Painted blue

28th May 2023

Having taken the liberty of going away on holiday, it is time once again for a special double issue so stand by for fun and sun – eventually that is.

Sunshine was very hard to come by at the beginning of the first week, with rain setting in overnight on Monday and continuing on and off for most of the next two days. We had a heavy downpour on Tuesday morning, but I managed to get Bella and Harry out for each of their three walks when it was more drizzle than rain. I was not so lucky the next day, when taking advantage of what I thought was a window of opportunity when the skies looked a little lighter in the afternoon, I headed out with Bella and Harry. I should have known better, for just as we got halfway through the walk, it started coming down heavily and I ended up soaked. I think it wouldn’t have been so bad if my jacket had not done such a good job of keeping my top half dry by letting the water stream off straight onto my trousers.

You won’t be surprised that all this rain affected the roads around the area, partly through flooding (the river at the bottom burst its banks and covered the bridge, making the road to San Rustico impassable for several days) and partly from landslides, which brought down more than the odd tree. One troublesome spot meant the road from MSP to Torre San Patrizio was closed for quite a few days, while an unstable tree by the main road in Corridonia caused a small section of it to be closed while it was removed. Unfortunately for me, I timed my visit to the optician to collect my new supply of lenses while they were doing it and was sent on a detour, introducing me to the back roads of the town. That, with having to take the scenic route from MSP to avoid the submerged bridge, meant that the journey took a bit longer than usual, but was a small price to pay considering the devastation not all that far away from us in Emilia-Romagna. Our thoughts are with all the people affected by the horrendous flooding and who are still having to cope with its aftermath.

As for our holiday countdown, that started on Wednesday evening when we were asked to pop round to Marco and Maddalena’s after dinner. When I asked Stephen if there was any particular reason, he replied that it’s what they do around here, see people before they go on holiday – just in case they never see them again, he added pithily. It was Friday, however, before the main preparations were completed. As Stephen was given the day off work, and with the rain having held off for a couple of days, he was able at last to cut the grass, which had flourished in the recent conditions. It was, admittedly, still rather on the wet side and he had to leave the back of the mower open rather than attach the collecting box to prevent the mower clogging up. This did mean, though, that when I returned from my afternoon lesson I was a little surprised to find him looking not a little unlike the Green Man.

A quick shower and change sorted that and then it was time to take the dogs to the kennel. They looked a little puzzled when we left them, but the man was just as nice as on our first visit, and when he asked if it was ok if he sprinkled a bit of the meat that they boil up for the dogs over their dried food we felt assured that Bella and Harry would not miss us that much. It was home to do the packing, the sight of which we hadn’t inflicted on B & H, and all was set.

We woke to rain on Saturday morning, which set the tone, at least as far as the weather was concerned, for most of the day, travelling under grey skies and in and out of showers most of the way. We stopped in the town of Ortona for lunch, famous for being the sight of a significant WWII battle and the birthplace of porn star, Rocco Siffredi – and whilst there was a monument to the former there didn’t seem to be one to the latter, which is probably just as well. We had a wander then a light lunch and another wander to the seafront castle, but as it was looking somewhat dark again, we decided against a walk along the prom and retreated to the car.

We made it to our overnight stop at Torre Bruno in good time, even allowing for a magical mystery tour into the yard of a ramshackle house at the end of a very narrow lane where a dog of indefinable breed seemed very curious about what we were doing there. A quick turnaround and we were back on the right route and another lane, just not quite so narrow but again seemingly in the middle of nowhere, brought us to the agriturismo. The lady was waiting for us and showed us to our rooms, up three flights of stairs to the top of the tower without the aid of a lift, hence our decision to just take one suitcase out of the car.

It was when we went back down to register that we hit a bit of a problem. Wherever you stay in Italy you have to show your ID card, the details of which are noted. I was ok as I had mine with me, but after a puzzled search Stephen realised that he had left his in the printer in the office at home. He had taken a photocopy of it for the kennels the previous day and forgotten to slip it back into his cardcase. The only good thing is that he had sent me a copy via WhatsApp, and the lady was happy to take the details from that, once it had been sent to her, but Stephen was worried that he should drive home to get the actual card to be on the safe side. In the end, the lady printed out a paper copy and he settled for that and hoped everything would be ok. (It was, and the hotel the next day also accepted the digital copy.)

As for the agriturismo, it was as it looked on Booking.com: surrounded by olive trees (the oil of which the lady uses in her cooking and which they sell – as proved by the five litre can we came away with), renovated with care and very peaceful. Dinner was very good, with simple traditional dishes, homemade or locally sourced. Breakfast was the same, after which there was nothing left but to say thank you very much and pay the bill, and leave before they discovered that Stephen had managed to break both the towel rail and the toilet roll holder in the bathroom. Well, to be fair, not so much broke as the rails coming away from the brackets, but a good push saw them as good as new – or as good as when we arrived.

Sunday started much clearer, and continued to improve so that by the time we arrived in Polignano you would almost think it was spring. Before that, however, Stephen had suggested that we take the scenic route in the morning and drive over the top to Mattinata on the opposite side of the peninsula before heading to the superstrada. It was, indeed, a very scenic route, though maybe not quite what Stephen had bargained for. The first part through the country lanes was very pleasant, but when we headed into the forest Stephen expressed surprise as he hadn’t expected it to be like that – i.e. full of trees. Not only were there a lot of trees, (odd, I know) but also random animals, including a cow standing at the side of the road with a bell around its neck, like an extra from Heidi.

It was then that Stephen started wishing he had chosen a different route, as on leaving the forest area we started to climb towards Monte Sant’Angelo, at almost 800m the highest inhabited point in Gargano. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be a straight road to the top, or back down the other side, and the hairpin bends and metal barriers protecting you from plummeting into a friendly ravine, like something from a James Bond car chase, did very little for Stephen’s blood pressure. Consequently, we sacked the idea of going to Mattinata, pleasant though it looked, and headed up the coast to Manfredonia, as that way seemed flat and bendless.

Now I realise that Manfredonia sounds like the fictitious name of a snow-bound Eastern European principality from a Hallmark TV Christmas movie, but it is real enough and the area has been inhabited since ancient Greek times, with the “modern” city being established in the thirteenth century by, unsurprisingly, King Manfred. It was as we entered the town and parked up that the sun finally came fully out. We took a brief walk on the front and then through a Sunday market and up the main pedestrianised shopping street. The place was heaving with people of all ages, and nearly all of them dressed in their Sunday best to cut the bella figura while taking a pre-luncheon stroll.

Having stretched our legs, we got back in the car and on to Polignano. Our decision to take the short route along the coast was not one of our better ones, as after twenty minutes of driving around the back roads and manoeuvring round blocked streets we gave up and headed for the motorway. A couple of hours later we took the exit to Polignano, though again we had to overcome a couple of blips before finally arriving at the hotel. One because the sat nav in the car didn’t know where it was (again), and one because we thought the distressed copper effect electronic gate we passed twice must have belonged to a private residence.

We registered without any problems (see above) in the central building that housed reception and the restaurant, then unpacked in our little “bungalow”, the rooms being spread about the grounds, in discrete and took a walk before dinner.

We decided that, being the first night, it would be easier to eat in the hotel. What we hadn’t bargained for was that half of it would be taken up by a coach party from the UK booked in overnight who were obviously up for a good time. At least the lady who was laughing raucously and encouraging the others on her table to do the same, and the man who decided that using his phone for an impromptu karaoke session were. On the plus side, the tour must have had an early start as they had all retired before we finished our meal, and there was no sign of them at breakfast when we got there at the civilised time of 8.30.

Having gone into more detail about the weekend than is good for neither man nor beast, I’ll try to be more succinct with the rest of the week. We established a routine, as one does on holiday, of out and about in the morning, afternoon by the pool at the hotel and out in the evening for dinner, using local taxis to take us into the centre. These are, in a forgivable act of cultural appropriation, referred to as tuk tuks and are converted ape vans and are a charming way to get about the town.

The first morning we forwent a tuk tuk and walked into Polignano, stopping first at the statue of local hero, singer Domenico Modugno, before walking through the gateway into the old town and viewing the coastline from various vantage points then having time before lunch to find a shoe shop where I bought a pair of mustard coloured suede espadrilles and brown leather clogs. Lunch was taken outside in one of the restaurants in a small square, which we again shared, amongst other tourists, with a coach party. These were American, and somewhat better behaved, though to garner favour the staff decided to play The Star-Spangled Banner and encouraged the admittedly somewhat reluctant group to stand and sing the national anthem, with hands on hearts.

What surprised the people eating, and the staff, even more, however, was the arrival of a couple of a certain age complete with pushchair. You might have thought they were looking after their grandchild, but no. Whilst other, younger couples had to give up their strollers and use a baby chair, this couple were allowed to park theirs next to the table, the better to be able to feed titbits to the two small dogs that were its occupants.

The next morning we went south a little way to the neighbouring town of Monopoli. It was similar to Polignano in that the old town was a warren of streets on the rocky coastline, but somehow had a slightly different vibe. This was partly because it had a harbour and sea wall and also because it was a bit more Torquay to the other’s St Ives. In the evening I made good my promise to Stephen and we had a romantic dinner for two at a seafood restaurant on a small balcony overlooking the sea. Stephen had a feast of marine creatures, in both raw and cooked states, while I was much more conservative in my choices. We knew we were in for a good night when we settled at the table, and not just because of the glorious sunset giving way to the lights of the houses and hotels along the coast. I suggested we start with a glass of something sparkling by way of celebration, and the waiter was obviously in a generous mood. He opened the bottle of Prosecco and poured a healthy measure into my glass, then into Stephen’s, then a bit more into Stephen’s, then into mine, then seeing that there was not much left in the bottle, finished it off between us – and who were we to stop him?

Wednesday we thought we would take a break from sightseeing, and after breakfast took the car to the Evolution outlet, which the lady at the shoe shop, also part of the Evolution family, had recommended as a good place to find clothes. She wasn’t wrong. Not only was it urban chic with very good staff, it also indeed had a fabulous range of clothes, so leaving with two pairs of shorts, two t-shirts from brands unknown to me but which Stephen nodded wisely over, and a polo seemed only polite. That was me sorted, but don’t think my personal shopper missed out totally as to show my appreciation for all his efforts in scouring the shelves I treated him to two pairs of shorts from OVS, while I picked up another couple of t-shirts for everyday wear.

After the previous night’s slap-up dinner, we opted for something lighter at a small café-bar, Serafina, we had found when taking a digestivo on Monday evening. It was a good choice, giving me the chance to try their negroamaro spritz, negroamaro being a red wine only produced in Puglia, and a plate of bombette, another Pugliese speciality of slices of pork wrapped round a meat and cheese stuffing. I am happy to report that both are to be recommended.

Stephen had opted for simpler fare, of water and couscous salad. He was feeling a little on the delicate side, which unfortunately continued the next day when we went on a trip to Ostuni, about 40 minutes south and a little inland from Polignano. The good thing about this was that we passed lots of lovely scenery, much flatter than at home (unsurprisingly), with a rich, mahogany soil and expansive fields of olive trees and grape vines. The bad thing was that we only had time for a walk up into the town and take a Crodino each in a bar before we had to head back to the hotel, Stephen not feeling up to anything more strenuous.

He spent the rest of the day in our room, with me keeping him company. I did venture out for dinner in the hotel restaurant, a quiet affair as no coach parties had booked in, and an early night for both of us went some way to making him feel better. We had already planned not to go far afield on the Friday, with driving home the following day, and what better way to spend the morning and give Stephen a much-needed fillip than a spot of retail therapy and a return to the Evolution outlet. Though I wasn’t aware of it till he told me, apparently I needed a pair of beige trousers so I fell into my usual role of waiting in the changing room while Stephen and the same nice assistant as the other day searched for various pairs for me to try on. They found just the right pair fairly quickly, but we had to make sure by me trying on several others before finally confirming that the first pair were indeed the ones - and throwing in a military green pair for good measure – and a t-shirt that Stephen had found for himself while I was busy in the changing room.

But we weren’t quite finished, as while I was paying, Stephen asked where the shoe department was, and being a proper shop, one of the assistants escorted us there. To cut a long story short, especially as there is no point building tension as you will be perfectly well aware of the denouement, Stephen bought a pair of Autry trainers, the must-have brand of the moment, and treated me to a pair of Hey Dude summer casuals.

The shopping was not quite finished as we returned to the old town in Polignano to buy a couple of pumi as a reminder of our holiday and to use as finial decorations on top of the chimney breast. A pumo (in the singular) is a traditional ceramic decoration of the area, and one that is thought to bring good luck. It’s shaped a bit like an acorn but with three leaf effect pieces evenly spaced around its sides. What with pumi, several pairs of shoes and lots of new clothes, not to mention five litres of olive oil, it all goes to show how much more convenient it is to go on holiday by car rather than train or plane.

It was, therefore, with a Renegade somewhat more loaded than when we arrived that we bid farewell to the Cala Ponte hotel and Polignano yesterday morning. The homeward journey showed what a difference a week can make, travelling the whole way in sunshine rather than drizzle, and making good time without pushing things. We stopped off in Pescara at midday, where we walked along part of the lungomare then back, fitting in a light lunch at a bar on the way. Stephen was a little nonplussed as it was not as he remembered it, which might be because he was thinking of somewhere else or got the wrong part of it, but on the positive side we did pass the firemen’s beach chalet. This was conveniently situated, depending on how you view these things, next a section of public beach, so if you hear in the near future that Stephen has packed a few things into an overnight bag and headed South, you’ll know where he’s going.

All was fine when we got home, and all was fine this morning when we collected Bella and Harry from the kennels. They almost seemed happy to see us. The woman, Rita, did raise one slight concern, which was that she had had to start feeding them separately as, in a turnaround from how they behave at home, Bella was scoffing not only her but also Harry’s food. Usually we have to watch him as he can have a tendency to gobble his and then push her out of the way. Bella obviously saw the opportunity to get her own back as, being nosy, he was too busy listening to the various noises and sniffing the various smells to find out what was going on to eat.

The rest of the day, as you would expect, has been given up to doing several loads of washing (even buying a sackful of new clothes doesn’t pre-empt that chore), cutting the grass, which had thrived in our absence, and other bits and piece. In other words, back to a reassuringly familiar family routine - it’s very nice to go travelling but it’s oh so much nicer to come home. Allegedly.