Postcards from Puglia
photo: Yeong Sassall and Lucy Laucht
The heel of Italy keeps its own time. Mornings begin at the market, afternoons belong to the sea, and everything in between is negotiable. Recent travels through Puglia left us rested and restored: from the farmer's markets to the flea markets, we sat by the pool, ate lunch at the beach, and swam in the green grottos of the Salento sea.
This is the Italy of whitewashed towns and thousand-year-old olive trees, of burrata eaten the day it was made, of ceramics still turned by hand in workshops older than most countries. Nothing here hurries, and after a week, neither do you.
So consider this our love letter and our map. The places we returned to twice. The tables worth a detour. The rituals that make slow living more than a vacation. It's a way of life.
photo: Amy Zhang
THE SEA
Salt water first. Everything else after.
Cave of Poetry (Grotta della Poesia): a pool the sea carved for itself out of pale limestone, so green it looks lit from below. Legend says a princess swam here and the poets followed. Arrive early, when the water is still glass, and let the morning go.
#rocaepoesia: steps from the grotto, a beach bar the size of a kitchen. A lemon granita, a warm puccia handed over in paper, the sea still drying on your skin. Lunch solved.
Bagno Marino Archi: red umbrellas terraced into white rock, ladders straight down into deep blue water. Order lunch without leaving your towel and stay until the light turns gold.
Lido Baia degli Dei: the Bay of the Gods, and the name holds: shallow, clear, calm, with rows of white umbrellas and all day to use them.
Porto Grande Beach: the wilder cousin. A headland of rock and scrub where the coast keeps its old face. Bring water, bring sandals, bring nothing else.
Spiaggia di Torre Pozzelle: a string of small coves below an old watchtower. Pick one, claim it, guard it with a book.
photo: Yeong Sassall and Lucy Laucht
THE TABLE
Come hungry. Stay long.
Le Zie Trattoria Casereccia, Lecce: green-checked tablecloths and a dining room that feels like your aunt's kitchen, because it nearly is. Cucina casereccia, home cooking, the standard Puglia measures everything else against.
Il Principe del Mare: white tables on the rocks at sunset. Ricci, crudo, whatever came off the boats, tasting like the swim you just took.
Capitan Morgan: prawns by the platter and no ceremony at all. The best kind of seaside dinner.
Miramare da Michele: the day's catch waits on ice by the door. Point, sit, wait. Thank us later.
Forno San Lorenzo: the pasticciotto, warm shortcrust filled with custard, eaten standing, ideally before nine. Breakfast in the Salento is not complicated. It is simply correct.
photo: Alisa Barry
THE TOWNS
Go slowly. They insist.
Oria: a hill town stacked beneath its castle, laundry strung between balconies, alleys that reward every wrong turn.
Grottaglie: the ceramics town. Workshops spill down the ravine as they have for centuries; watch a pumo take shape on the wheel, then carry one home for luck.
Fasano: where the Valle d'Itria begins. Trulli roofs, dry-stone walls, olive groves that were old when Rome was young.
photo: saltinourhair
THE FOUND THINGS
A flea market is a museum where you are allowed to touch.
La Mercanteria: vaulted rooms of antiques, terracotta orci taller than children, farm tables with a hundred years of lunches in them. You come in for a look. You leave arranging shipping.
Half the joy of Puglia is what follows you home: a bowl, a linen, a jar of something you watched being made. Souvenirs are for trips. These are for life.
WHERE WE SLEPT
Borgo Gallana: whitewashed rooms in the countryside, an arched window that frames the sunrise, a pool the color of the shallows. Olive trees to the horizon. The place does the resting for you.
photo: Amy Zhang
WORTH THE DETOUR
Matera: one foot over the border into Basilicata and a few thousand years back in time. The Sassi, the cave city, is one of the oldest continuously inhabited places on earth. Go for the day, stay for the blue hour, when the stone glows like a nativity scene.
photo: bon traveler & theweithouse
BRING PUGLIA HOME
The trip ends. The way of living does not have to. Burrata and good oil for lunch. The long table outside. One afternoon a week with nothing on it. And if you are in Atlanta or close by, come see us at 288 Buckhead Avenue: the pantry is stocked with the flavors we chase across Italy, and the shelves hold a few things that made the journey home. First we eat, then everything else.
Buon viaggio!
x Team Bella
Find Bella Cucina Store X Studio at 288 Buckhead Avenue, Buckhead Village, Atlanta. Open Monday to Sunday. Come as you are.
Stay a while.....
→ Read this month's journal: RE/SET: Ritual & Restoration