
Raven Leilani in front of the cover of her debut novel ‘Luster’.
Unwittingly, I’ve often found myself over the past year, following in the footsteps of the Victorian essayist and novelist George Gissing during his “ramble in Southern Italy” in 1897. He travelled to Naples, Taranto, Metaponto and then Crotone and down into Old Calabria. Tracing the origins of the Magna Graecia, Gissing describes his experience with both humour and a degree of contempt. He encounters filthy inns, surly locals and inedible food and nearly succumbs to malaria whilst staying at the Hotel Concordia in Crotone. Indeed, Gissing does not seem to be in the best of health on the trip and would pass away six years later after “catching a chill on a walk” in the Pyrenean foothills in France.
I found the Hotel Concordia during my stay in Crotone in September; whilst it still is a grand old building, it looked like it had seen better days and was closed. Gissing described the small town of Metaponto in Basilicata as “nothing but a train station with a hotel above it”. I stopped off there during a road trip in June and 124 years later, I can safely say that very little has changed. However, Gissing was in awe of the 6th century Greek temple known locally as Tavole Palatinejust outside of Metaponto and the ancient columns are still an impressive sight today. Food Writer Patience Gray read and was inspired by ‘By The Ionian Sea’ after moving to Spigolizzi near Presicce in Southern Puglia in the mid-20th century and George Orwell named Gissing as one of his favourite novelists.
George Gissing, the author of ‘By The Ionian Sea’.
For the majority of my time living in London, I lived in Brixton. At first, the Brixton Academy end of Stockwell Road and then later on Brixton Hill, with The Brixton Windmill only a five-minute walk away. Yes, Brixton Hill can lay claim to still having London’s only fully-functional Grade II-listed windmill (built in 1816 as Ashby’s Mill) but perhaps, more importantly, opposite this landmark is a nondescript-looking 1970s pub of the same name (also, “The Windmill”) with a scary-looking dog often patrolling its flat roof (the famed “Roof Dog” – there is even a beer named in his honour). As well as being a community pub for the nearby Blenheim Gardens housing estate (it hosts all-day summer “South London Punk Rock Collective” barbeques and the regular Sunday night “No Frills Folk Club”), The Windmill has a near-unrivalled reputation in London for championing and breaking brilliant new bands and artists.
Whilst, its reputation has been long-standing, recent years have seen The Windmill experience something of a renaissance with the likes of Black Midi, Childhood, The Fat White Family, Goat Girl, Insecure Men, Madonnatron, Shame, Sorry, Squid and Warmduscher all passing through its doors to ply their trade on its tiny corner stage. The result is the much-hyped “Brixton Windmill scene” and the venue has become a fertile breeding ground for Dan Carey’s locally-based label Speedy Wunderground.
The Times’ Chief Rock & Pop Critic Will Hodgkinson pays tribute to The Windmill and its legacy in this short and fun release from Rough Trade Books. Whilst it’s not exactly ‘War and Peace’, it’s thorough, engaging and tells the story of this modest pub’s early days to how it became the bastion of non-conformist grassroots live music that it is today. Hodgkinson’s 18-year-old son Otto provided impressionist illustrations for the book and Will tells the amusing tale of how, on taking him to a gig at The Windmill, he was kindly asked not to hang around with him and his friends for the rest of the evening. Well worth reading for anyone who is familiar of the delights of this quirky South London boozer.
Brixton Windmill’s hotbed of live music The Windmill and the late Roof Dog.
The 2021 reading list in full
’32 Yolks’ – Éric Ripert
‘A Guide To The Good Life’ – William B. Irvine
‘A Rebours’ – JK Huysmans
‘A Short History of Roof Dog and The Brixton Windmill’ – Will Hodgkinson
‘By The Ionian Sea’ – George Gissing
‘Driving Over Lemons’ – Chris Stewart
‘Enya; a Treatise on Unguilty Pleasures’ – Chilly Gonzales
‘Fasting & Feasting; The Life of Visionary Food Writer Patience Gray’ – Adam Federman
‘Four Thousand Weeks’ – Oliver Burkeman
‘How to Win Friends and Influence People’ – Dale Carnegie
‘How to Write One Song’ – Jeff Tweedy
‘Kill Your Friends’ – John Niven
‘Luster’ – Raven Leilani
‘Meditations’ – Marcel Aurelius
‘Medium Raw’ – Anthony Bourdain
‘No-one is Talking About This’ – Patricia Lockwood
‘Perfect Sound Whatever’ – James Acaster
‘River Effra; South London’s Secret Spine’ – Jon Newman
‘Step by Step’ – Simon Reeve
‘The Artist’s Way’ – Julia Cameron
‘The Ministry of Utmost Happiness’ – Arundhati Roy
‘The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck’ – Mark Manson
It was during the uncertain days of the first wave of the pandemic in 2020 that I began listening frequently to the song ‘Love and Death’ by the Ghanaian highlife musician and bandleader Ebo Taylor. I first heard it on Mary Anne Hobbs’ BBC 6 Music show and she explained that Taylor had written it as a reaction to the breakdown of his first marriage. In the lyrics to ‘Love and Death’, Taylor compares the kiss of his former wife during their wedding ceremony to the “kiss of death”.
Musically, it’s an upbeat, yet bittersweet afrobeat number, combining wistful major seventh and minor seventh chords and a barbed lyric that preaches wisdom when it comes to matters of the heart with a buoyant-sounding horn section. Taylor originally recorded the song in 1980 for his album ‘Conflict’ (you can hear the original here) and then reworked it after collaborating with musicians from Berlin’s Afrobeat Academy in 2010 for an album of the same name, released on Strut Records. As ‘Love and Death’ reaches its crescendo, Taylor begins to switch between singing in English and a native Ghanaian language.
It was around a similar period that I started taking notice of two particular (and related) traditions in Southern Italy when it came to recognising new life, as well as acknowledging the people who have recently departed from the world.
Firstly, when a new baby is born, friends and family of the newly-born child’s parents will place a large bow or ribbon on the front door of their home; blue if it’s a boy and pink for a girl (centuries-old Italian traditions are yet to become gender-fluid). Kids are widely-celebrated in Italy and unlike in Britain, it’s completely normal to still see young children out late at night and dining with their families in restaurants or bars. Therefore, the birth of a baby is seen as a moment of great joy and one that that should be celebrated publicly and amongst friends and family, alike. The tradition of placing the ribbon above the door is so that the rest of the community can join in with the well-wishing too.
Similarly, the Italians commemorate death in a very public way. When someone is unfortunate enough to pass away; a large white billboard-style poster announcing this news, along with the details of the funeral, will be put up somewhere prominent in their local community and sometimes even on the wall of their home, or place of work. Some of these posters feature an image of Jesus or the Madonna, or even the face of the deceased.
An example of these posters in the town of Turi in Puglia and a blue bow pinned to a door celebrating the arrival of a baby boy.
Although these death posters seem a little strange or even morbid to us English, the purpose of them is to show respect to the memory of the person who has passed away and to inform people of when and where they can pay their final respects. Sadly, during Spring 2020, new posters would pop up in my neighbourhood of Madonnella with an alarming regularity and locals would often pass by, pause for a moment and offer a solemn nod of acceptance, before then continuing with their day. It’s easy to see how the news would soon spread around the local area.
It’s safe to say that family is very important in Italy and many different generations will often live together under the one roof. In contrast to the UK and US where most teenagers can’t wait to fly the parental nest aged 18, It’s not unusual for young Italians to remain living in their familial home well into their late-20s or early-30s and I actually have heard of some Italians who stay at home or even move back home after having their children. If mamma and nonna are still around then perhaps it makes sense to make use of their renowned hospitality and even more famous culinary skills. In a country where families remain close, emotions tend to be worn on the sleeve and so much of everyday life plays out publicly or in the street, it’s not really surprising that birth and death are commemorated in such a typically extrovert way.
Whilst polished concrete, artfully distressed interiors and industrial chic are all the rage in London and New York, there is only really one de rigueur fixture that I’ve noticed in many of the best eateries in Southern Italy; white plastic garden chairs and tables. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that there appears to be a direct correlation between the restaurants that have these in their dining area and the tastiness of their food.
In mid-September I was staying at the Masseria Fragnale in the hamlet of Laureto, just outside Fasano. The masseria is over 100 years old, was extensively renovated and extended in 2006, and is now run by a local family who have filled the place with tasteful antique furniture, including unusual four-poster beds, carved in India.
It was a few days of rest and relaxation ahead of the start of the school term; daily morning swims in the outdoor pool, taking my time absorbing Big Joanie frontwoman Stephanie Phillips’ book Why Solange Matters and then spending the afternoon driving through the more remote parts of the Pugliese countryside, stopping off at whichever cove happened to look particularly alluring.
After spending my first night exploring the delights of Fasano (the nearest reasonably-sized town to Masseria Fragnale), on the second evening I chose to stay local and see what Laureto had to offer. There was a rough and ready-looking braceria (barbeque joint) that I decided to swerve, before taking a punt on the unassuming Pizzeria dei Platani.
Pizzeria dei Platani’s non-nonsense dining area and a typical evening there.
You had to place your order through a service hatch leading directly into the kitchen and the menu immediately piqued my interest. Alongside the usual Margherita, Diavola, Capricciosa offerings was the ‘Leeds United’. For context; Laureto is 60 km south of Bari, 500 km from Rome and over 2,000 km from Leeds, West Yorkshire. I asked the chap serving me about the origins of this strangely-named pizza and he explained that his father spent some time living and working in Leeds (I’m guessing perhaps during Don Revie’s ‘Golden Years’) and that this pizza had been created to honour him. For some reason, I was wearing my Taranto FC 1927 / Birra Raffo shirt (a risky move in Barese / Leccese territory) and this led to us having a decent chat about football. Strangely, it turned out that FC Taranto’s current manager Davide Pedone is actually from Laureto.
I paid the princely sum of €6 for the pizza and a cold Peroni and when it arrived it did not disappoint. The pizza came topped with burrata, crushed pistachios and red onions and was incredibly moist and succulent. The guy who served me even came over to make sure it was ok; this was a place that clearly took pride in their food. Not the healthiest of dinner choices but then again, the kilometre I was swimming every morning in the masseria’s piscina probably just about worked off the calories.
Pizzeria dei Platani’s dining area was covered but with open sides and the ubiquitous TVs dotted around showing the Netherlands vs Turkey World Cup Qualifier game (even the higher end restaurants in Italy have TVs mounted on the walls). There was a large Italian family next to me with everyone from grandma right through the toddlers sat together enjoying their pizza. The seats? You’ve guessed it, white plastic chairs and tables throughout the restaurant.
The menu at Pizzeria dei Platani (clearly this photo was taken before the addition of the ‘Leeds United’ pizza).
When your pizza was ready, it was placed on a plastic tray on top of a piece of paper and then you collected it from the service hatch yourself. Disposable napkins were retrieved from a dispenser in the middle of your table. Once you were finished, you simply threw the paper into the recycling bin and placed the tray on the pile to be cleaned. A highly efficient, no-fuss system that reminded me of another legendary and wallet-friendly (£3.95 a pizza anyone?) pizzeria; Icco on Goodge Street in Fitzrovia, London. Icco was the site of many post-work pizzas back in the early 2010s.
In September 2020, I spent 10 days on an impromptu roadtrip travelling around Sicily. My final stop was Catania, Sicily’s second biggest city that sits in the ominous shadow of Mount Etna, Europe’s largest active volcano. Most of the city’s buildings are characteristically dark as they have been built with volcanic rock. I very nearly moved to Catania instead of Bari earlier that year and thoroughly enjoyed my time in the city, finding it a little less hectic and more manageable than Palermo, its counterpart on the other side of the island.
One afternoon, I decided to get out of the city centre and find a braceria that specialised in hearty, no-frills, Sicilian street food such as grilled meat and bacon (or intestines if you prefer) wrapped around spring onions, cooked over charcoal. I was recommended a number of places on Via Plebiscito, a thoroughfare leading away from the city centre to the north-west. The street was a little rough around the edges but lined with a number of cafes, restaurants and street food stalls, all specialising in barbequed meat. Macelleria d’Antone, Dal Tenerissimo, Trattoria Achille, Trattoria Il Principe – take your pick. The locals apparently describe the area as “arrusti e mangia“ – “roast and eat”. They’re not wrong.
The various meaty delights of Via Plebiscito, Catania.
I had lunch at Dal Tenerissimo and then returned on another evening to check out what Macelleria d’Antonehad to offer in the way of street food. Via Plebiscito was pretty relaxed around lunchtime and I had a piece of breaded pork, served in a bun and curiously, a mousse of soft cheese and crushed pistachios. However, at night the street was an entirely different proposition. It was dimly-lit, heaving with local Catanians and the smoke from the various barbeques and grills placed on the street gave it an almost-medieval air. The smell of meat being cooked was pungent and the neon red sign of Trattoria Achille made it look like a place that would be at home on Hamburg’s Reeperbahn. The atmosphere was ever so slightly anarchic and felt very authentically Sicilian.
At Macelleria d’Antone, the service was brusque but efficient and I sampled a paper plate of the bacon wrapped around spring onions, a coarse sausage and a cutlet of what I imagine was horse meat (it’s very popular in Sicily). It’s not something I would want to eat every day but the bacon and spring onions in particular, were great. Both restaurants had white plastic chairs and tables throughout; as we now know, a firm barometer of quality in Southern Italy…
Bacon (or intestines) wrapped around whole spring onions. An acquired taste but actually a delicious snack alongside an ice-cold beer.
There are a number of other restaurants in the region that fit into this category; several of the more casual pizzerias and rosticcerias in Bari, Ricciolandia near Torre Canne (where the late Anthony Bourdain stopped for lunch in his series Parts Unknown) and most of the eateries in the bustling La Vucciria market in Palermo. Dining in Italy can be a very regimented, formal affair if you want it to be and for many Italians eating is sacred. Don’t even attempt to suggest having lunch at midday or dinner at 7pm, and alter an ingredient in a traditional recipe at your peril. However, on other occasions, keeping it simple is king and what the plastic chairs and tables represent is that sometimes people just want to go somewhere they feel comfortable and relaxed, and to eat some honest comfort food.
Where possible, I’ve included hyperlinks to all of the eateries I’ve talked about in the article above.
Anthony Bourdain dining at Ricciolandia, Torre Cane (Parts Unknown, Season 10, Episode 9) and the lively La Vucciria night market, Palermo.
When I first arrived in Bari early in January 2020, it didn’t feel conceivable that I’d still be here almost two years later and in a relatively settled state. However, a series of events, namely Covid and a re-evaluation of certain life priorities, has meant that Bari has begun to feel strangely like home.
Some of the most familiar sights from around Bari; September 2021.
I finished teaching in the final week of July and immediately embarked on a five day-long road trip back to Britain via Northern Puglia, Emilia-Romagna, Switzerland, the Rhine-Neckar region of Germany and the Hook of Holland (Covid restrictions at the time meant that driving through France was a no-go). I spent nearly a month back in the UK in August and despite having weather that was mediocre at best, had a great time seeing old friends and family after 18 months of enforced estrangement.
There were two festivals (Soul II Soul headlining South Facing Festival in Crystal Palace Park and Green Man in Crickhowell, South Wales), a boozy Mexico-inspired South London barbeque courtesy of my mate Mark, a Newbury reunion of ‘The Dream Team’ (a somewhat ironic moniker that my friends Anna, Jen, Matt and I created for ourselves, aged 17), a sojourn to Southend-on-Sea with Virginia to meet Rufus, Emily and Matt’s one year-old baby, an evening putting the world to rights at The Bowlers Arms with my old bassist and all-round-good-bloke Roger, a trip to a Thai restaurant in Surbiton with Chris, Jenny and Scott and lots of other catch-ups with old friends with whom it has been far too long.
It was also a chance to spend some quality time with my parents at the house I lived in from the age of 11 until 18 in Highclere on the Berkshire / Hampshire border and to see my sister, brother-in-law and nephews at their home in Buckinghamshire. My sister Rachel and her family had a trip to Italy planned for Spring 2020 but this was obviously shelved due to the pandemic. Never did I imagine upon leaving the UK that it would be nearly two years before we saw each other in-person again. It was particularly fun to meet her new dog Sandy though; a very cute, lively and mischievous golden Labrador puppy with a penchant for stealing running shoes and food from plates on the table…
Fun times back in the UK, August 2021.
My return journey was a more leisurely trip through Northern France (restrictions had been lifted by this point), deliberately avoiding Switzerland (my unplanned overnight stop in Lucerne on the outbound trip set me back a small fortune) and travelling through Germany, Lichtenstein and Austria instead. It was more eventful too; I went to an electro-pop night at the curiously-named Le Bistrot de St So in Lille (it is definitely not a bistro), had an incident with an incompetent hotel in Saarbrücken, Germany locking me out at 3am, left my favourite leather jacket behind in a wardrobe in Baden-Württemberg (it has thankfully now been posted back to me in Bari) and even made friends with the friendly owners of a newly-opened Celtic medieval re-enactment bar Taverna Le Madragola in Ferrara, Emilia-Romagna (highly recommended to anyone visiting Ferrara looking for something unusual). It turns out that the region has Celtic roots and that there’s even a Welsh-speaking town nearby called Baldi.
Parts of the drive were really stunning though and had an almost meditative-like quality; particularly the remote mountains of Lichtenstein, the area surrounding Innsbruck in Austria and the Alpine countryside near Salem and Friedrichshafen in South Germany. After travelling through Trentino (I stopped overnight in the pretty town of Lagundo), Emilia-Romagna and final stops in Vasto, Abruzzo and Mattinata in the Gargano National Park, I arrived back in Bari in early September.
The highlights of the return journey back to Bari; Highclere > Lille > Saarbrücken > Salem > Lagundo > Ferrara > Vasto > Mattinata.
At first, it was a little strange to be back. The novelty has well and truly worn off and the city now feels very familiar. After the excitement and merry-go-round of constant socialising whilst being back in Britain, it’s a somewhat grounding experience to be back in a country where you still have limited ability with the native language and where the network of people you know is far smaller. However, I decided that the solution was to re-immerse myself in Italian culture…
Within a few days of being back in Puglia, I had been to open-air concerts by Niccolò Fabi in Molfetta and Max Gazzè in Mola di Bari; both established and much-loved names from the canon of Italian popular music over the past 25 years. Along with Daniele Silvestri, they also perform as the Fabi-Silvestri-Gazzè group and whilst virtually unknown in the UK, are national treasures in Italy. Fabi’s music is more delicate and sincere, whilst Gazzè’s live show was more muscular and leant a lot on the earnestness of Springsteen, as well as some more electronic influences.
Niccolò Fabi live in Molfetta and Max Gazzè live in Mola di Bari. September 3rd and 5th 2021.
I’ve made it a mission this year to discover more Italian music, in particular those from the underground and alternative spectrum such as Napoli’s Nu Guinea, Bari hardcore band Strebla, local funk / soul artist Walter Celi and electronic producer Indian Wells from San Donato di Ninea in remote Calabria. I managed to squeeze my trusty cream Fender Strat and a small solid-state modelling amp into my car on the return journey so am hoping to find some likeminded Pugliese musicians to collaborate with this time around. Bari has some great venues – of all sizes – and a lot of potential for touring.
I’ve also already managed to get down to the Stadio San Nicola to see SSC Bari play – crazily, nearly two years after my first visit. In the first game I saw, the team convincingly beat Monterosi Tuscia 4-0 and at the time of writing, are currently sitting top of the table, with a gradual buzz starting to build in the city about the team’s chances. Perhaps this is the season for that re-promotion to Serie B after all? Is a return to the David Platt, Paul Rideout and Gordon Cowans-era glory days just around the corner?
SSC Bari 4 – Monterosi Tuscia 0. 5th September 2021.
There have also been a few mini-road trips prior to the start of term; namely to Laureto near Fasano in Puglia, the small town of Ceccano in Lazio (luckily, the town’s annual music festival was taking place the same weekend we visited) and a week-long tour around Calabria, the “toe” of Italy’s boot. Beginning with a fleeting overnight visit to the Medimex music conference in one of my favourite Italian cities Taranto, I then visited Crotone, Le Castella, Santa Severina, Le Cannella, Pizzo, Tropea, Belvedere Marittimo (the last place I visited just days before the start of the first lockdown in March 2020) and San Donato di Ninea. With the balmy weather now starting to turn colder, it made sense to enjoy the south whilst it was still hot and to reserve the city breaks for autumn and winter instead (Firenze, Perugia, Roma and Siena, I’ll be coming for you).
A snapshot of my travels, post-arrival in Bari. In no particular order; Laureto, Lazio, Taranto, the Calabria road trip.
With some new colleagues arriving at my school, there have already been some lively (and late) nights out in Bari, often ending up at the downtown drinking institution Piccolo Bar. Piccolo’s has been a staple of Bari nightlife for many decades and it seems to close when it wants; 6am or 7am? No problem. However, whilst nights out with other teachers are good fun, as with last year, I remain determined to mix with more locals and continue making Italian friends, acquaintances and connections. My Italian has definitely improved but I think that this year demands for a day per week set aside to learning the language. The Duolingo app has been very engaging and great for vocabulary but it’s time to up my game…
It was whilst sat on a beach in Tropea a couple of weeks ago that I decided to write down some aims, intentions, goals and themes for the year ahead (you can tell I spent 11 years working in PR). The ‘to-do list’ section is below:
1.) Write book number one (whilst I enjoy writing this blog, it technically is never-ending. A book feels like something more complete – I have some ideas)
2.) Increase Italian competence (one day a week dedicated to practising?)
3.) Continue with blog (what you are reading right now)
4.) Begin business plan (I could be onto something here or I could be dreaming in Cloud Cuckoo Land, let’s see…)
5.) Explore musical opportunities in Bari and practise guitar 3-4 times a week (for the first time since the age of 16, I’m not playing regularly with other musicians in a band. However, I do now have two guitars in my flat; an early 1960s Harmony Sovereign acoustic and a Fender Relic Strat, if you happen to be of the guitar geek persuasion).
As you can see, I’m hoping to do rather a lot over the next coming months. As a result, the Set Your Own Sceneblog will become more of an occasional creative outlet for me than something to be updated every week. Some months might see me posting several articles but then others might be quieter, depending on what else I’m up to.
Please keep reading though and as always you can keep in touch with me on Instagram @clivedrew and Twitter @CliveD.
The delights of Foggia, Cervia, Lucerne, Mannheim and the overnight Hook of Holland ferry
In late-July and with daily temperatures now registering well into the mid-30s, the school year finally wound to a close after another turbulent nine months of lockdowns and curfews. Whilst some of my colleagues returned to the UK via a quick two-hour flight from Bari Karol Wojtyła Airport, I decided to instead drive the 2,445-km journey back (the main reason being that the car needed its MOT service back in Britain) and then spend three weeks in the UK catching up with family and friends – also fitting in two festivals as well.
I had previously driven to Bari from my parents’ home in Highclere (now famous for being the filming location for Downton Abbey) late last August. After a hardcore punk festival I wanted to go to at Bari’s Ex Caserma Liberata venue was cancelled, I decided to take my time, travelling through Laon and Oyannax in France, as well as various towns in Emilia Romagna, and after San Marino, Vasto and the Gargano National Park. However, this time, things were more urgent and with an overnight ferry from The Hook of Holland (France was a no-go due to the strict Covid restrictions still in place there) booked for Sunday evening, I had just four days to complete the journey.
My final evening in Bari for a while.
On average, I spent 5-6 hours each day driving fast on the motorway. The Italian leg of the journey was fairly hassle-free (apart from a near-miss with a driver didn’t indicate when changing lane near Milan) but as anyone who has spent any reasonable amount of time in Italy will tell you, their drivers are very aggressive. Most of their motorways (“autostrade”) are only two lanes so invariably, you spend much of your energy checking blind spots and constantly switching between the two. The Slow Lane is populated mainly by lorries, ageing Fiat Unos and the occasional farm vehicle, whereas The Fast Lane is the reserve of a steady stream of hot-headed 4×4 drivers who will appear out of nowhere, drive within touching-distance of your rear bumper and flash their lights until you obviously do the right thing and move over to let them zoom past.
The Swiss motorways were a breath of fresh air initially; super clean, well-maintained and not particularly busy but then everything changed when I started to go through their tunnels. One hour-long queue was shortly followed by another one, and the continual heavy traffic meant that the Swiss part of the trip soon became quite a stressful episode, eventually leading to me having to bed down for the night, unplanned in pricey Lucerne. As well as producing tasty beer, excellent penalty-takers and mid-level luxury cars; it turned out the next day that Germany also does motorways very well. Not only was the autobahn free but fast-moving and I was able make up for lost time after the debacle in Switzerland.
It’s safe to say that my stop-offs of choice were a little unconventional but each place still had a certain charm. See below for quick city guides to Foggia, Cervia, Lucerne and Mannheim.
Night one: Foggia
Poor old Foggia gets a bad press. Officially “Italy’s hottest city”, it’s located in the middle of the arid and flat ‘Tavoliere’ plain in Puglia – known as “the granary” of the country.
It suffered large-scale bomb damage during WWII and as a result its “centro storico” is a lot smaller than other similar cities. Foggia also has something of a reputation as a m****a haven and several Pugliese, including a teacher I know, urged me to give it a miss. Indeed; it has been described by some newspapers as an “underworld battleground”.
Foggia actually seemed fine to me. The city’s old town was a lot smaller than Bari’s but still had some impressive architecture and its imposing cathedral “duomo”. The lively Via Arpi (the city’s oldest street) was darkly-lit and a little run-down but had a lot of interesting restaurants, bars and even the odd tattoo parlour. I was also privileged enough to witness not one, but two trademark Foggia blackouts. Luckily power was restored quickly.
All in all, not a city you would necessarily want to go to on your honeymoon (or even stag do), but I found it interesting enough to at least whet my appetite for a long weekend (perhaps when Calcio Foggia 1920 next play SSC Bari at Stadio Pino Zaccheria). Osteria La Giara was a very good family-run restaurant serving traditional Pugliese dishes and Quarto Novo was an immaculately clean B&B in the city centre with helpful staff.
A snapshot of Foggia including the ancient Via Arpi, the city’s cathedral, Fontana del Sele and Teatro Giordano.
Night two: Cervia
This was my third visit to Cervia on the coast of Emilia-Romagna (I spent some time there last summer, as well as nearby Ravenna, Rimini, Cesenatico and Forlì). It’s one of my favourite small towns in Italy and was an ideal stop-off for my second night on the road.
Cervia’s fortunes historically revolved around its nearby salt pans (known locally as “sweet salt”) and Leonardo da Vinci is said to have designed the network of canals at neighbouring Cesenatico. Cervia hosts an annual Salt Festival early every September and I took a couple of bags back home with me last year.
Cervia has two main parts to it. There is the picturesque canal-side area flanked by bars and restaurants, where the colourful gold and maroon sails of the barges moored there have become a symbol of the town. Then there is the area near the beach which resembles more of a typical Italian seaside town a la Rimini. It isn’t quite as refined here as the area surrounding the canal but the beach is great for swimming (I took a dip here at 8pm after a long day of driving) and accommodation is a little cheaper (expect mid-century concrete tower blocks though).
On the night I stayed in Cervia, I was very lucky to see the city’s orchestra performing for free in Piazza Garibaldi, accompanied by some local opera singers. The red mullet and tomato strozzapreti at I Vinai was damn good too.
The main canal in Cervia, its vast, sandy beach and the open-air concert by its city band at Piazza Garibaldi, 29.07.21.
Night three: Lucerne
Even though it’s only a few hours from Como and the Northernmost part of Italy, the culture in Switzerland couldn’t be more different. Everything is pristine, the people went out of their way to be polite and friendly and efficiency is the name of the game. The downsides; Lucerne is not a wallet-friendly city (a Covid test cost me €110) and for all its beautiful lakes and mountains, things can feel a little clinical here. A lesser-known fact about Lucerne is that as well as its medieval architecture and famous 14th century Chapel Bridge, Lucerne is also known for producing high-quality violins.
I stopped in Lucerne after a frustrating day; 11 hours in the car, thunderstorms, heavy holiday traffic, numerous tailbacks and a hotel that had overbooked itself. On my 8.30pm arrival at the city centre branch of a well-known international budget hotel I was told by its manager that unfortunately there had been an error with my booking but they had found another room for me in Kriens, essentially an industrial estate on the edge of the city. Not ideal to say the least but I checked in and after a quick train ride, I was back into the city centre.
Lucerne is generally a genteel city but on Friday night the locals were boisterous and seemed to know how to enjoy themselves (the drinks were flowing). In particular, the area just south of the main train station was full of hip bars and restaurants and Das Schwarze Schaf was a lively spot with DJs and live music.
18 hours in Lucerne…
Night four: Mannheim
Mannheim is a city with a population of around 300,000 in the Rhine-Neckar region of Germany. Most of the city was razed to the ground during WWII, leaving only a small number of older buildings. However, unusually for Germany, the new city was then rebuilt in a grid layout with each street being given a letter and a number, rather than a name (for example, M1, N2, Q3), giving it a somewhat dystopian feel.
Initially Mannheim seemed like a slick, modern city dominated by the lush park and rose garden surrounding its 19th century water tower in the city centre and its university which is situated in the old Mannheim Palace. However, as night fell and I made my way towards the docks and the hip Jungbusch district; Turkish restaurants and hookah bars stood side-by-side with shebeen-style drinking dens and arty cafes and bars that wouldn’t be out of place in East Berlin.
At midnight, it felt like things were just warming up for the night ahead (given the long drive ahead of me the next day, I decided to avoid temptation). Special mentions to Kurfürst am Markt for some hearty traditional German food (the staff spoke no English so I had to wrack my brains to remember my GCSE in German – the schnitzel was immense) and Café Vienna; a laidback, lo-fi literature bar that was full of arts students gearing up for a night out. You could do a lot worse than spending a long weekend in Mannheim.
Mannheim’s famous water tower and surrounding garden, the baroque palace and some of the sights of its Jungbusch area.
Night five: The Hook of Holland
After powering my way through Germany; the final Dutch leg of the trip was pretty straightforward (apart from not being able to navigate the high-tech bathroom at a service station near Eindhoven) and I arrived at The Hook of Holland ferry port around 8.30pm for a 10pm boat to Harwich, Essex. It’s a tiny port compared to Dover so we able to board the Stena Britannica straight after checking in. The boat was an hour and a half delayed setting sail worryingly, due to “technical issues in the engine room” but after we eventually left Holland around 11pm things went smoothly for the remaining seven hours. The passengers on the boat were a curious mix of truckers enjoying a post-drive beer and families making their way to the UK; the word on the street was that the exclusive ‘Truckers-only Bar’ was the place to be on the ship.
I’ll be embarking on a reverse journey at the end of the month, perhaps spending more time in Germany and Lichtenstein so let’s see where I end up then…
The sun setting at The Hook of Holland and our early morning arrival at Harwich.
Ever since my elder sister made an eight-track mix tape for me aged 4 (the featured artists included Bon Jovi, Extreme and Inner Circle), I have collected records. As a kid, I religiously accumulated every Now That’s What I Call Music!compilation on cassette (Now 30 – Now 44 was the particular period in question) and then at age 12 I graduated to proper albums and received The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours by the Manic Street Preachers and um, Performance & Cocktails by Stereophonics (it was arguably the last decent album they made, in my defence) for my birthday.
As a teenager, I used the pocket money earned from my part-time job as an after-school cleaner (my school couldn’t find ready and willing adult cleaners so they employed us students instead) to bolster my collection of CDs (I had several hundred by the time I went off to university) and around 16, I began to take an interest in vinyl; initially collecting 7” singles and then graduating to full-length albums. I also took an interest in my Dad’s collection and would pilfer the occasional Beatles or Beach Boys album, not to mention a great blues and soul compilation featuring the likes of John Lee Hooker.
A snapshot of just some of my favourite albums throughout the years.
For years, I listened to music through an early 1990s hi-fi system that was very generously given to me by an uncle who worked for electronics company Phillips. He had upgraded his home system and with my interest in music had let me have his previous set-up (which would have been top of the range when it was manufactured). It was far too loud for my teenage bedroom and the volume annoyed my parents no end, but the fact it came with its own turntable, as well as graphic equaliser and CD and cassette decks was a major coup. It moved with me to London and took pride of place in the living room of my tiny flat on Stockwell Road and provided the soundtrack to many a late-night gathering.
After 17 years of continuous heavy use, the system finally stopped working in 2018 after my move to Brixton Hill and I decided it was time to treat myself to a new system. After nearly a year of reading audiophile magazines and gear reviews, I took the plunge early in 2019 and made a visit to Oranges & Lemons on Webbs Road in Clapham, South London, leaving with a Rega Elex-R amplifier and a Rega P3 turntable (Monitor 500 speakers, a Marantz CD deck and a vintage Nakamichi tape player were also added soon after, if you’re interested).
The new set-up taking pride of place in the living – either side of the fireplace.
The new set-up was the single most expensive outright purchase I have ever made (surpassing even guitars) and a present to myself to celebrate the first year of being successfully self-employed. However, it soon proved to be an excellent investment. Not only are the Rega units built like tanks, but I began to listen to records in an entirely new way, hearing details and nuances in the recordings that wouldn’t have been picked up before. On nights in, instead of turning the TV on after work, I would listen to albums instead.
As well as being so far away from family and friends, leaving my record collection behind in boxes was perhaps the second hardest thing about moving to Bari. I still buy the occasional vinyl in Italy and there are some excellent record shops in Bari, namely electronic specialist EXP, New Records for indie / new wave / alternative Italian, and the San Pasquale second-hand emporium Wanted Records. However, it’s frustrating not being able to listen to the new purchases (my current Bari set-up is a laptop or iPhone connected to a Bose Soundlink Bluetooth speaker – it’s not quite the same).
During the second wave of Italian Covid restrictions in late-2020 / early 2021, I did rediscover the joys of streaming though and began obsessively curating a series of Spotify playlists based on genre and overall vibe. What started off as a way to pass the time during lockdown soon became a labour of love and many of these have been painstakingly created (in particular, ‘Non-obvious soul’ and ‘Eyeliner and Spraypaint FM’); not just in terms of the chosen tracks but also the running order (don’t play these on shuffle mode).
With a 2,000-km drive ahead of me later this week, some of these playlists will be on heavy rotation, along with a number of podcasts. Here’s a summary of some of the most interesting compilations I’ve put together and what you can expect. I hope you find something to your taste; sit back and give your ears a treat…
I’ve been a great lover of soul music since I was a teenager and this playlist focuses on the less obvious cuts. Sure, there are some famous names in there but the song choices are a little more under-the-radar. Starting off with some instrumentals from Young-Holt Unlimited and the Menahan Street Band, this collection takes you on a journey through early Northern Soul footstompers, gospel, Motown, Stax, ‘60s girl groups, disco, slick 1980s pop and then the titans of ‘90s soul such as Jil Scott and Lauryn Hill. It ends with some more contemporary artists such as Children of Zeus, Lost Horizons and Solange.
Inspired by the Manic Street Preachers, Simon Price’s Stay Beautiful clubnight and a number of other provocative, sleazy, ‘eyeliner-friendly’ bands, this is the indie disco but with an edge. The New York Dolls, T-Rex, The Stooges and of course, the Manics all make an appearance but there are also nods to some often-forgotten noughties groups such as King Adora, Kinesis, Miss Black America and My Vitriol. Watch out for the disco and ‘80s pop interlude midway through.
I started compiling this playlist during what seemed like the endless Italian summer of 2020 – and the brief easing of the Covid restrictions. The soundtrack to many a summer’s evening, there’s a lot of disco, house and upbeat funk tracks, as well as some Italian oddities like ‘L’eroe di Plastica’ by Napolitano percussionist Tony Esposito. Put this one on as the soundtrack to a summer evening’s barbeque.
Hip-hop is not a genre I can claim to having an encyclopaedic knowledge of. I appreciate its artistry and the impact it’s had on modern culture but it’s probably the genre I have the least records of in my collection. However, reading XL Recordings founder Richard Russell’s book ‘Liberation Through Hearing’ and the BBC’s documentary series ‘Hip hop: The song’s that shook America’, opened a new world to me and I started to listen to a lot of hip hop from the 1980s and early ‘90s. This playlist attempts to provide a chronological musical history of the genre over five hours, starting with The Fatback Band’s ‘King Tim III’ (mooted by many as the first-ever hip hop track) and finishing with a crop of current artists including Berwyn, Madlib and Slum Village.
This playlist was created, mainly with the goal of helping to improve my Italian. It features a collection of classic Italian songs, alternative recommendations from Italian friends and some tracks I’ve found through my own research. Italian music icons such as Lucio Battisti, Fabrizo De Andre and Domenico Modugno are included but also young upstarts such as Venerus and Takagi & Ketra.
After nearly ten years of living in Brixton, it’s hard for reggae music not to rub off on you in some way. I’ve always had soft spot for the genre but exploring the area’s specialist record shops became a favourite weekend activity of mine – in particular Supertone Records on Acre Lane and Lion Vibes in Brixton Village. This playlist has developed and been added to over a couple of years and takes in classic reggae, earlier rocksteady, as well as some heavier dub moments. There’s an ace Discogs article on Brixton’s Supertone Records here.
A playlist of wistful alternative folk, alt-country, Americana and psychedelia. Expect Crosby, Stills & Nash, Fairport Convention, Love, The Flying Burrito Brothers and some more tender moments from Shirley Collins and Jackie Leven.
Partly inspired by my trips to Tennessee over the past few years, this playlist showcases a selection of the earliest rock & roll from the late mid-1950s until the early-60s. Bo Diddley, Billy Hawks, Carl Perkins, Gene Vincent and Link Wray all feature, as well as some of the more raucous blues tracks of the era.
A collection of beautiful-sounding tracks that somehow make the listener feel happy and sad simultaneously. I spent a lot of last year’s road trip to Sicily listening to this playlist. Contains not one but two versions of ‘Strange Overtones’; David Byrne and Brian Eno’s original and an Americana-style cover by Chicago group Whitney.
Finally, this one is still a work-in-progress but focuses on music which is vaguely spiritual or uplifting; be it gospel or purely existential in its nature. Features the 1971 gospel-disco epic ‘Like A Ship’ and the Beach Boys’ hymn ‘Our Prayer’.
One of the joys of living in Italy – even during the periods of lockdown – has been discovering local ingredients that are specific to particular regions. Edible weeds such as cicoria, cima di rapa and puntarelle in Puglia and the Salento; ‘nduja, soppressata and Tropea onions in Calabria and the crispy red peperoni cruschi of the Basilicata region, to name just a few.
A few weeks ago, I popped my head into my local casa vinicola,Vecchio Feudo on Corso Sidney Sonnino in Bari to pick up some essentials (well, olives, taralli and white wine), when a product I hadn’t seen before caught my eye as I was paying at the counter. A small glass jar in the chiller filled with a white paste was labelled ‘Ricotta forte’ (‘strong ricotta’). My interest was piqued and at €2.50 it was cheap enough to take a punt on.
A typical jar of Pugliese ricotta forte and Vecchio Feudo on Corso Sidney Sonnino in Madonnella, Bari.
I took the jar back to my flat, unscrewed the lid and a smell unlike anything else I can remember immediately hit me. It was pungent to say the least and made gorgonzola seem like Dairylea in comparison. I tentatively scraped a tiny amount onto a cracker and the sheer strength and bitterness of this spreadable cheese took the roof off my mouth. What on earth had I bought?
After some research, I found out that ricotta forte is a Pugliese speciality which is also popular in the neighbouring region of Basilicata. Its origins date back nearly one thousand years to when local shepherds would create their own unique version of the soft cheese ricotta (used in a variety of Italian sweet and savoury dishes) by placing it into wooden, glass or ceramic containers, adding salt and then storing in a dark, damp place to encourage the growth of mould. Traditionally covered with fig leaves, the cheese would be opened and stirred every week but overall, the fermentation process would take around three months. The fungus that grew gave the cheese its distinctive spicy flavour and one of the reasons the shepherds preferred this potent variety of ricotta was the fact it would keep for so long (it is said that ricotta forte never really ‘goes off’).
Ricotta forte being produced in the traditional way and served on crostini with anchovies.
The cheese soon became a local speciality and Pugliese families would often make it at home, placing the jars under the kitchen sink or in cool cantine (cellars) to ferment. It is often eaten served on crackers or crostini with anchovies or tomatoes or with sweeter ingredients such as grapes or drizzled honey. Even though I’m a big fan of strong blue cheeses, spreading ricotta forte on crostini is not for the faint-hearted. I actually found that stirring a teaspoon (yes, a teaspoon is all you need) into a pasta dish or a tomato sauce works better and adds a spiciness and piquant flavour. I also used a little in a mousse and served this with roasted fennel – the recipe courtesy of A Taste For Travel can be found here.
Ricotta forte has been recognised by the Ministry of Agricultural, Food and Forestry Policies as a typical food of Puglia and Basilicata and has been awarded PAT (prodotto agroalimentare tradizionale) status. Incredibly, the Campania region alone has 515 of these. The Slow Food organisation has also sung the cheese’s praises and in particular its time-honoured production method and long shelf life. In line with the current craze for fermented food such as kimchi and sauerkraut, ricotta forte is also said to have numerous health properties including aiding digestion, boosting gut bacteria and even killing off worms. Good to know.
One jar of ricotta forte is likely to last you the best part of a year (you could even consider it an investment, of sorts) and it really does have a taste unlike any other cheese. You could do worse than picking up a jar of the stuff when you next visit Italy or a well-stocked Italian deli in the UK. You never know, it might even come in handy if you are planning on organising a stag do or a sports team initiation ritual in the near future too.
You can find a video showing the traditional production process of ricotta forte courtesy of Maria Rosa Pinto below:
There is also an English-speaking ricotta forte taste test here.
