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.
We are all going to die. Unfortunately, this is an inconvenient, unavoidable fact of life. However, once you have passed onto the next world, how would you like to be remembered? A quaint wooden bench in a public park dedicated to your memory? Your ashes placed in an attractive urn overlooking the family dining table so that you can watch over them as they eat? Or perhaps you would like a distinctive tree planted in your honour? Or you could have an item of food or even better, a panino named after you so that your essence can live on every time someone takes a bite of an unusual, yet delicious sandwich? Well, that is exactly what happened with Pasquale Dell’Erba from Alberobello and ‘Il Pasqualino’.
Pasquale’s views on life after death are not well-documented but one thing is clear; he made a bloody good sandwich (or panino in Italian). He owned and ran a delicatessen on the corner of Corso Vittorio Emanuele and Via Cesare Battisti in the Pugliese town of Alberobello – famous internationally for its white, conically-shaped dwellings known as trulli. His trademark sandwich started to attract attention in the town during the mid-1960s after he began rustling it up for a small group of three or four of his close friends who would meet regularly in front of his shop.
La Pagnottella’s version of ‘Il Pasqualino’
The ingredients varied a little from time to time and depending what was available in his deli, but usually the panino consisted of tuna, capers, salami and provolone cheese. Always in that order and served in either turtle bread (pane tartaruga) or rosetta bread (rosette di pane). It may not initially sound that appetising but the combination worked very well and soon its popularity caught on. The sandwich became a hit with students from several local schools in the area who loved the fact that it was not only good value but also substantial and made using an unusual mix of hearty ingredients.
Soon, Pasquale’s deli couldn’t keep up with the demand and they began pre-making a batch of panini first thing in the morning and then refrigerating them so that they would be instantly ready as customers arrived throughout the course of the day. The term Il Pasqualino (‘The Pasqualino’) was born. Over the next coming decades other bakeries in Alberobello started to serve their own version of the Pasqualino too, sometimes adding ingredients such as marinated mushrooms, pickles or other cold cuts of meat. However, by the 1990s, these bakeries’ tradition of keeping a chest of readymade Pasqualinos in their shops began to fade and it became something of a well-kept local secret. Pasquale’s memory lived on but only amongst those in the know in Alberobello.
Today, you can go into any deli, bakery or café in Alberobello, ask for “un Pasqualino, per favore” and they will know exactly what to make, even though very often it will not be listed anywhere on the menu, or on the board outside. When I visited Alberobello last summer, I avoided the overpriced cafes on the main tourist drag near the ‘trulli zone’ and instead popped into La Pagnottella (Piazza Plebiscito, 10B) around the corner from Chiesa di San Lucia and the popular viewing platform next to it. It is actually quite an upmarket deli that also serves an array of pastries and cakes (sadly I don’t have much of a sweet tooth so give me a sandwich laden with capers and cured meat and fish any day), as well as cheese and fresh pasta.
The lady behind the counter was very friendly and humoured my basic cod-Italian and quickly made me a Pasqualino from scratch – from what I could see, sticking to the traditional ingredients but with the addition of some pickles and a drizzle of olive oil. It was delicious and actually went down very well with an iced coffee on a sweltering summer’s day; the acidity of the capers and pickles cutting through the meat and cheese. The only word of warning is that there was a lot of olive oil – it’s definitely worth picking up an extra napkin or two before you leave the shop.
Signor Pasquale Dell’Erba, the creator of ‘The Pasqualino’ (photo: Alberobello.com).
Signor Pasquale Dell’Erba, the creator of ‘The Pasqualino’ (photo: Alberobello.com).
A word about Alberobello
Alberobello is a UNESCO World Heritage site, having been recognised in 1996 and is one of the most famous tourist destinations in Puglia. The town is renowned for having the largest concentration of trulli (the plural form of ‘trullo’) anywhere in the world. These conical, low-level, whitewashed buildings are particular to Puglia and they actually can’t be found anywhere else outside of Southern Italy. There is also some debate about whether the author J.R.R. Tolkien ever visited Puglia and if the trulli served as the real-life inspiration for his novel The Hobbit and the fictional world of Middle-earth and the region where the hobbits lived called The Shire.
One of the main concentrations of trulli in Alberobello.
Trullis can be found dotted all over Puglia. Whilst many of them are still private residential dwellings, a lot of them have now been converted into holiday homes, agriturismos, shops and restaurants. The story of the trulli begins in the 14th century. The ruling Aquaviva family was keen to avoid paying high property taxes to the Kingdom of Naples, so ordered local peasants to build homes that could be easily taken down, in the event on an inspection. Using the ancient drywall (mortarless) building technique and locally-sourced limestone boulders, the trullis started to appear all over Puglia and became a symbol of the region. Centuries later, many new homes were built in this style, partly as an act of defiance to the ruling family.
Whilst I was keen to visit Alberobello at some stage whilst living in Bari, it wasn’t at the top of my list. I prioritised the baroque and culinary delights of Lecce and the coastal towns Santa Maria di Leuca and Gallipoli first. I actually only stopped off Alberobello for a couple of nights as I was going to the pared-down Locus Festival in nearby Locorotondo and accommodation there was completely fully-booked.
The Comet is Coming at Locus Festival. 14th August 2020.
Locus Festival happens every summer in Puglia and in previous years has attracted the likes of David Byrne, Esperanza Spalding, Four Tet, Floating Points, Lauryn Hill, Theo Parrish, Sly & Robbie and Kamasi Washington to the picturesque town of Locorotondo. Pre-Covid, Locus 2020 had announced a stellar line-up featuring The Pixies, Little Simz, Paul Weller and Kokoroko but sadly the event had to be completely scaled back and most of the acts were unable to play. However, miraculously, some (socially-distanced) gigs were still able to go ahead in the grounds of the Masseria Ferragnano and I saw saxophonist Shabaka Hutchings’ experimental jazz outfit The Comet Is Coming play there. I had seen Shabaka and the band several times in London and at Green Man Festival, so it was a strange experience seeing them playing a gig in the south of Italy during a pandemic year, but a great show all the same.
The following morning, I woke up at 6am and found myself unable to go back to sleep; partly due to the sunlight pouring into my room through a broken blind. It was actually a blessing in disguise as after a typically unsatisfying Italian breakfast of biscuits, pastries and coffee, I was able to explore the trullis of Alberobello without the hordes of tourists and with the August temperatures yet to reach their peak.
The streets and trullis of Alberobello at 7am on a Saturday morning.
There really is no other place in the world like it and the town took on an otherworldly feel at 7am when the streets were quiet apart from a few local businesses opening up for the day. This would be my tip for anyone visiting Alberobello; get up very early and explore the streets without the crowds. Find somewhere for a lunchtime Pasqualino and then have an afternoon pisolino afterwards, if you need it. By 11am, the place was already swarming with selfie-stick wielding tourists and later that evening a bar tried to charge me €9 for a 330cl beer. Needless to say, after speaking to the waiter, I did not pay this.
Salvation was found in the excellent Ristorante La Nicchia though. Now, it did involve a slightly hazardous 15-minute walk (or five minutes if you are driving) along a busy (and dark) main road to get there but it was absolutely worth it. Housed in a complex of trulli 1.5km outside of Alberobello, you immediately got the impression that this was where the locals ate. Great Pugliese fare, a huge wine selection and wallet-friendly prices.
The food at La Nicchia; Ravioli with almonds, lampascioni and burrata.
Braciole in tomato sauce.
For more background reading on Alberobello’s famous Pasqualino panino, head to the Il Panino Italiano Magazine website (yes, there really is a magazine dedicated to the art of the Italian sandwich).
I’ve always been a little suspicious of the places that everyone says you simplyhave to visit and am naturally more drawn to the under-the-radar destinations that pass a lot of people by. Whilst the pristine towns close to Bari on the Adriatic Coast like Monopoli and Polignano a Mare are lovely places to have lunch and spend an afternoon, I much preferred exploring the less conspicuous nearby coastal towns Giovinazzo and Mola di Bari, or the misunderstood, slightly rundown, but thoroughly absorbing Taranto.
I’ve yet to visit Florence, Rome or Venice during my extended stay in Italy but I had a great time exploring Bologna, the backstreets of Lecce, Piacenza, Ravenna, Turin and Vasto. In the rugged state of Calabria, most tourists head for the picturesque clifftop settlement of Tropea. Instead I chose to divide my time between the backwater towns Belvedere Marittimo, Diamante and Scalea. I think you have a more authentic experience than in the towns purely oriented for tourists and you get a better feel for everyday Italian life and culture this way.
Despite the ongoing disruption and travel restrictions that have been imposed over this past year as a result of the pandemic, I’ve tried my very best to see and experience as much of Italy as I’ve possibly been able to (also, of course, only when it’s been safe to do so). For the early part of 2021, Puglia was classified as ‘zona gialla’ (‘yellow zone’) and we were not allowed to leave the region. Whilst this was naturally frustrating; it was also a chance to visit some of lesser-known towns within Bari’s immediate vicinity.
Gioia del Colle
I had been intrigued by Gioia del Colle (“Joy of the Hill”) ever since reading about it during my visit to Taranto last August. I had been told that Gioia was the go-to place in Puglia for buying the best fresh mozzarella and burrata (cream-filled mozzarella for the uninitiated) and that it was also famous for its red wine – the Gioia del Colle Primitivo.
I finally got around to visiting two weeks ago and was pleasantly surprised by what I found. Gioia del Colle is a charming small town with a population of 28,000, about 40km inland from Bari, driving down the Strada Statale 100 in the direction of Mottola and Massafra. Much of its prosperity going back hundreds of years has been as a result of agriculture and food production – cheese and wine, but also olive oil and pasta.
As with many Pugliese towns, its outskirts are nondescript and a tad industrial; casual urban sprawl, dotted with the odd mid-century concrete high-rise and petrol station. However, the quaint town centre is focused around the nucleus of the central Piazza Plebiscito and several ornate Baroque churches namely, Chiesa di San Francesco, Chiesa di San Rocco and Chiesa di Santa Maria Maggiore. The latter was originally built in the 11th century and then rebuilt in 1764 following a fire and acts as the city’s principal place of Christian worship. It’s also located in the oldest part of the city, on the edge of the claustrophobic residential maze of the Centro Storico and a stone’s throw from the Norman-Swabian Castle which has Byzantine origins. The castle is now home to the Gioia del Colle National Archaeological Museum.
Clockwise (from top left); 1.) Looking towards Chiesa di Santa Maria Maggiore. 2.) The church’s interior. 3.) Inside Chiesa di San Francesco. 4.) Chiesa di San Rocco. 5.) Its ornate interior. 6.) The Norman-Swabian Castle.
I arrived in the town after lunch when all was still quiet due to the Italian South’s habitual early afternoon period of downtime, il pisolino. It wasn’t until nearer 5pm that the town whirred into action again, its caseifici and macellerie opening their doors for the second time that day, Chiesa Santa Maria Maggiore preparing for the early evening funeral of a local dignitary (the hearse was struggling to manoeuvre the corners of the medieval streets of the Centro Storico when I passed it) and the central piazza becoming a meeting places for both teenagers and uomini vecchi(“elderly men”), alike.
Piazza Plebiscito.
Gioia del Colle’s best-known export is its cheese and its mozzarella has even been awarded the much-coveted DOP (‘Denominazione d’Origine Protetta’) certification. This DOP label ensures that not only has the product been made with locally-sourced ingredients and by local farmers and artisans but that it has also been created using time-honoured traditional methods. Admittedly, Italy’s mild climate, all-year sunshine and fertile (and in some places, volcanic) soil makes it something of an agricultural nirvana and there are numerous different esteemed DOPs for any given product. Italy currently has 138 DOPs in total and over 40 for extra virgin olive oil alone.
Despite having started 2021 on something of a post-Christmas health-kick (rigorous daily exercise, curtailing the booze and copious amounts of oats, natural yoghurt and cider vinegar), I thought it would be rude not to delve into some of the dairified delights of Gioia’s cheese shops (known as ‘caseifici’). After some quick-iPhone led research I decided on ‘Caseificio Artigianale “Masseria Corvello” di Michele Spinelli’on Via Gabriele d’Annunzio, a short walk from the town centre. It proved to be an excellent choice and I was reassured that rather than having a huge cabinet full of lots of different types of cheese, they stuck to a smaller number that they obviously knew were really special.
The counter at Caseificio Artignale ‘Masseria Corvello’, Gioia del Colle.
I picked up some Gioia del Colle DOP mozzarella, a chunk of provolone, a small cylinder of the salty Pugliese semi-soft cheese Cacioricotta and an unusual white cheese that the lady behind the counter described as “formaggi fermentato”. The small individual pearls of mozzarella were delicious and succulent enough to enjoy as a starter with just a drizzle of olive oil, cracked black pepper and some green valerianella leaves (cooking with it seemed like sacrilege). The provolone was ideal for grating into pasta and for baking with and it’s long-lasting – there’s still plenty left. Cacioricotta has been a favourite Pugliese cheese of mine for a while and is equally tasty served with cooked orecchiette and tomatoes (the classic dish Orecchiette al sugo), or on its own with slices of fruit such as figs. The formaggi fermentato was a real revelation; a pungent white cheese that was soft in texture but had the saltiness and bitterness of a strong Roquefort.
Gioia is also famed for its wine and in particular its Primitivo variety which is typical of Puglia and ‘DOC’-certified – ‘Denominazione di origine controllata’. It is required to have a minimum alcohol level of 13% and it is thought to have been popularised in the area by monks who found conditions suitable for cultivating the vine during the Middle Ages. I didn’t buy any wine during my visit to Gioia but did see a bottle of its Primitivo for sale in Bari a week later for €23. Perhaps one for next time I’m celebrating.
I did manage to track down the former site of the Cassano Distillery on the edge of town though. In the late 19thcentury, Gioia del Colle was renowned for not only its wine but also its cognac and spirits using leftover wine that had been distilled. The Cassano Distillery was opened in a former farm in 1891 and thrived until 1914 when the business transferred into the ownership of the Taranto Family and the distillery then subsequently fell into disrepair. It was transferred to the health authority in 1970 to be converted into a hospital but then was taken over by the municipality of Gioia del Colle in 1997. It was renovated in 2006 and is today protected by the Ministry of Culture and Environment as a site of monumental and environmental heritage and hosts concerts and events. It was unfortunately closed up and deserted when I visited but it would be very interesting to explore in non-Covid times.
The former Cassano Distillery.
The old distillery’s entrance.
8km to the north-east of Gioia is the WWF-protected woodland area Boschi Romanazzi. I thought I’d take a quick detour via there on my way home and as the light began to fade. The main road forked right down an unmade road, took me past a grand-looking pair of gates, a roadside shrine to the Madonna and then a lonely crumbling masseria (someone’s dream home in the waiting, before opening out into an expanse of deciduous trees and green fields. It actually looked quintessentially English and was very different to the arid plains and olive groves that surround Bari. A fox even jumped over a hedge in front of my car and for a moment I had to pull over to Google “are there foxes in Italy?”. For some reason, I thought they only stuck to Northern Europe.
The crumbling masseria I passed on my way to Boschi Romanazzi.
I continued down a track marked by a sign with a large red circle and a white line running across it and then clocked a farmer on a rusty-looking tractor who was finishing his day’s work. He eyed my bright red car with an English registration plate suspiciously and I decided it was the right time to turn around and head back to the main road. I filled the tank up with petrol, got back on the SS100 and made good time getting back to Bari, eager to be home ahead of the 10pm Covid curfew.
Boschi Romanazzi, Gioia del Colle.
As with many obscure Italian towns, Gioia del Colle actually has a tenuous link to Hollywood celebrity too. Sylvester Stallone’s grandparents Silvestro (a barber in the town) and Pulchiera were born and raised in Gioia before emigrating to America in 1930. There is even a mysterious photo in existence of Sylvester, alongside his father and brother in 1965, said to be taken in the town. Its location has never been able to be confirmed though.
Gioia del Colle is definitely worth a visit if you are in Puglia. It’s driveable in a day from the cities Bari, Brindisi and Taranto and there’s enough in the town to even make a relaxing weekend break. It might be a good idea to fast leading up to it though, bearing in mind the calories you are likely to consume in decadent cheeses and rich red wine.
The streets near to Gioia del Colle’s Centro Storico and the town hall (“Comune di Gioia del Colle”).
In my next post; I’ll continue the theme of exploring under-the-radar places and will talk a little about Puglia’s “blue town” Casamassima, nearby Triggiano and a small town under Mount Etna’s shadow in Sicily whose economy revolves around “the green gold” – the humble pistachio nut.
In Bari, I live in the Madonnella district of the city. It’s a fairly traditional part of town that hugs the Adriatic coast to the north-east and is a 10-minute walk from both Bari Vecchia (the medieval Old Town containing the Basilica di San Nicola, Piazza del Ferrarese and Piazza Mercantile) and Murat, the more modern city centre and main shopping area – where I work. It also shares a border with the grittier Japigia neighbourhood to the south-east and San Pasquale to the south-west, over the railway line that intersects the city. Indeed, the original site of the Peroni brewery on Via Giovanni Amendola is just a short walk away over the tracks. Sadly, this was demolished in the last century and the factory relocated to the outskirts of the city.
Clockwise (from top left); 1.) The old Peroni brewery on Via Giovanni Amendola, San Pasquale. 2.) Various shots of Madonnella. 3.) Piazza Francesco Carabellese.
Madonnella gets its name from a statue of the Madonna that was placed in the area’s main square in the latter part of the 19th century. The original statue is thought to have been destroyed after World War II but was replaced in stone in 1956 and still stands today in Piazza Francesco Carabellese, a stone’s throw from my flat. As well as its numerous cafes, pasticcerie (cake shops), formaggerie (cheese shops), salumerie (salami shops) and pollerie (erm, poultry shops), Madonnella is dotted with various shrines and religious icons.
The statue of the Madonna. Piazza Francesco Carabellese, Madonnella.
On my street itself, is a shrine to Saint Antonio of Padua; a Portuguese Catholic priest who devoted most of his life to caring for the poor and the sick before unfortunately succumbing to ergot-poisoning at the tender age of 35 in 1231 in – you’ve guessed it – Padua. His shrine has its very own lace curtain, healthy-looking plants and flowers that are watered and well-tended to, lights that turn on in the evening and a small piece of red carpet on the pavement that I feel a little guilty walking over whenever I’m returning home with bags of shopping and aren’t able to step into the road. Miniature Christmas trees and fairy lights even appeared on the shrine in December. It is immaculate and reminds me of many of the Hindu shrines I saw during my time in India.
The shrine of Saint Antonio.
Getting ready for Saint Antonio’s Feast Day on 13th June.
For two weeks at the beginning of June, Saint Antonio’s shrine became a hive of activity and excitement. The flowers were even more lovingly attended to than usual and a circle of plastic chairs were placed around the shrine, partially obstructing the road. Then at 6pm each day, there were daily evening prayers, followed by the odd song. A group of elder ladies would sit on the plastic chairs circling the shrine, whilst other people living on the street would also take part – leaning over from their balconies to join in and to recite prayers and then bellow out the songs.
Saint Antonio’s shrine in December.
Then on the 13th June – Saint Antonio’s ‘Feast Day’ – the street threw an all-day party to celebrate. An early morning service was followed by a communal lunch with a long table placed in the middle of the road and the slightly shady “we only serve beer and Fanta” ‘bar’ opposite pumped out reggaeton bangers from 8am until dusk. There was quite a sizeable pile of empty Peroni bottles left outside by the end of proceedings.
Every now and again a statue of a mysterious lady, shrouded in black, crying and holding a tissue and rosary beads appears next to Saint Antonio’s shrine. Sometimes, there would be a small wicker basket next to her containing print-outs of prayers. There’s no denying she’s a slightly ominous presence. She appeared (perhaps on purpose) whilst my friends Mark and Stuart were visiting from London in September, much to their bemusement. “Her eyes are following us”, noted one of them as we cautiously filed past her one evening on our way to the city centre. This mysterious figure tends to appear for a week or so and then disappear again, as quickly as she emerged.
The figure of SS Sorrowful or ‘Our Lady of Sorrows’.
Some research has led me to believe that this mysterious occasional visitor to the shrine is ‘SS Sorrowful’ or ‘Our Lady of Sorrows’ – a Catholic representation of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Her ‘sorrowful’ nature reflects the “seven sorrows in her life” and are sometimes depicted as “seven daggers plunged into her heart”. Sounds uncomfortable.
It turns out this this representation of the Virgin Mary also has her own dedicated feast day on 15th September. It transpired that the celebrations for poor old Saint Antonio back in June were nothing compared to this. It would appear that SS Sorrowful is something of a night owl as the festivities didn’t really get going until the evening. However; soon it felt like most of the street was out in force. After the religious ceremony which was conducted by a priest, there was music (the bar opposite again doing the honours), food and then a grand firework display with many of my neighbours setting off DIY pyrotechnics from the roofs of their homes. Things eventually quietened down shortly after midnight.
The celebration of Our Lady of Sorrows’ Feast Day on 15th September.
Over the past year I have grown very fond of this little street in Madonnella that I am currently calling home. My flat may be freezing and a little damp during the winter months due to a lack of central heating (from December until the end of February I spend a large amount of my time in hoodies, jogging bottoms and a combination of blankets), but there is never a dull day here – much in a way that is similar to Brixton, my home in London. Organised religion aside and there is definitely a genuine sense of a co-existing community. Whilst I am definitely in the minority being British; there is a real mix of nationalities. As well as Italians, my neighbours included Chinese, Mauritians and Indian families. Last year, the Carabinieri arrived one Sunday afternoon and appeared to be very publically checking some of my neighbours’ documents. Whilst this was going on, several of my Italian neighbours came to their defence, angrily shouting at the police from their balconies. The Carabinieri soon went on their way.
I enjoyed a tempestuous relationship with one of my downstairs neighbours. During the summer, the air conditioning unit on my balcony was unbeknownst to me, slowly dripping onto the pavement just outside his front door below. He rushed upstairs one evening, lit cigarette in-mouth to shout at me and make me aware in a very animated fashion that there was an issue. I apologised and placing a bucket on the balcony soon resolved the problem. A few weeks later and after seeing one of my ‘nonna’ neighbours do it, I thought it would be ok to use some of the water that had collected in the bucket to rinse my balcony. Big mistake. Once again, I heard a flurry of footsteps coming up the hallway stairs outside my flat and I opened my door to find my neighbour outside shouting “basta!” repeatedly at me. I soon found out that the word meant ‘enough!’.
We patched things up though and were pleasant to each other over the next few months; he even helped me to test the intercom buzzer of my front door when it stopped working. However, I recently noticed that he had moved out and that two middle-aged Indian ladies have moved in in his place. A few nights ago and there was a big storm in Bari; with wind and rain lashing down on the streets. I heard some banging coming from downstairs and looked out to see that the two ladies were trying to fasten their front door shut as the double doors kept flying open in the wind. One of the elder Italian nonnas who lives opposite was also there with them – trying to fix the door shut despite the elements raging around them. Eventually they succeeded, the banging stopped and the nonna returned home.
I don’t know the lady in question’s name yet but we are on friendly enough terms – usually a wave or a brief “ciao!”. From what I gather she lives with her mother, sister and daughter in the same apartment and appears to be the street’s matriarch. Last year I was spotted driving a car and she stopped and warned me to be careful of “gli animali” (“the animals”). Who knew that inner city Bari is such a haven for wildlife?
On a few occasions now, there’s been a knock or a ring with some urgency at the communal front door downstairs. When I’ve gone to open it, she’s there, looking for “il gatto!” – a mischievous cat who has taken a liking to the balcony in our hallway, as well as the corrugated iron roof beyond it. Several times I’ve let her in so she can stand on the balcony and gradually coax the said cat back down.
In my basic Italian I asked her on the most recent instance; “è il tuo gatto?”(“is it your cat?”).
“No!”, she replied, laughing, as though I’d asked her a daft question. “Un gatto di strada!”
So, this kindly soul has taken it upon herself to look after and protect the local street cat. Maybe she is an animal lover at heart or just a good person. Or perhaps the cat keeps the rodent population down.
Either way, keep reading for more stories from Madonnella.
Looking towards Piazza Francesco Carabellese from my flat in Madonnella.
All is quiet on the street during the daily riposo (1pm – 5pm)
Saint Nicholas or San Nicola reigns supreme in Bari. He’s everywhere. Countless buildings in the city are named in his honour (for example, the Stadio San Nicola, home of SSC Bari) and it’s not uncommon to see ornate pictures and murals of him adorning houses, bars, cafes and restaurants in the city. This is all down to his relics essentially being stolen from a tomb in a church in the ancient Greek town of Myria by Italian sailors following the Battle of Manzikert in 1071. The sailors brought the relics back to Bari and two years later, the Basilica di San Nicola was inaugurated by Pope Urban II to house Saint Nicholas’ remains. It is said that the Pope personally placed the bones into the tomb underneath the church’s altar himself.
The Procession of Saint Nicholas, Bari.
Also, known as Nicholas of Bari and Nicholas The Wonderworker, he lived during the age of the Roman Empire and was a Christian bishop of Greek descent who spent most of his life living in the ancient town of Myra on the Anatolia peninsula, now part of Turkey. He gave all of the inheritance he received from his late parents to charity and was renowned for his spontaneous and secretive gift-giving and later became the inspiration for Santa Claus / Father Christmas.
Although many of the events in Saint Nicholas’ life are historically disputed, he seemed like a pretty sound bloke. He brought three young children back to life after they were killed by a maniacal butcher, with the intention of turning them into ham. He saved three poor sisters from a life of prostitution after dropping gold coins to them through the windows of their home. He appeared as a visitation in front of an executioner, threw his sword to the ground and saved three innocent men from their deaths after they had been condemned by the governor Eustathius. How a Greek-born philanthropist from 270 AD who spent much of his life living in Turkey morphed into an obese, white-haired, problem-drinking old man known as Santa Claus is unclear but it may have had something to do with the Dutch tradition of celebrating Sinterklaas.
It’s safe to say that Christmas in Bari, given its association with Saint Nicholas is usually a pretty big deal. Some of my students and Italian friends have told me about big street parties that take place on the 24th and 25th December and it sounds that in pre-Covid times, Christmas week is one big celebration of feasts, dotted with various religious ceremonies. It is said that Saint Nicholas’ relics continue to produce the miraculous liquid manna to this day. On his saint’s feast day on 6th December, a flask is used to collect the liquid from his sarcophagus and some is even available to purchase in shops near to the basilica.
Clockwise from left; Christmas lights on Via Sparano, Bari. Bari Lungomare. Basilica di San Nicola on 6th December. Festive panettone.
Another Italian festive legend is that of Befana, a hideous, yet kindly witch who visits children on Epiphany Eve (5th January) and depending on their behaviour over the previous year, gifts them with either presents of candy or lumps of coal. It is reported that Befana is also a fastidious housekeeper and that she will sweep the floor of the house upon leaving, brushing away the problems of the previous year. Whilst Father Christmas’ existence is widely-debated, I have seen several possible contenders in Bari for Befana.
I was lucky enough to be able to make it back to the UK for Christmas this year, narrowly avoiding the flare-up resulting from the new super-contagious strain of Covid being identified in London and the South-East in mid-December. I may have gone a little overboard in packing as much cured meat, cheese, spreads, pistachio nuts and panettone for family into my check-in luggage as possible. My excuse is that I was following the bountiful example set by Saint Nicholas. Detox and intermittent fasting begins in January.
The Christmas bounty from Italy.
I have made an alternative Christmas Spotify playlist for the festive season featuring the likes of James Brown, Calexico and LCD Soundsystem. Check it out here – enjoy!
It was the day of my 32nd birthday and a warm Saturday in June. However, rather than celebrating with friends in a Brixton beer garden, I was in the press room at Wembley Stadium, North London. I had spent the day in my then-role as PR Director, looking after music and entertainment journalists at a huge pop concert hosted by one of the UK’s biggest commercial radio station groups. We were now having to contend with members of a well-known MOR American pop-rock group throwing a tantrum because, a) they had decided they didn’t want to speak to the assembled throng of media who had been waiting patiently for them after all, and b) the elevator that had been called to take them back down to their dressing room on the ground floor wasn’t arriving “fast enough” for their liking. I decided it was time for a change in scenery.
Behind-the-scenes at Wembley that day
In January, after living and working in London for 11 years, I moved to Bari and began a new life as an English Teacher at the second largest language school in Italy. The school in question has 2,000 students and 50 teachers. To say it’s been a step out of my comfort zone would be an understatement but so far, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the experience and have found the work very rewarding.
Prior to applying for the role, my main previous knowledge of Bari was through the legendary 1990s Channel 4 show Gazzetta Football Italia. Also, the fact that the city’s football team was famous for being the first club that English midfielder David Platt signed for during his spell in Italy – indeed the £5.5 million fee S.S.C. Bari paid for him was a British transfer record at the time. Platt would leave Bari one season later to join Juventus and later Sampdoria in Genoa.
Bari has lived up to its reputation as the “Paris of the Mediterranean” though and is a very liveable city and a great place to immerse yourself in Southern Italian culture. Before the COVID-19 lockdown and in the brief return to normality during the summer, I have been able to do a fair amount of exploring. Whilst Bari Vecchia (Bari’s old town) is very quaint and a great place to lose yourself, it is also somewhat now oriented at tourists with its many restaurants, bars and novelty shops. Below are some of my favourite, more off-the-beaten track places in the city. Let’s hope they are all able to resume normal service in the not-too-distant future.
Situated 5 km from the centre of Bari, Stadio San Nicola is the home of S.S.C. Bari. Built for the 1990 FIFA World Cup and designed by the esteemed architect Renzo Piano, whose other creations include The Centre Pompidou in Paris and London’s The Shard, the stadium is a stunning feat of engineering. Designed to resemble a flower, its 58,270 seats are arranged into 26 concrete ‘petals’ which gives the illusion that the stands are floating. The changing rooms are under the pitch and accessed via a door hidden in the turf and the stadium is known locally as ‘The Spaceship’. It’s quite the sight from the ring road around Bari – particularly in the ‘golden’ hour just before sunset.
The ultras in Curva Nord during S.S.C. Bari vs F.C. Rieti. January 2020.
With S.S.C. Bari now playing in Serie C, the third tier of Italian football, Stadio San Nicola is sadly rarely full these days. However, watching a game here is still an experience, particularly in the lively Curva Nord where the club’s passionate ‘ultras’ stand, thump drums and sing throughout the match. Bari’s veteran star striker Mirco Antenucci also spent two years played for Leeds United in the UK, as well as for various Serie A teams. Antonio Conte also cut his management teeth here in 2007-2009. Tickets cost as little as €10 and buses go direct from outside Bari Centrale station.
Located in the former Rossani Barracks on Via Giulio Petroni, Ex Caserma Liberata is one of a kind. Home since 2014 to a community of artists, environmentalists and free thinkers, this sprawling space has been lovingly decorated with some fantastic street art and boasts an urban garden, a music and theatre venue and even an indoor skateboard ramp. Check the Facebook page for the latest live events that range from poetry readings, punk festivals and dub and reggae parties.
Part-arts centre, part-café, part-workshop, part-studio, Officina degli Esordi is situated between the Murat and Libertà neighbourhoods and is one of Bari’s creative hubs. An impressive futuristic-looking space with lots of glass, steel and floor-to-ceiling windows, the venue hosts music, theatre, cinema and visual art events, as well as workshops during the day. There’s also a sizeable, green roof terrace and bar. I checked out the Italian musician Edda here in February – formerly the frontman of cult Milan group Ritmo Tribale.
Prinz Zaum is one of my favourite finds in the Madonnella neighbourhood. It is a café, bookstore and performance space – often hosting acoustic musical performance and book readings. They also have a photo wall dedicated to David Bowie (it feels very familiar as Brixton, my home in London is famous for being his birthplace and has a large mural of him on the high street), board games and funnily enough, some English ales, such as the Wytchwood Brewery’s Hobgoblin on draught. A great place to hang out with like-minded souls or to get your head down and do some work during the day.
“Kursaal” is a word deriving from German meaning “a public building in which entertainment is provided”. Kursaal Santa Lucia was built in Bari in 1925 overlooking Largo Adua and the Adriatic Sea. It served for many decades as a much-loved theatre and cinema before becoming derelict. For a period in the last century, Bari was known as “the city with too many theatres” with Teatro Petruzzelli, Teatro Piccinni, Teatro Margherita and Kursaal Santa Lucia all competing for business.
A fine example of late-Liberty style architecture, the building is currently being faithfully restored with the help of Fondo Ambiente Italiano (FAI – the Italian equivalent of English Heritage) and both its main theatre and upstairs function room are set to reopen to the public in 2021. It’ll be exciting to see Bari re-gaining a 1,000-capacity arts venue in the new year!
My go-to pizzeria in Bari, Il Desiderio is a traditional neighbourhood restaurant on Via Dalmazia in the heart of Madonnella. The menu has over 50 different kinds of pizzas to choose from, all made with fresh ingredients. Many of them will set you back just €4 or €5. The owners are very friendly and bruschetta will often be served ‘on the house’ as a starter. There’s a takeaway option too (doing a roaring trade during the current situation) and many customers choose to enjoy a €1 ice cold Peroni whilst they wait for their pizza to be cooked to order.
Pizzeria Il Desiderio.
Inside Pizzeria Il Desiderio.
Let’s hope that Bari and its independent businesses are able to get back on their feet soon!
A year ago to the day, I said goodbye to London and life as I had known it.
For better or for worse, I left behind friends, relationships, a comfortable lifestyle, my beloved record collection and a steady career.
First, I spent a captivating six weeks in India; travelling from Mumbai in the West, to Kerala in the south, Chennai in the East and finally Meghalaya and Kolkata in the North.
Then on January 3rd 2020, I moved indefinitely to Bari in Southern Italy with only two suitcases and my trusty 1962 Harmony H1260 guitar in tow (the same model that Jimmy Page used on ‘Stairway to Heaven’, if you’re interested).
El Chiringuito, Bari.
One year on, I am writing this from a spartan one-bedroom flat in the Madonnella district, with the Adriatic Sea and ‘Lungomare’ (‘sea front’) a two-minute walk away. The flat has a mould problem, a leaking bathroom tap and basin (my landlord, a retired football scout, has asked me to ‘manage’ the problem with a plastic container for the time being), questionable kitchen plumbing (l’idraulico has only been called out to unblock the sink a mere four times this year) and a burgeoning mosquito population who enjoy an active nightlife that seems to peak around 5am in my bedroom. For reasons that don’t need elaborating on, I have spent more time inside this flat during 2020 than I ever thought imaginable.
My Barese home.
The daily view from my kitchen.
However, this well-worn old building in deepest Madonnella is full of character and my neighbours include numerous inquisitive, yet friendly older Italian ‘nonnas’ whose homes overlook mine. I am sure they know where I am from (“L’Inglese!”), what I do for a living (“Lui è un insegnante!”), as well as what music I listen to (“Le Smeeeths!”). There is a secretive speakeasy bar diagonally opposite (“We only sell Peroni and Fanta” was the curt response when I enquired about buying a bottle of water one evening when my flat’s water supply had been cut off) and the street is surprisingly multicultural; I live a few doors down from a Chinese gentleman who dries his clothes on an airer he places on the pavement, a large family from Mauritius and several Indians.
It’s 5.30pm, my neighbours have started to stir from their daily siestas and chatter loudly from their balconies and The Ecstatic Music of Alice Coltrane Turiyasangitananda is on my stereo. Despite the ongoing uneasiness caused by the Covid pandemic, with news of an approved vaccine on the way and Joe Biden’s impending inauguration as POTUS, there is plenty to feel optimistic about.
Just another day in Madonnella.
But, why Bari?
I was familiar with Bari being one of the largest cities in Southern Italy and the capital of the Puglia region but I must admit that a lot of my knowledge was down to S.S.C. Bari being the first Italian club of choice for former England midfielder David Platt when he made the switch to Serie A in 1991 (for then a British transfer record fee). I got good vibes from my new school during my interview though and it sounded like a liveable city – “The Paris of the South” according to locals – and with a population of just over 300,000, a little less hectic than London. Puglia is also a region famous for its no-fuss, predominantly vegetarian cuisine (‘cucina povera’) and this was certainly another major draw for me.
I had spent over ten years in London – at times working very hard, at other times having a lot of fun – and in general, living life at 100 miles per hour. I’d had a lot of highs but also some fairly crushing lows (being told in an appraisal by a boss early in my career that he’d “be embarrassed to be me” and that I should be “ashamed of myself”, ranks pretty highly. Said boss also had a penchant for making girls cry during interviews but that’s another story).
The typical working week for me in London would often consist of 45-50 hours in the office, going to three evening gigs after work, a big night out or two at the weekend, four or five gym or swimming pool sessions and on average, five or six nightly hours of sleep. Cramming as much into my days as possible and then feeling suitably knackered by the time Friday evening came around.
My home in Brixton, South London.
I had done reasonably in my career and worked myself up to a position that had a degree of responsibility but I couldn’t help but feel an unscratched itch that there had to be more to life than this and that time in the city was starting to pass by increasingly quickly.
I began to look into teaching English overseas.
It felt like an ideal way to experience living and working in a different country whilst doing something meaningful and dealing with lots of different people every day. Being able to ‘teach’ also felt like a good life skill to have too, no matter what the future years would have in store.
I studied for one of the necessary teaching qualifications and was soon able to start applying for roles.
There were several options on the table; I was offered positions in Hanoi in Vietnam, Bangkok in Thailand, Morelia in Mexico, Madrid in Spain and Catania in Sicily. However, I chose Bari.
