The Trani Port

We are here in Trani, a small, sleepy village on the shore of Puglia. The town's center is its port, which is pretty but small - this is not a deepwater harbor and the yachts are understated by Mediterranean standards. It's a pleasant place to walk around, with a few places to eat or get a glass of wine and a thriving - if not exactly lively - fishing scene.
Not always so demure, Trani was once the most important port on the Adriatic. During the 11th, 12th and 13th centuries, this region was among the most thriving on the peninsula, and the city maintained trading consuls as far away as England and Holland. Frederick II departed for the crusades from this harbor and the port was rivaled in Italy only by Venice.
Of course, things changed and the town has been somewhat forgotten. Today, its main industries (other than tourism) are centered inland, where a few large marble and olive oil companies are based. The port is quiet right now, and most of the boats moored at the piers are small pleasure craft. We've seen a couple being motored out past the breakwater, but the town feels very settled into its offseason slumber, and the owners of these boats are likely elsewhere. At night, when it's been breezy, the wind howls through the empty masts and makes a very empty, haunting sound.
There are, of course, locals who work on their nets and sell their catch from small crates. The fish (that we see) are generally small and well-picked through, but are plentiful and appear to arrive constantly on the piers.
There are more shuttered restaurants than open ones - but the places that are taking customers right now have terrific fish. We've eaten better than almost anywhere else, and the food has been fresher than what one can typically find in the middle of March. Cooks take great pride in showing off their ingredients - fish are almost always brought to the tableside live (or nearly live), to be inspected before meeting with the knife and olive oil. Men in kitchen clothes are omnipresent at the waterside, standing and talking with the fishermen.
The dock market seems to never end - there are people selling fish at eight in the morning and at eight in the evening. The hum of generators begins sometime around dusk, when electric lights are turned on and people come to the dock after work to pick out something for their frying pans.
I imagine that there's a different, more hectic scene here in August, when there are more people at the water to buy gelato than seafood. It's nice to be by the shore when it's quiet and not feel as though the town has completely gone into hibernation - there is a feeling of camaraderie and a winter energy. Last night, when a local couple caught us looking across the restaurant at their sardines, they told the waiter to bring us a plate of them. They were delicious, lightly fried and accompanied only by a wedge of lemon. The people in that place - the couple, the waiter, the chef - were really proud of their fish.

Watch Your Head

On our drive back to Trani from Castel del Monte, we spotted a stone archway in a field and pulled over to take a look. As we were getting back in the car, we noticed that on the other side of the same road was a group of these cone shaped stone structures.
The tiny dwellings, taller than me but shorter than Merlin, were in excellent condition and - unlike the archway we first discovered - were free from litter accumulation.
Inside was cool and moist feeling and the stonework was simply amazing.
Light came through the top, the point of the cone, and illuminated just how precisely and skillfully the thin smooth stones had been piled up. After a quick google of "cone shaped stone dwellings near Castel del Monte," I found out that the structures were trulli (conical stone dwellings specifically found in the Puglia region of Italy). Communities built them without any mortar or cement so that they could be dismantled if a taxation inspector was coming to their village. It was their way of dodging any fees for owning property.
I also found out that the specific field of them we'd stumbled upon is for sale. Apparently, buying trulli real estate is a new craze amongst English and German tourists. At least according to Wikipedia and Lonely Planet.

Trulli usually date back to around the 15th century, something that initially disappointed us. Due especially to their diminutive size, we assumed they were more ancient. It's amazing how much Italy will spoil you on something actually seeming old.

Castle Hunting: Castello dei Monte

Frederick II (who also built Trani Castle, among others) built a mysterious hilltop monument that can best be called a castle - but probably was never intended as a defensive structure or even a palatial residence. In fact, not much is known about the reason for its existence, other than its grand statement of beauty and power.
The castle was built during the 1230's in the form of an octagonal prism, with octagonal towers on each of the eight points. The design is somewhat unusual, and is thought to be a metaphorical translation of the relationship between square earth and circular sky. The structure was originally faced with marble (instead of the current sandstone), but it was stripped by vandals along with much of the interior. We weren't allowed to photograph the rooms inside, so we didn't linger and aren't able to show you what they look like.
The building is barely defensible, having no moat and only a small, poorly protected door as an entrance. It wasn't necessarily built as a palace, though, because there is no kitchen and few creature comforts inside. It is thought that king Frederick built it partly as a hunting lodge and partly as a religious and monarchial symbol. Not much is known about his purpose, though, or about the people who designed and built it for him.
It's location is impressive enough - the walls are visible for several miles in all directions, on top of the hill. The land rises up out of olive orchards and some rocky, sparsely-grassed pastures. We drove along roads bounded on each side by ancient stone walls and wound our way towards our goal on a bright, hot afternoon in March. It wasn't too disappointing that we weren't able to get better pictures because the experience was so strangely beautiful.

Castle Hunting: Castello di Trani

We came to Trani because we didn't find a place to stay in another town - it's beautiful here, and we found a terrific seaside castle just a short walk from the central port. It's a blocky, white thing that gleams in the sun and looks much newer than it really is. We took a little walk around it and went in for a minute - much of the interior is "under renovation," so we didn't get many pictures inside.
The castle was built between 1233 and 1249 by Frederick II (1194-1250), the Holy Roman Emperor and king of Sicily. One of the most powerful of the Medieval kings, Frederick was also - as "King of the Romans" - the ruler of Germany, Italy and Burgundy, though his claim on those lands was somewhat tenuous. In this part of the world his rule was absolute, and he had an enormous impact on the area's development. He built dozens of castles in southern Italy, becoming known as "stupor mundi," or "wonder of the world."
Trani was an important port in the early part of the last millennium, and Frederick expanded it as a major embarkation point during the crusades. Part of the expansion included building a defensive structure to guard against attack - the castle was much more impressive, though, than probably was necessary. It survived in its original shape until the sixteenth century, when it was renovated to house a cannon battery. Interestingly, part of this renovation included lowering the original towers. Apparently, the advent of gunpowder based warfare made high towers a danger to castle defenders. If the towers were damaged enough to fall, they posed a risk to the people inside. Also, it was more difficult to aim cannons from higher points, so lower walls became an advantage.
The original moat was connected with the sea by a series of locks that regulated its depth and allowed it to be drained at low tide or filled at high tide. It was an oddity when it was constructed, and no longer is part of the structure. A drawbridge originally connected the courtyard with the surrounding land, but it was replaced in the 19th century when the building was turned into a prison. The clock, also, was added, and the flooding system was done away with because it made it easier for prisoners to escape. These days, the rock beach below the walls isn't especially inviting, but it makes a beautiful tumbling, rain sound when the waves wash over it.
The contrasting white, geometric blocks and seawater create a strange kind of dichotomy between solidity and liquid that is especially striking in the extreme sunlight. Close to noon, it was difficult to rest the eyes on any of the surfaces.
There is really only one vantage point on land from which to view the castle - the rear walls are hemmed in very closely by buildings and an ugly, trash-filled gulch. There is a breakwater, though, that can be reached from the port. It offers a beautiful view of both the castle and the town cathedral, which was built just before the defenses. We stood in the wind and watched some people fish in the Adriatic.

Dramma Naturale

After the week of movie-still scenery, magazine photo meals and paperback interaction with locals while my mother was here visiting, we decided to drive ourselves outside of the Italian tourist comfort zone. As soon as we made that decision, heading over toward the regions of Abruzzo, Molise and Puglia, Mother Nature - and Italia itself - decided to kick things up a notch.
In Vasto, we took a walk down to get our first views of the Adriatic Sea, passing this ridiculously tall grass the entire way. It added to the eeriness created by the fact that the town was almost completely shuttered up. Our lunch was a bizarre four hour affair at a mostly empty restaurant. It was one of the best meals we've had on the entire trip, cooked by an Australian-born Italian man named Michael who schmoozed as much as he cooked, and we could do nothing but laugh when our sixth or seventh little course came and there was no end in sight. We were joined by a table of four construction workers who sipped sparkling rose as they gnawed on slabs of beef and a couple who fought and made up and fought and made up for around three of the four hours. Mamma Natura isn't the only dramatic Italian.
As we reached the Promontorio del Gargano - the little bump above Italy's heel on a map or, as we lovingly call it, the callus- a storm began to blow in. Perched up in the hilltop town of Vieste, it was particularly dramatic. The cobblestones became slick and the already bundled up residents, pulled their coats in tighter.
The waves could be heard crashing all around us, literally, and the cobalt blue sky was crisscrossed by slivers of blue clouds. Vieste was fairly empty, in its typical seaside off-season slumber, so there wasn't much din or tires on cobblestones to content with the natural soundtrack. It's quite a way down to the water, but it sounded much much closer.
We scaled the steep steps, which our elderly B&B hostess had done earlier in the day with astonishing ease, to get a view from the roof. The inn used to be a convent and standing up there, looking both up and down, it was easy to see why they chose the location. If you're going to give your worldly pleasures up to a 'higher power,' you might as well get a front row seat to some otherworldly views.
The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving our car covered in a salty film. We drove her down into the Foresta Umbra and then out and up onto one of the steepest, windiest, craziest roads either of us have ever experienced. It was hard to tell exactly where it was leading us, as every thirty feet or so there would be a complete switchback. The sights out, or more accurately down, were mind-boggling. At the very top, about 2500 feet above sea level, we drove through the town of Monte Sant'Angelo, which is apparently one of Europe's most important pilgrimage sites. This view is far from the most dramatic, but pulling off the road wasn't really an option.

Adriatic Trabocchi

Our first week in Italy seemed more whirlwind-vacation than we are used to - stops at guidebook highlights, major cities and well-known sights. Yesterday, we crossed the country and arrived in Abruzzo, which felt like decelerating. The Adriatic hasn't warmed up yet and the temperature topped out in the low fifties, so we found ourselves on an empty coastline.

One thing we noticed as we drove through this less-developed landscape: these fishing platforms - called "trabocchi" - jutting out over the water.
They are designed to lower nets into the rich currents that stream by the rocky shore. Because there were few native trees for the poles, they were built with old railway ties and bits of scrounged wood. They remind me of treehouses, built out over nothing.
Once, there were hundreds of trabocchi all along this coast. Commercial boats and industrialized fishing took their toll, though, and now there are only fifteen. Because it is prohibited to construct anything off shore, they will be the last. The owners, apparently, are only allowed to make repairs.

That Audrey Hepburn Movie

This was the view out of our apartment window on our Roman Holiday. There seem to be hundreds of this shot on our camera cards; dawn, dusk, morning, afternoon, night. If you stuck your head out from the balcony and looked to the right, you could see the Coliseum at the end of a long narrow street.

For about a week now, ever since my mother arrived in Venice and spotted her first Italian fountain, she's broken into the chorus of "Three Coins in the Fountain" every now and then. I felt bad about not getting the 1954 film reference, until I looked it up and found that it was about "three American girls looking for love in Rome" and starred nobody special. Being as we weren't going to scoot around on a Vespa, get our haircut or try our first cigarette like Ms. Hepburn in that far superior movie, we figured we might as well go down to Trevi Fountain and each throw a coin in. It was fairly mobbed with tourists, but still really beautiful. Barely anyone was talking in a collective attempt to listen to the water rush.

My mother's coin-wish must have come true, because the next day she fell in love. With this sandwich. Two hours after enjoying one at lunch, she already wished she had bought another for dinner. The selection at this cafe was pretty impressive, squash blossoms, sauteed spinach, shrimp, really colorful, inventive combinations filled the premade selections, piled up behind the counter. Mom's was eggplant, some breaded, some not, with mozzerella and prosciutto on olive bread. She asked them only to 'panini' it halfway, so that the eggplant would retain some of that refreshing, cold gushiness.

It's definitely not peak tourist season here right now and the vendors and photo-opp guys around the Coliseum mostly sat around reading the newspaper, looking up to shout out things like "You can pay with a kiss!" every now and then. I'm not sure if that's the most savvy business proposition, but most of the poor guys are dressed up like Ben Hur outfitted by Ricky's, so they've gotta brighten their day somehow. Snacks available for sale included roasted chestnuts and fresh coconut water. Next to the Berlusconi and Pope Benedict bobbleheads were lions and Santa Claus.

In an effort to see something by Michaelangelo before mom left Italy, we headed over to the Cordonata, a staircase he designed leading up to 'capital hill.' We walked up and down the empty staircase looking for the staircase. It couldn't possibly be it, we figured, because there weren't any tourists. On our way back home, a hoard of school children filled the stairs and we realized our mistake. We tried to get a picture with as few people in it as possible.

We decided to walk along and across the Tiber River to find the Porta Portese flea market. We figured, if we were going to contend with a crowd, it may as well be haggling old ladies instead of international undergrads. The walk was beautiful, but the market didn't appear to be running on the other side. Nonetheless, it was nice to see a more local side of things and a different sort of ruin before turning back to cross Monti toward home.

Another type of crowd altogether met us in the streets, the very beginning of a nationwide labor union strike. Apparently, it went on to cripple cities all through the country for at least twenty-four hours. Subway operators, government workers, airline attendants, basically everyone except for school employees took part in it. Luckily, it all appeared to settle before we delivered my sun-kissed and sandwich-full mother to the airport back home.

For the record, our Roman Holiday did include a photo shoot at the Bocca dela Verita. Something we only remembered after seeing a calendar featuring a movie still of Gregory Peck with his hand "bit off." We waltzed right in, waited for two people in front of us, then nerded it up like true tourists. As we walked out, a tour bus unloaded and a line formed around the block. Perfect timing.

Lago Trasimeno

If you've noticed something different about the blog, it's not a formatting or font change - it's that we've been taking pictures under a clear, blue, Mediterranean sky for the past few days. We are about to leave the shores of Lago Trasimeno, where we've stayed for two nights.

The lake is in Umbria, not far from the Tuscan border, and the food is influenced by both regions. There is more fish available here than we found in the hills of Tuscany, and a real emphasis on beans and legumes.
The waters of the lake are a deep green - warm, fertile runoff collects here, washed down from the mountains surrounding it. Surprisingly, it isn't very crowded and has escaped over-development. We walked by the water almost completely alone, and took a ferry with only one other person on it.
The town we are staying in, Castiglione Del Lago, has a magnificent, 12th century castle, a pretty view out over the lake and a bustling Wednesday market.
A picnic Rebecca and Maggi put together: greens, squares of tomato and onion bread and a thick slice of Porchetta that we agreed was among the best pork dishes we'd ever tasted. The skin was crisp and golden and the meat beneath was beautifully moist and herbaceous. We ate hastily, putting meat on top of bread with not much else. Our fingers got very greasy, but that wasn't too much of a problem.
There are a few islands in the lake; we visited the largest of them, Isola Magiore. A crew of people were slowly going about replacing the pilings at the dock, working with two cranes and a chainsaw.
Being the offseason, the island was mostly deserted, though a few people were still around. A small street runs down one side of the coast, and the houses crowd together in the lee of the wind. On top of the small hill, an 11th century church stood, closed up and silent. We saw dozens of rabbits in the underbrush and a few pheasant-like birds which I couldn't identify. This was a favorite haunt of Saint Francis of Assisi, according to legend, and it feels very much the same as it must have when he was alive.

We're setting off for Rome this morning, and are having a tough time leaving behind the quiet and relative solitude that we've found here. On the ferry back to shore yesterday, we sat without talking for most of the ride, enjoying the sun and the still waters.

Two Days in Tuscany

After a day and a half in whirlwind Venice, we picked up our car from the roof of the parking garage and headed down to Tuscany. My mother arrived just twenty-four hours earlier, so it seemed like a perfect day to get as much boring autostrada driving done as possible. She napped and we promised to wake her if things got more interesting.
We made it right about to the border of the Toscano region when we were ready to retire and spent the night in Pistoia, a not-oft visited city with some really striking striped architecture within their walled Medieval center. Surrounding the city were tree nursery after tree nursery after tree nursery. We must have approached from the correct angle, because I had read that Pistoia gets less attention because of its 'industrial surroundings." Maybe some people really hate the fog of oxygen a skyline of baby trees give off. Who knows.
The main square was filled with 20somethings having drinks and aperitivos (the free snacks that come with drinks). We mulled over doing the same and maybe ordering an antipasti platter or something, but the loud music and lack of chairs turned us down a quieter street, to an outdoor table where a man named Luigi served us pistachio lasagna, tagliatelle with trout sauce, local white wine and other goodies. It was nice to find out that 'crostini toscana' on New York menus is exactly the same thing as in Tuscany: an inch-thick layer of liver pate on a giant piece of toast.
The next morning, we began a drive I've been looking forward to since I started researching some sights for my mom's visit. The SS222 stretches from Florence to Siena, winding mostly through the Chianti region. There was breathtaking scenery in every direction and our weather couldn't have been better. Rolling hills were topped with terra cotta roofed estates and cypress trees stood guard over olive groves and vineyards. The best part was that it went through towns like Greve in Chianti (above), where we stopped to stretch our legs in the best way possible; a casual stroll around gathering picnic goods.
Like most of our meals in Italy so far, our picnic lunch was a stand up affair. We used a big flat rock as our table and stood around in a triangle, happily picking away at our feast. Marinated artichokes were compared with 'tuscan-style' artichokes - the latter were just the hearts, soaked in extra virgin olive oil and had the consistency of grape leaves - a ball of steamed turnip greens, eggplant in tomato sauce, olives, prosciutto, hard wild boar sausage, mustard and a crusty loaf of bread completed the meal. The spot was right between a woodsy nature trail and a vineyard, directly in the sun. We decided to save two pears and hard cheese for breakfast. After more driving and pull-off photo sessions for my mom - who, needless to say, refrained from napping - we parked the car and ourselves in Radda in Chianti for the night. The sun was still blazing and made my mom's Campari Orange and Merlin's Aperol Spritz look prettier. (They've become their signature drinks, while I stick with white wine). Radda in Chianti is perched up on a hill and consists of narrow little streets, some of which are covered stone walkways from the 1300s. As we waited for 'la pausa' to end and the reception at our inn to open, we explored nearby Volpaia, an 11th century fortified village. It was one of the most tastefully restored places I have ever been. With no one around except a few construction workers and the wine tasting room, two restaurants and gift shop all closed, it felt like this surreal little ghost town. Walking back to our car, a group of five Americans showed up, presumably for the 2pm tour.
It being the off-season, our innkeeper, Leonardo, upgraded us to our own cottage overlooking some of the most famous Chianti vineyards. He explained all the work we'd seen being done in the fields. Every twenty-five years, the vines are completely switched out - something, he explained, which was very very important. The rotund overseer gave us a big Buon Giorno when we drove in and out, as ten or twelve fitter men toiled away.
That night, we gave into a pizza craving all three of us have been feeling for days. It was a much easier decision when we noticed that the only place open in town was Pizza Pie. A supremely friendly man made me my very own "small" pizza to go alongside mom and Merlin's prosciutto e fungi pie. It was thin and fresh and accompanied by another local bottle of white wine and some nice, big salads. In other words, we made the right decision.
As we drove back to our cottage, we learned that the Tuscan moon is just as pretty and almost as bright as the sun.