June 2. We’re a month in and we’re thinking: “Wow! This travelling gig is easy! Everything’s going just tickety boo.”
Not quite.
Having (without regret) left Hotel Corallo, we headed to Alberobello, the city of trulli. A trullo (singular) is a small conical structure, unique to Puglia, built of limestone bricks but without mortar (apparently so they could be quickly deconstructed for their inhabitants to make a quick get away to avoid the King of Naples’ taxman and other unruly landlords).
Anyway, we wandered through this magical looking place for about as long as we could stand the throngs of tourists (totally hypocritical, I understand). We bought some local wine to take with us and enjoyed an espresso con ghiaccio (short black on ice), which I promptly spilt all over my white shirt. The first sign.
Our “cosy loft” in Ostuni was awaiting our arrival so we entered the city, trusting our GPS (which up until now had been our Goddess), only to find ourselves in ever shrinking alleyways until, finally, our tyres were literally stuck on stone extensions on either side preventing our progression. (Bear in mind, folks, this is a brand new Peugeot 308 we’re talking about.)
We couldn’t go forward; we couldn’t go back.
And then it started to rain (Sign 2).
Luckily (or perhaps not, if you were Mal stuck in the car), I had exited the car prior to assist in said progression so was in a position to confirm – absolutely – that we were stuck. I like to be helpful.
Something had to be done. So, centimetre by centimetre, (and we sincerely hope Peugeot has not subscribed to this blog), we scraped …no, no no, not scraped…we inched our way forward. (I know I’m mixing my Imperials with my Metrics but this was a crisis.)
We got through at some cost to us all (read: car) and I think it would suffice to say that it was not a highpoint in the trip so far. Mal’s face confirmed this.
Feeling mightily relieved that we were not to be craned out of the squeeze we had managed to get into, we finally met our host’s mother and uncle on a regular street some distance from where Goddess had directed us. (It will take some time to rebuild that trust, I can tell you.)
After witnessing a heated exchange between these two rels, Mum led us to a car park some 500 metres from the “apartment” (because our car would not fit in the street) and drove us and our gear directly to our front door. She opened the door, showed us the light switch and promptly left. She was clearly a woman in a hurry.
And this is what it looked like.
By this stage, smoke was coming out of Mal’s ears. I knew what I had to do. 1) Find lunch, 2) find wine and 3) find them quickly.
The funny thing is (and things can be funny after the fact), the only place we could find open was actually called Al Solito Posto (The Only Place). Sign 3
Things became decidedly clearer after the first bottle (yes, it’s true). We would simply find a new place and all would be fine.
And it totally was, as you will see in next post.
With love
M & L xx
(9.6.17)
saunders' stories 