Sicily Part 2: To Cefalu and Palermo – Wandering Through the Centuries

The weather in mid-November was still nice; most of the days were sunny, but cooler.  Sometimes a damp dreary, grey day snuck in and reminded us that winter did come this far south as was the occasion when we started our drive to Cefalu. It was honestly just plain yucky! On the wet roadtrip south, we passed two men selling roasted chestnuts and plastic, one-liter bottles of Vino Novello, young wine, or the Italian version of Beaujolais Nouveau, made from an accelerated fermentation process that eliminates the aging normally associated with vinting wines. With a quick u-turn and purchase our spirits were immediately lifted, as the aroma of the freshly roasted chestnuts filled the car. They took the chill off the day.  The bottles of wine would wait until Palermo.  This continues a tradition started years ago, stopping at roadside stands for any type of food, craft or wine purchase.  Some days we made very slow progress indeed.

Heading inland from the coast road we followed the A19 west across the desolate, mountainous interior of Sicily past sporadically placed hilltop villages of various size.  Calascibetta was particularly impressive from the road; its recorded history dates to its Arabic settlement in 851 AD. An area of 300 rock-cut tombs, Necropoli di Realmese, and a warren of cave dug dwellings at the Byzantine Village of Vallone Canalotto called for further exploration. “Next time,” we agreed as we raced to spend the afternoon in Cefalu.

On the Sicilian list of most beautiful villages, it is also thought to be one of the inspirations for the coastal village “Vigata” where our favorite fictional detective, Salvo Montalbano, created by Andrea Camilleri, enjoys quietly eating his beloved Sicilian dishes on his patio overlooking the beach. A step above the typical crime novel, Andrea Camilleri’s inspector Montalbano critically confronts Italy’s difficult political and social issues.

A graceful, curved beach, with ancient stone homes built to the Tyrrhenian Sea’s edge, under a bold headland defines Cefalu’s beauty. Offshore lie the Aeolian Islands, a volcanic archipelago.

The town’s first settlement was atop the nearly inaccessible 1200ft tall promontory that dominates this spur of land that protrudes into the ocean like a bent knuckle. A new town was established on the coast under the cliff face when the Normans captured it from the Arabs in 1063 and proceeded to anchor the new village with a cathedral that was built to fulfill a promise to the Holy Savior by Roger II, the King of Sicily, upon his survival of a vicious storm at sea that cast him ashore at Cefalu.  Started in 1131, the fortress-like church, with Arab influenced architectural elements, took over 100 years to construct and was finished in 1240.

A handful of tourists sheltered under the tent of a café on the plaza in front of the Cefalù Cathedral, trying to ward of the November chill with coffee or wine.  Unfortunately, the church was closed and we were unable to view its Byzantine mosaics. A trailhead on Via Pitre leads to the top of the massive promontory that towers over the town.  Paths connect the ruins of a Greek temple dedicated to Diana that dates to the 9th century BC, as well as a Saracenic castle.  The panoramic views of the Cefalu and the Sicilian coast are phenomenal.

A plastic curtain at the restaurant shielded us from a sudden downpour as we sat enjoying pizza, just above the gentle lapping waves.  By the end of lunch, the rain had lessened to a misty drizzle and we ventured forth, with our umbrellas at the ready, down slick cobbled lanes to a wide, curved stone staircase.

Legend says the waters of the Cefalino River that feed the The Lavatoio Medievale, a medieval washhouse, were created from the tears of a nymph mourning the loss of her lover.  The waters originate six miles away in the Madonie Mountains near the village of Gratteri and flow under the streets of Cefalu before reaching the sea. Lion-headed spouts filled a series of stone basins that the town’s women used from their construction in 1665 until the last traditionalist scrubbed clothes there in the 1990s. An ancient stone plaque at the top of the stairs is inscribed with the saying “Here flows Cefalino, healthier than any other river, purer than silver, colder than snow.”

Our stay on Via Bara All’Olivella, a street known for its Opera dei Pupi, puppet theatres, was on the edge of Palermo’s historic district and near the classical Massimo Theater. Craftspeople carve and dress the puppets with fine cloth and metal armor, and their workshops can still be visited along the lane. The shows, which can last two hours and have three acts, re-tell the legends of medieval Christians kings, chivalric knights, damsels in distress, and Saracen nobles, with a supporting cast of sorcerers, witches, dragons, giants, and various other evil doers. Sicilian puppetry is a dying art and has been recognized by UNESCO an “Intangible Cultural Heritage.”

Sicily and Palermo have a long, convoluted history with the city as the capital of the Kingdom of Sicily when the Normans ruled.  Later it was a sister city to Naples when it was part of the Kingdom of Naples. Eventually the distinct regions finally agreed to be called Kingdom of the Two Sicilies in 1816, until the unification of Italy in 1870.  The prestige of both cities is seen in the wealth and the number of their churches.  And there really are a lot of them.

Like Naples, this large urban center has fallen on hard times in recent decades.  In the historic center the landmarks have been maintained, but the remaining residential areas have been allowed to deteriorate to the point where the crumbling buildings seem to cry out for restoration.  With oases of beauty scattered about between gritty and raw neighborhoods, Palermo stands in stark contrast to the experience of Cefalu and Taormina.  This doesn’t mean that it wasn’t enjoyable and interesting. On the contrary, along with being fascinating and different, it was a very urban experience!  Plotting our routes between churches exposed us to high culture and art along with the rough-and-tumble ambience of the city, sprinkled with graffiti, as we wandered the streets.

Only a few blocks away from our lodging, we started our morning at Chiesa di San Domenico. It has under undergone many incarnations since the Dominicans commissioned the first church in 1280. The Baroque façade and interior are the result of an expansion in the 1700s. With the burial of many notable Sicilian artists and politicians within its wall, it is recognized as the “pantheon of illustrious Sicilians,” and continues this tradition with modern heroes, most notably the tomb of anti-mafia prosecutor Giovanni Falcone, who was assassinated by organized crime in 1992, and which still receives tributes.

Somehow, we ended up on the top floor of the department store next to the church. Surprisingly, it had a nice café and patio with a view of the Colonna dell’Immacolata on the piazza and the gateway to the La Loggia quarter, one of the original Palermo neighborhoods.

The colorful Vucciria Market on Piazza Caracciolo and the decaying remnants of past glories on the surrounding streets led to the fountain on Piazza Garraffello.  Built in 1591, its beauty was overshadowed by the street art on the grim encircling buildings and haphazardly parked cars that nearly obscured it from view. The area was very quiet when we strolled through but is known for its raucous nightlife that lasts until morning. 

Across from the port a heavenly aroma emerged from a small storefront that was doing an active business. The place got its name from its specialty, Pani câ Meusa – Porta Carbone, a street food sandwich famous in Palermo that is made with boiled and then fried cow spleen and cow lung, grated caciocavallo cheese and lemon, served on a sesame roll.  We thought its strong and rich flavor was a taste that might take a lifetime to acquire.

Two blocks away, the Giardino Garibaldi’s stately centuries-old specimen trees anchored a neighborhood of fine palazzo now functioning as museums and university buildings. 

Around the corner a large, tall-wheeled float shaped like boat, called a Carro Trionfale, was on display in front of the municipal office. On top was a statue of Santa Rosalia, a 12th century hermit who is credited with saving the city from the plague when a relic of the saint was paraded three times around the city in 1624.  The highlight of her weeklong festival, held every July, is the procession when the carro is pulled through the streets by teams of men from the Cathedral of Palermo to the waterfront.  Every year a different district gets the honor of hosting the carro until the next festival.

Farther afield, our wanderings took us down blocks that seemed to retreat further back in time with every step. We saw contemporary street art on urban housing projects within steps of a ghostly unfinished renaissance cathedral, the Santa Maria Dello Spasimo. Started in 1506, it was never completed and now is used as an open-air theater and concert venue.  The juxtapositions of the treasured and the forgotten in Palermo are stunning.

The warren of narrow lanes off the Il Capo district between the Massimo Theater and the Cattedrale di Palermo were ripe for exploration.  Off Via Volturno, two stone columns with decorative capitals, Porta Carini, grace the entrance to the Mercato del Capo, one of the oldest outdoor markets in the city.  Built before 1310, the columns symbolize the neighborhood’s grand past that’s difficult to visualize amidst the colorful canvas awnings of the raucous street vendors.

Nearby is the site of the brutal assassination of Carabinieri General Dalla Chiesa, an anti-mafia investigator, his wife and a police escort. They were murdered by AK47 wielding gunmen on motorcycles one night in 1982. This vicious event epitomizes the Mafia war or Mattanza, the Slaughter, that gripped Palermo and the whole of Sicily from the 1970s to the 90s with thousands of homicides of rival mafioso foot soldiers, journalists, politicians and judges.  Fortunately, things are vastly different now.

Farther along, the street narrows enough that from their balconies, neighbors can easily talk to one other across the lane. At Piazza Domenico Peranni haphazard stalls, some with trees growing through the roofs, house a permanent flea market filled with dusty curiosities.

Every seat of power in antiquity had a triumphal arch to signify its greatness, and Palermo’s is certainly unusual with its columns depicting turbaned Arab slaves. The Porta Nuova gateway was reconstructed in 1570 to celebrate the 1535 triumph of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, over Ottoman forces in Tunis. Landing in Palermo after his victory, the monarch paraded 14,000 Arab slaves through the city. Standing next to Palermo’s Royal Palace, the Palazzo dei Normanni, the 140ft tall monument was part of the defensive wall that once surrounded the city.

When the Normans won Palermo in 1072, it is believed they found 300 mosques in the ancient city and proceeded to change them all to churches, many sponsored by baronial families. Grand, lesser and forgotten, it was nearly impossible to avoid the churches as we walked through the historic district. Many were closed, but the larger ones still open to tourists were all different and magnificent.

The Cathedral of Palermo is definitely one not to miss. It was constructed by the Normans in 1184 over a mosque that was built atop the ruins of an earlier Christian church.  It’s undergone many architectural alterations over the centuries, embracing Arabic, Gothic and Renaissance influences which have combined to create a visual compelling architectural façade with numerous interesting details. 

The cavernous inside is rather plain in comparison to some of the richly decorated interiors of other Palermo churches. The piazza in front of the church is perfectly scaled for viewers to appreciate the grandeur of the church behind it.  The roof, tombs and treasury of the cathedral are all accessible for a fee, while entrance to the church is free.

If you are short of time head to the Quattro Canti (Four Corners) intersection of Corso Vittorio Emanuele and Via Maqueda. It is the heart of Palermo’s historic district.  A short walk took to us to the fanciful Fontana Pretoria, a tiered fountain from the 1500s, which is bedecked with mythological figures.

Beyond it three ancient churches ring Piazza Bellini, and back-to-back visits of all three then required Bellini cocktails to loosen our stiff neck muscles afterward to reground us after this celestial bliss.  The Church and Convent of Santa Caterina d’Alessandria was originally built as a hospice in the 1300s.  Its caverneous, highly decorated Baroque interior, with every surface sculpted or painted with cherubs, angels, saints and martyrs celebrating the heavenly kingdom, was built for the cloistered Domenican nuns from wealthy and noble families who arrived a century later, only to close the hospital and open a bakeshop, “i Segreti del Chiostro – the secrets of the cloister,” instead. Hey, everyone enjoys a good cookie, and the nuns are still turning out traditional Sicilian baked marzipan sweets like frutta di Martorana today, from the convent’s original recipes. Near the entrance to the convent its original ruota, a small wheel-like door, is still in use. Through it the cloistered nuns can pass baked goods while remaining unseen, and poor mothers could anonymously leave babies for adoption. The last nuns left the monastery in 2014 and it was opened to the public in 2017.

Across the piazza stands Santa Maria dell’Ammiraglion, named after the Norman admiral, who commissioned it in 1143.  Its exterior is a hybrid of Baroque and Romanesque styles with Arab influences. Inside, golden Byzantine mosaics cover the walls, arches, and domes.

The Arab-Norman architecture continues next door with the fortress-like Church of San Cataldo. The smallest church on the square, its austere block shape has three red bulging domes of Arabic style on the roof.  During the 18th century it was unceremoniously used as a post office until its façade was restored in the 19th century and the building annexed to Santa Maria dell’Ammiraglion.  Without clues to its original interior decoration the inside has been left unadorned, just bare stone.

We only scratched the surface of places to explore on an island that we found enchanting and fascinating.  It could take a lifetime to experience all it has to offer – an interesting idea. We hope to return one day. 

The wing of the plane dipped one last time to reveal the turquoise waters along the Sicilian coast as we headed for Northern Italy.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Naples – Historic, Gritty and Wonderful

The Italian countryside seemed to extend forever, a wonderful accomplishment for this region of southern Italy that has supported civilization for several millennia, though it ended abruptly when we rounded a highway curve and came to a halt in traffic. Naples, we had arrived.

It wasn’t until we saw Naples from above that we realized the extent of this metropolis.  From our apartment in the historic center of Naples, near the Piazza del Gesù Nuovo, we walked to the daily market along busy streets lined with ancient 17th and 18th century palazzo, once noble homes of the Neapolitan elite, now subdivided into apartments, their fine architectural details often hidden under graffiti, that lined Via Pignasecca.

Vegetable, cheese, meat and especially bountiful seafood vendors were in a constant state of motion readying their stalls and calling aloud what was available.  It was fascinating and gritty with an underlying character of toughness that street life in Naples demands.

Everything looked wonderful as we planned dinner in our minds and agreed to return later after our day’s activity; how disappointed we were to find the street all tidied up and swept clean by mid-afternoon.  We consoled ourselves with a purchase of a bottle of Piedirosso Campania, a red Italian wine grape that is a specialty of the region. For two euros it was a good everyday wine. Later in the week we purchased a fresh tuna fillet that was excellent.

The funicular at the Montesanto train station saved us from a long and incredibly steep set of stairs that would have otherwise led us to Castel Sant’Elmo. Its six-pointed star design dates from Spanish rule of the Kingdom of Naples in the 1500’s, and is the highest point on Vomero hill.

The thirteenth century fortress dominates Naples’ skyline and has an incredible panoramic vista of the vast metropolitan area that hugs the Bay of Naples. Mount Vesuvius overshadows the scene that extends past Sorrento to the Isle of Capri.

Under the citadel walls in what was once a wealthy monastery the Certosa e Museo di San Martino exhibits a collection of art and artifacts devoted to the monastery’s and Naples’ history, in richly decorated cloisters. 

Outside the formal gardens, the paths along the cliff edge were a quiet retreat.  If you don’t feel the need to tour another fortress or monastery, the Belvedere San Martino scenic overlook offers the same views and is a very popular place to watch the sunset. 

After lunch we followed the stairs of Pedamentina a San Martino downhill to Corso Vittorrio Emanuele which cuts across the mid-section of Vomero hill above Quartieri Spagnoli, the old Spanish quarter. The district gets its name from the garrisons of Spanish troops housed there in the 16th century to quell any rebellions from the restive Neapolitan citizenry. From the sidewalk here we looked down upon canyons of TV satellite dishes and flapping laundry hanging from balconies that extended for block upon block, the sheer number of folks living above one another unimaginable.

Over centuries it has evolved to have the densest population of any neighborhood in Italy. After the second world war, post-war public housing was built for tens of thousands of displaced Italian families that fled the war-ravaged countryside, looking for work and shelter in Naples, though Naples itself was in near ruins, having been bombed over 100 times by Allied forces prior to the liberation of the Italian peninsula from Nazi occupation.  Before retreating from Naples, the Nazis destroyed all of the city’s port facilities along with the water, electricity, and gas infrastructures.  Thus began an era of poverty and destitution that was further fueled by neglect from the central government in Rome.  A century earlier, before fighting against Italian unification, the Kingdom of Naples was the most prosperous, wealthy and industrialized of the pre-unitary Italian states with the largest number of students enrolled in public schools along with the peninsula’s lowest infant mortality rate.  The city was a treasured destination of 17th and 18th century upper-class Europeans on their “Grand Tours.” The poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe is credited with coining the phrase “See Naples and die” to reflect the city’s grandeur on one such tour.  Though I’m sure he never envisioned how a growing Mafia influence in the mid-1950’s co-opted the phrase.

We worked our way along Corso Vittorrio searching for the Giardino del Claustro, a scenic overlook, but finally gave up when we realized it was behind the entrance to a university. This wandering led us serendipitously to the Church of St. Nicholas of Tolentino where a chorus of angelic voices suddenly filled the sanctuary as we crossed its threshold, stopping us in our tracks. Seeing no one, we listened intently to the anthem, trying to determine its unseen source, until we finally heard the bellowing voice of the choir director.  We were in the school’s chapel!

If anyplace is likely to induce a religious overdose it’s Naples. “The city of 500 domes,” reportedly has 1000 churches, five hundred of which have historical significance and I swear they are all in the ancient center of the city.  Starting at the Chiesa del Gesù Nuovo on the piazza that bears its name, we walked along Via Benedetto Croce in a large loop that brought us first to the majolica-tiled cloisters of the 14th century Complesso Monumentale di Santa Chiarato.

Continuing straight, we eventually came to a street mural of San Gennaro, the patron saint of Naples. This large tribute was painted in the contemporary style of Jorit Agoch, a Neapolitan graffiti artist, in 2015, above the entrance to a bar that stands next to Chiesa Parrocchiale di S. Giorgio Maggiore on Via Duomo.

Earlier we passed a small memorial to Antonio Varvella, nicknamed O’Barone, a sometimes-gruff character, a beloved homeless man who was a fixture in the historic center for many years until his death one wintry night in 2014.

Backtracking, we turned onto Via San Gregorio Armeno, a street famous for its numerous workshops that craft unique, highly detailed hand-made presepi, nativity scenes.  

Almost lost amidst the store fronts of the crèche workshops, the Church of San Gregorio Armeno has a lavish gilded baroque interior. It is a 1500’s renovation of the original 9th century church built over a Roman temple of worship to Ceres, the Roman goddess of agriculture. 

At the end of the lane, the Basilica di San Paolo Maggiore dominates the square.  

Back at our starting point we rested in front of St. Giuseppe Moscati’s statue, the hand of the sculpture shiny from parishioners holding it as they prayed for cures. A local doctor, he dedicated his life to serving the poor of Naples and is credited with many miracles. He was canonized in 1987.  

Facades of many of these churches pale in comparison to their rich interiors. If the door to the church was open, we entered. Some were grander than others, but all of them were interesting.  

Alternating with stops for café, gelato or the ever so refreshing Aperol spritz, we spent several afternoons ping-ponging our way from church to church through the center of a city that has been inhabited since the eight century B.C. when the Greeks named their colony, Neapolis. 

Subsequent civilizations buried the ruins of earlier ones.  The cobbled lanes and churches we toured had been built over Underground Naples, 120 feet of ancient detritus along with ruins of millennia old cisterns, aqueducts, Roman alleys and shops that spread extensively under historic and modern Naples. 

The reward for one of our daily explorations was a savory Margarita pizza from Di Matteo, recommended by our friend Marina, a lifelong Neapolitan, who affirmed, “It’s the only place my family eats pizza.”  A round pizza folded twice to form a triangle is the perfect street food, but when you order it inside and sit at a table to dine it is customary in Italy to use a knife and fork to politely carve these culinary creations that have become so popular the world over.

By the end of the week the hard cobblestones were fatiguing, and we decided to take a cab to Galleria Umberto, an old fashioned, glass domed shopping mall.  A five-minute trip according to Google Maps. It’s a landmark by the waterfront, near Castel Nuovo and Piazza del Plebiscito which we planned to visit afterwards.  

There were several taxis in queue at Piazza del Gesù Nuovo, all pointing in the direction we needed to go, a good omen or so I thought, as we hopped into the first cab.  Hearing our destination, the driver promptly did a U-turn, then another left turn taking us in the wrong direction. I spoke up from the backseat and pointed to the map, my question confidently waved away by the driver. “Donna, he’s taking us in the wrong direction.” “Give him a few more minutes. He’s local – maybe he knows a shortcut.” With a left turn out of the historic center the driver would have redeemed himself, and put us on a course to the waterfront. Instead, he turned right and floored it while ignoring my protest from the backseat. Finally, at a red light he rolled down his window and asked for directions from a police officer.  Oddly, the police officer made eye contact with me and winked.  A right turn brought us into a one lane road where traffic was at a standstill.  By this time what should have been a very reasonable fare was now approaching twenty euros and we were still over twenty minutes away, in the opposite direction from our destination. I believe he had intentionally taken us in the wrong direction to jack up his fee.  It was time to abandon ship. We got out in the middle of the traffic jam, and I handed him five euros.  An eruption of Italian we did not understand pursued us onto the sidewalk as we walked away, and I swear the buildings blushed from embarrassment. Never have I met a cabbie who didn’t know where a landmark was. 

A few moments later as we were walking down the sidewalk, voices called from behind. “Attenzione!”  Two smartly dressed female police officers were telling us to pay the cabbie. These officers looked serious, with handcuffs! My mind raced as I told them he was a thief, and no way was he going to extort more money from us!  Much of this intense discussion was hindered by our lack of Italian.  Twenty-three euros were now on the meter and the driver wanted to be paid.  I repeated, “no way!” multiple times.  Thank goodness for Google Maps.  With it we were able to show the officers our pickup point and what our original route should have been and the time it should have taken.  They immediately saw how deliberately off course we were. They agreed with us and reprimanded the driver and told him he was lucky he got the 5 Euros.  The police officers apologized for his behavior and were sorry that it happened to us.  From where we got out of the cab it took us an hour to walk to Galleria Umberto where two “caffé corretto,” espresso with grappa, were ordered to sooth our frustration. For this very reason we prefer to use the transparency of Uber or Lyft for transportation when traveling; unfortunately, those services were not licensed to operate in Naples.

With our Naples Pass in hand we headed to the National Archaeological Museum.  This was a wonderful museum with a fascinating collection of artifacts, ancient pottery, classical sculptures, and mosaics discovered across the Campania region.  There is also an extensive collection of antiquities from the ruins of Pompei.

Walking back to our apartment we stopped at a small bacari with a few outside tables for aperitivi, the Italian version of happy hour, to savor the golden hour as the sun began to brighten the historic buildings along the boulevard on our last day in Naples.

Sharing the afternoon with friends and sipping Aperol spritzes accompanied with small snacks called cicchetti is a ubiquitous activity in Italy and reflective of “la dolce vita,” the sweet life. It’s a tradition we plan to continue.

Cin cin! Till next time,

Craig & Donna

Puglia – Alberobello Part 2: Lecce and Nardo – The Florence of the South

“Signor, mio gattino si è nascosto sotto la yuan automobile ed è salito nel motore.” Roughly translated it means – Sir, my kitten ran under your car and is hiding in the engine! My racing imagination added, I will paint a pagan symbol on your car and you will be cursed for the rest of your life if she is hurt.  I exaggerate a little in jest just so you understand this was a crisis!

The night before we had agreed on an early start to Lecce to rendezvous with our friend Giulia for a day exploring her adopted city.  To help move the day along I offered to retrieve our rental car, which was parked a good distance away, uphill, across from the trullo-shaped Church of Saint Anthony of Padua which crowned the hill.

Donna is the designated linguist of the family. I on the other hand have been lovingly accused of slaughtering a fine romance language with just the utterance of a single word, on more than one occasion.

So, when I heard, “Signor, mio gattino si è nascosto sotto la yuan automobile ed è salito nel motore,” I smiled, as I really didn’t understand a word.  But two very worried young girls and their grandfather were standing next to the car and pointing at the engine.  They had placed a saucer of milk and some cat food near the front tire. I understood and joined the older girl who was on ground, looking under the car and meowing for her kitten, quite convincingly I might add. With no sign of a tail dangling from the undercarriage, I popped the engine hood expecting to find the kitten. Nothing.  I slammed the engine hood hoping the loud sound would jolt her from her hidden perch. Still nothing!  The way the car was parked close to an ivy-covered wall I wasn’t convinced that the kitten hadn’t scampered away unseen earlier.  They were signs of growing concern written on the girls’ faces and a growing crowd of onlookers.  Miming turning the ignition key, I conveyed that I needed to start the car and move it around the corner to jump the curb in order to get better access to the engine from below.  Hesitantly, I turned the starter and was deeply relieved when there weren’t any shrieks of horror from the girls or any fur flying. 

With my entourage trailing along, I drove the car around the corner and put two wheels up over the curb to give me just enough room to shimmy underneath for a closer look.  Fortunately, by this time Donna and Gary were rounding the corner in search of me. Much skinnier and a cat lover, Gary was enlisted to wiggle on his back underneath the car. “I don’t see anything. She’s not here.” I frowned, the girls frowned. “Keep looking.” Time passed. “I see her! she’s tucked up very high – let me have some food.” A few moments later, “I have her!” Beaming with joy, the girls and grandad took the kitten to the quiet sidewalk across the street and set her down on the ground.  Almost immediately, to everyone’s horror, the kitten dashed back across the road. The girls screamed and, oblivious to the traffic, dashed into the street in hot pursuit. The terrified kitten once again raced into her hiding place in the engine!  Mercifully, the second rescue was much faster, and with the kitten firmly in the hands of a local woman who assisted, we jumped into the car and sped away to Lecce.

After circling the port city of Brindisi, the highway (SS613) was a straight shot, past the Mura Urbiche architectural complex that highlights remnants of a once formidable city wall that encircled Lecce, to Giardini Pubblici Giuseppe Garibaldi pretty much in the center of the city.

Even though Lecce is located in the middle of the Salento Peninsular, that is often called the “heel of Italy,” the city has had a long bond with the sea.  Legend has it that the King of Crete, Idomene, was blown off course and shipwrecked here while returning home from the Trojan War.  He married the local Salento King’s daughter, Euippa, and named their newborn girl Lecce, after his Lycia homeland in the eight century BC.

Meter parking was available near the Garibaldi Garden, but we opted to find a 24-hour garage so that we wouldn’t have to worry about time.  Lecce has a population of approximately 96,000 folks, 16,000 of which are students. Their presence was evident with in the jovial sidewalk café life we passed as we headed to meet Giula at the tourist information office on Piazza Sant’Oronzo.  We entered the pedestrian-only historic center through an arched gate that led through the 17th century Palazzo dei Celestini’s impressive, cloistered courtyard. Once the private retreat of nuns, it now seats the regional government. Next door stands the Basilica di Santa Croce with its elaborate façade of carved demons, ogres, gargoyles, and beasts.  It’s enough to send any parishioner questioning his faith inside to seek sanctuary.  Fortunately, our timing to visit Lecce was perfect, as just the month before the façade of the basilica was still under wrap from a multi-year renovation project to freshen the sculptures after centuries of erosion.  Its architect Giuseppe Zimbalo took full advantage of the abundant local rock, called Lecce Stone, with its warm color and malleable characteristics.  His opulent Baroque style along with the lavish designs of his contemporaries is credited with earning Lecce the distinction of being “The Florence of the South” during the 17th century.  The talents of the city’s stone carvers rivaled those in Firenze. 

We had a few minutes to view ruins of the 2nd century Roman Amphitheatre that was undiscovered until construction in 1900 unearthed it. Its full size wasn’t realized until further excavation in 1938 determined it could seat 24,000 spectators.  We think it’s wonderful that ancient archeological discoveries are still happening in cities that have been continuously lived in for over two thousand years.

After joyfully greeting Giulia and making introductions all around, we sat at an outdoor café on the edge of the piazza and relished hearing each other’s adventures over the past year.  “The best way to experience the ambience of historic Lecce is to just wander slowly, discover the small details, touch the walls, enjoy the brilliant light and the warmth of the buildings,” Giulia offered as she stood to lead us through the past glory of Lecce. We followed her along shaded lanes, nearly empty of tourists in late October, past Baroque churches and shops shuttered for the afternoon siesta, still a time-honored tradition in southern Italy. “It’s quiet now, but in the evenings the historic district is transformed into a spirited hot spot. The passegiata brings families into the streets, and later the university students keep it lively with their barhopping.”

Large palazzo, with their arched entrances wide enough for a horse drawn carriage, lined the larger streets. Above, stone buttresses carved with gargoyles and animals supported balconies over the street. Interesting antique door knockers beckoned passers-by to rap on ancient doors, some so covered with cobwebs we wondered how many decades ago they we last used. We resisted the temptation.

As we turned a corner, the large Piazza del Duomo spread out before us.  Unlike other piazza in Italy where there are multiple entrances and shops, this piazza only has one way in and out.  The Lecce stone facades of the Museo di Arte Sacra (once a seminary,) Palazzo Arcivescovile (formerly the Bishops’s residence,) and Cathedral of Maria Santissima Assunta with its belltower enclose the plaza on three sides, giving it the ambience of a tranquil cloister.  The first church on this site was built in 1144 and repaired several times over the next 500 years until 1659 when hometown master architect Giuseppe Zimbalo was commissioned to rebuild the cathedral and design the freestanding 230ft tall belltower in the “Baroque of Lecce” style he helped popularize.  His burial under the altar of the cathedral reflected the honor accorded him.

Sitting on the steps of the museum, we admired the warm glow of the late afternoon light as it lit the walls across the piazza. “I would love to live there,” Giulia said, as she pointed to a small, corner terrace brilliant in the sun on an old building at the entrance to the piazza. I think there was a collective “ah, yes;” we understood.

Later in the week Giulia invited us all to visit her in Nardo, her family’s hometown.  It would be our farthest point south on the “heel of Italy.” The GPS directions from Alberobello suggested the fastest route to Nardo through Lecce, but we chose an alternative route that gave us our first glimpse of the Ionian Sea. Following backroads, we drove through vineyards and olive orchards.  Many of the orchards, though, were suffering from a deadly olive tree disease caused by a bacteria, xylella fastidiosa, that is ravishing southern Puglia and its important olive oil industry.  To curb the bacterium’s further spread drastic measures have been implemented. Infected trees and those within 150ft of it are culled from the orchard. Unfortunately, it has radically changing the landscape and farmers’ lives.

We met Giulia and her family at their winery on Via A. Volta, located just outside the historic district. Giulia’s grandfather started Cantine Bonsegna in 1964. Today her father and uncle continue vinting wines in a 1930’s era industrial building on one of the main thoroughfares of Nardo.  Wines from their vineyards in the countryside are brought into town, then pressed and fermented at the rear of the building, where they cork about 150,000 bottles of wine a year, while the front serves as a retail store.  On the second floor a wine bar is open in the evenings and specializes in small plate fare.  Their Danze della Contessa, Dances of the Countess, label was inspired by Giulia’s love of ballet. We might be slightly prejudiced, but we thought their wines were very enjoyable and definitely worth a visit to taste some fine regional wines and buy a case or two, maybe three. We purchased several bottles to enjoy during our trip, and were disappointed to learn that the Bonsegna label was unavailable in the US.

Heading into the historic district we were treated to a festive lunch at the Hostaria Corte Santa Lucia, a local favorite that specializes in “the forgotten recipes of the Salento region.” Plate after plate of mouthwatering local specialties were placed before us; our young men did justice to the platters, but were soon groaning for mercy as more and more food appeared. Mr. Bonsegna wouldn’t hear of us paying the bill, and afterward our boys marveled at the warmth and hospitality our host showed to us. “It is the Italian way,” Donna explained. “This is how I grew up – family and friends are lovingly embraced, and everyone is fed!”

We followed Giulia’s father into the old town, hugging the shade to avoid the intense sun still strong in late October.  The colors of the buildings were softer here, pastel colors chosen to reflect the nearby sea and surrounding farmlands.  Being close to Lecce, Nardo shared a similar history and the Baroque style adorns many of the town’s ancient churches.  The façade of the Church of Saint Dominic is the best example of that opulent exterior decoration, and was the only wall to remain standing after a 1746 earthquake.  

The Cattedrale di Nardo was our destination.  Partially damaged in the upheaval that shook the region, half of the 11th century church needed to be rebuilt.  Interestingly the effects of this could be seen as we looked down the center nave of the church.  The arches on either side reflected different styles.  The surviving arches were slightly pointed at their apex, while the newer ones are completely curved, a fine detail that Mr. Bonsegna enthusiastically revealed.  Farther inside, original medieval frescoes survived, untouched from the catastrophe, while along the outer wall 19th century murals replaced ones lost to the earthquake. 

Nearby the Guglia dell’Immacolata, a 100ft tall ornately carved baroque spire dedicated to the Virgin Mary, centers Piazza Antonio Salandra. “The piazza is jammed with people every December 8th to watch a fireman climb to the top and place a wreath of flowers on Mary’s head, to honor the Immaculate Conception,” Giulia shared as we crossed the piazza to a still-flowing, ancient public water fountain decorated with a relief carving of a bull. 

Legend says the fountain marks the spot where 3000 years ago settlers watched a large wild bull scuff the earth and uncover a natural spring.  Behind us stood the small Church of San Trifone, built in the 1700’s to honor the martyr who saved Nardo from an infestation of caterpillars. We were disappointed that an explanation of this odd plague was not provided.  Most likely it was an infestation of oak processionary caterpillars. Contact with their toxic hairs can trigger an asthma attack, but most often results in a severe, blistering rash that lasts for weeks. “We have it all here and yet we are still far off the tourist track,” Giula happily joked. “We get very few foreign visitors, and rarely, if ever, Americans.”

Heading back to the car we stepped through the heavy wooden door of the Aragonese Castle of Nardo. Formerly the private residence of the 15th century Acquaviva family, rulers of the fief of Nardò, a reward from King Ferdinand II of Naples.  Today the once moated fortification serves as the city’s town hall.

A very enjoyable day was celebrated and “till next time” was said over coffee before we said our farewells and drove to the seashore to find one of the numerous watch towers that were built along the Ionian coast to warn the country of imminent invasion. 

The sun was setting as we came to a stop behind a car about to turn onto the coast road. A car on the opposite side of the road turned the corner and stopped to wave at the person in front of us. Quickly both parties were out of their cars, hugging and chatting away, oblivious to us. I rolled down my window and photographed the dark silhouette of a square “Nardo tower” against an orange sky. No impatient honking, just enjoying life in Nardo.

Fino alla prossima volta – till next time,

Craig & Donna

Puglia: Alberobello – Trulli, Troglodytes and the Sea

One of the characteristics we most appreciated about traveling through Europe was the ready availability of a cup of delicious coffee, even in the most unexpected of places. The bar on the ferry from Dubrovnik to Bari came through with two tasty cappuccinos the morning after our overnight passage in a windowless cabin. As a hazy sunrise dawned over the Adriatic Sea, we sipped our revitalizing espresso and milk while the ship docked in Bari, capping an otherwise uneventful crossing to the Puglia region – “the heel of Italy” or the “spur of the boot.” 

Behind the wheel of our rental car, we passed through verdant olive groves in the Valle d’Itria, alternately known as the Valle d’Trulli or the Valley of Ancient Olive Trees. Olives trees are celebrated for their age in the region, and several top two thousand years old.  One ancient millennarian called the Elephant is 3,000 years old. The orchards on either side of the road were busy with workers covering the ground under the trees with collection nets in preparation for the olive harvest.

A little aside – we are olive aficionados. All things olive we enjoy. We have even brined our own, ordering California olives, then scoring and soaking them for three months in salt water to remove the extremely bitter oleuropein.  As tasty as they are after this process, they are downright vile beforehand, which has always made me wonder how it was determined that they were edible.  Did a starving hunter-gatherer pluck a floating olive from a salt marsh and make the discovery of a lifetime?

Farther along we sped past a farmer selling yellow melons from the back of his three-wheeled Piaggio Ape, a small truck that is ubiquitous throughout the farmlands of Italy. We did a quick U-turn to buy two from him, and they were delicious.  Our progress slowed through another small town as a brass band led funeral mourners across the road ahead of us.

Our destination was Alberobello, to meet up with three of our sons and especially to live in a trullo for a week.  This was the culmination of a decades-long desire ever since becoming aware of these enchanting, whitewashed dwellings capped with conical-shaped stone roofs with a pinnacle at the top.

Trullo comes from the Greek word for circular domed construction, tholos.  But it is thought the “a secco” style, without mortar construction technique, was brought to Puglia by North African invaders when Sicily was under Arab rule in the mid-800s or even earlier. As the Valle d’Itria surrounding Alberobello was deforested (albero bello translates as “beautiful tree”) to make way for cultivated crops and olive orchards, the building material of choice was the abundant limestone rocks removed from the fields or the wells dug beneath their homes.  The flat stones, called chiancarelle, are precisely pitched so that rainwater runs off the roof and the interior remains dry.  Their local design was firmly entrenched in the 14th century when the King of Naples granted the desolate Alberobello region to the first Count of Conversano as reward for service during a crusade. 

In a ploy to recruit tenant farmers from neighboring regions the feudal landlord offered trulli with the caveat that when the king’s tax collector visited the area, homes would be destroyed by the count’s horsemen using a rope to pull the pinnacle, a key stone, from the roof, collapsing it.  The homes could then only be rebuilt when the tax collector was safely far away.

This miserliness inflicted upon the already hard lives of the peasant farmers was to avoid payment of “new settlement” taxes by the feudal lord.  No wonder there were constant peasant uprisings. This threat literally of “the roof coming down on your head” was used to intimidate or evict rabble rousers and farmers who didn’t pay their crop share to the landowner.  As peasants’ rights changed over the centuries the homes became more permanent, though tenant farming was common in Italy until the end of WWll.

Our Airbnb trullo was located on one of the narrow, steep lanes of the Monti district not far from the Church of Sant’Antonio with its steeples mimicking the stone roofs of the surrounding homes. It was a compact space with two small bedrooms and combo kitchen/living room area.  When the front door was closed it felt like a snug cave, but fortunately the entry had a classic beaded curtain over it as a privacy screen that let in plenty of light and air when the door was open. 

The charm here was a vertical ladder that led to a hatch which opened to a rooftop patio with a grapevine, chairs, a table, and a clothesline. It was delightful and we made daily use of it, bringing coffee up the ladder in the morning and then wine to enjoy while watching the sunset. Immersing ourselves totally in the local lifestyle, we flew our laundry from the clothesline, like a proud flag symbolizing our occupation. 

It took the better part of a day to coordinate the arrival of our tribe; Craig and Gary stayed with us, while Jack and his partner Brian stayed near Matera. The plan was to tour Alberobello, visit Matera in the neighboring Basilicata region together and then spend a day in Lecce with our friend Giulia, whom we met at the very beginning of our journey, fourteen months earlier in Ecuador.

Many visitors savor all of Alberobello’s magic in one day, but if you don’t like changing hotels frequently, like us, it was also the perfect spot to base further exploration of Puglia, which is what we intended to do.

There are over one thousand trulli in the Monti district spread across seven narrow streets that twist and turn in an enchantingly confusing way, yet the area was small enough that we were never really lost.  Early in the mornings or late in the day the neighborhood had a unique ambience, with its cobbled lanes, whitewashed walls and pointed stone roofs painted with various religious, astrological, or folkloric  symbols. The latter were meant to ward off evil or ensure a bountiful harvest. Similarly, there are different thoughts about the meaning of the various shapes of the pinnacles atop the roofs. I prefer the theory that they represent the ancient stone mason’s calling card. Most of the trulli have now been converted to shops, restaurants, small inns, and rental properties. 

Across the main road at the bottom of the hill we climbed a shallow slope to a second, smaller borghi, or neighborhood, equally charming but with a more residential flavor than the Monti. The Aja Piccola is comprised of about four hundred trulli.

Farther afield on the outskirts of town we walked through Alberbello’s central cemetery.  Spanning centuries with classic tombs and modern mausoleums, the graveyard architecture presented a strikingly distinct dichotomy to the rustic trulli.

It was backroads through farmland most of the way to Matera, past larger trullo with multiple rooms, each represented by its conical roof. Some along the way were abandoned or used as barns, while others were pristinely refurbished and doubled as the farmer’s home or agrotourism business.

Matera sprang to notoriety in 1945, at the end of WWII, with the publication of Carlo Levi’s novel about his political exile to the region, Christ Stopped at Eboli, when Mussolini was in power.  He described the squalid conditions in which peasants lived together their farm animals: they inhabited caves, without electricity or running water, and diseases ran rampant.  The Italian government was internationally embarrassed by the neglect the sassi of Matera received, and in a restitution effort, relocated the entire population of some 16,000 cave dwellers from 1,500 sassi, small caverns, to a new town built on the plateau above the honeycomb of caves.

Archaeologists have determined through excavations that Matera grew from a series of water-eroded caves along the walls of the Gravina River canyon, which were first inhabited sporadically 9,000 years ago during the Stone Age.  Permanent populations have existed here since 3,000 BC, making it one of the oldest continuously inhabited settlements in Europe. 

The Romans declared Matera a town in 251 BC. Centuries later the safety of cave dwellings appealed to many during the turbulent dark ages and the populace grew as folks expanded the natural caves and randomly dug new sassi, above and below their neighbors, from the soft rock of the canyon walls.  During the Middle Ages the prosperity of the city supported many churches and convents.

In the 1200s the Cathedral of Saint Mary ‘della Bruna,’ Saint Eustace, and the Church of Saint John the Baptist were built on opposite sides of the ravine.  Prosperity continued in this area into the early renaissance.  The exterior of the some of the sassi were squared off and ornately carved with columns, while others were expanded with additional rooms and vaulted ceilings.   

Political intrigue over the centuries put Matera on the losing side of several rebellions against the various Kings of Naples. The coup de grace came in 1860 after unification with the Kingdom of Italy, when many of the lands and properties owned by the church in the Basilicata region were confiscated and sold off to wealthy aristocratic families. With support from the church, peasant opposition to the broken promises of the new Italian government grew and soon the countryside was controlled by roaming bands of brigands.  The province was too dangerous to travel through, further isolating Matera even though it was the capital of Basilicata.  Many decades of governmental neglect followed and pushed Matera into major decline.

For three decades the sassi were an abandoned no-man’s-land, the caves used as drug dens and warehouses for smugglers until the first gentrifications began with several small boutique hotels in the 1980s.  During years of renovation and exploration, 150 cave churches, 90 wine cellars and numerous cisterns have been rediscovered after the removal of debris and muck from their last use as barns and stables.

The uniqueness of Matera’s “spontaneous architecture” as it is officially called was recognized in 1993 when UNESCO named it a World Heritage site.  Further interest followed, after Matera was used as a film location to double for ancient Jerusalem in several movies: The Passion of the Christ (2004), King David (2005), and The Nativity Story (2006.) Even some scenes from the 2017 Wonder Woman were filmed there. In 2019 Matera received distinction as a European City Capital of Culture.  Today sixty percent of the sassi of Matera have been restored into small hotels, shops, galleries, and digital workspaces.  

When we arrived in Matera the historic area was hidden from our view by the buildings of the new town on the plateau above the Sassi district. We made our way to Piazza Vittorio Veneto while searching for stairs down into the ancient district. There was a tremendous WOW! factor when we emerged from a narrow alley onto a scenic panorama above the old town, the city’s silhouette frozen in time.

Around the city large surrealist sculptures by Salvador Dali stood in wonderful, whimsical juxtaposition to the surrounding monochromatic walls of the city. One day was not enough to uncover all the mystery that Matera had to offer. Hopefully, we will return in the future. 

A day at the beach, more like a day on the cliff above the beach, drew us to Polignano a Mare on Puglia’s Adriatic coast.  It’s a picturesque town known for its dramatic buildings balanced on a cliff edge that follows the sea, thirty feet below. 

The rock face is incredibly soft and over time sections have fallen into the sea creating grottos, under the homes above, that can be toured by boat.  White-pebbled Lama Monachile is a classic, small Italian beach nestled between cliffs, from which the brave dive into the calm turquoise waters of the cove. 

The quaint historic district is relatively small, and homes are painted in cooling colors which echo the sea. Alleys meander to small piazzas above the water, each with a unique view of the cliff and just large enough to support a small café with a few outside tables.  It was a brilliant sunny day, pleasantly uncrowded, and the weather was gentle enough that we could dine outside in a sunny spot during our November visit. 

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Dubrovnik: Dragons and Castles

Our first glimpse of Dubrovnik caught us by surprise as we rounded a curve on Croatia’s RT 8. Its thick limestone walls and brilliant red tile roofs, saturated with color, reflected brilliantly on cobalt blue Adriatic Sea.  Its nickname “pearl of the Adriatic” rightly earned.

Fortunately, mid-October was considered off-season and we were able to find a wonderful apartment, Old Town Sunrise Apartments just steps away from the Babic’ Bakery and the 14th century Vrata od Ploča or East Gate with its ancient drawbridge.  The agony of lugging our bags up three flights of stairs was rewarded with gorgeous views from our roof windows, since the studio apartment was directly across the harbor from Fort St. Ivana. 

We couldn’t have asked for a better location. The sunrises and sunsets were spectacular over the Adriatic and the citadel.  A brilliant Hunters’ Moon one night was an added bonus, as was watching a group of elderly friends take an early morning swim, their daily ritual.

Fort St. Ivana today houses an interesting maritime museum and aquarium, but when it was built in the 16th century its canons protected the city-state’s merchant fleet from the Venetians and Ottomans.  Over the centuries Dubrovnik’s maritime merchants rivaled Venice’s with trade representatives in Goa, India and the Cape Verde Islands off Africa’s Atlantic coast.  Its merchant fleet even traded during the Middle Ages with the English court of Elizabeth the First.

Blame it on Drogon! Since the medieval fantasy Game of Thrones was filmed in Dubrovnik the city has lost its previous reputation as an under-visited and affordable destination on the sunny shores of the Adriatic.  Ever since the TV show’s premiere in 2011 the city has become a mecca, big time, for fans eager to visit the show’s filming locations.  Thankfully, it hasn’t risen to placards of “Jon Snow slept here” or “Rhaegal roasted a nobleman on our roof” level yet.

We had been on our journey fifteen months now and aside from a brief stay in London, Dubrovnik was by far the most expensive destination.  I think this explains why we saw so many people walking down Stradun, the city’s main pedestrian boulevard, eating slices of pizza.  The impact of these high prices was especially acute since the affordability of Kotor, Montenegro (only a short drive away) was still fresh in our minds.  It was actually easier to find an affordable restaurant in London.  It was captive pricing for sure within the fortress walls that encircle Old Town and the only reprieve was to eat in the new town portion of Dubrovnik, outside the citadel. 

Stradum, aka Placa (Stradone or Corso) is the city’s pedestrian-only main boulevard, running 300 yards east to west, connecting both ancient gates and harbors on either side of town.  For us it was too pristine.  An unfair comment, as this resulted when Dubrovnik was rebuilt after the 1991 Balkans War, when the city was shelled for seven months from the top of the mountain above town. Two hundred eighty civilians and soldiers were killed during that prolonged bombardment. Today an aerial tram takes you there for panoramic views. Shrapnel scars, signs of the conflict, remain etched into the stone walls on some buildings.  But the newness of the polished limestone boulevard running past upscale shopping reminded us of an amusement park.

We were drawn into the narrow, arched alleys with steep stairs that climbed the hills and weaved through older neighborhoods on either side of Stradum. The farther away from Stradum we got, the more the crowds diminished. 

Our other alternative was to walk along the fortress walls that encircle the city for slightly over a mile.  Thirteen to twenty feet thick and towering eighty feet high in some sections, the walls once held 120 cannons to protect the city from land or sea attack.  This walk is a popular activity with fast moving tour groups, but we found if we just let them pass there would be a tranquil void until the next group which allowed us to linger in one spot for a while. 

Standing above the West Gate and looking down the Stradum was a prime view that included the circular Large Onofrio’s Fountain built in 1438 and which still supplies fresh spring water, from mountains miles away, to carved faces that spurt water. Farther down the Franciscan Church and Monastery houses the oldest continuously operating pharmacy in the world dating to 1317 in its muraled cloister. Farther along the wall there were several small cafes and stairs that lead to roped off swimming areas at the sea’s edge.

At the far end of Stradum the city’s 100 ft tall clock and belltower zooms skyward over an area that was once the city market in the 1400s. Famously the belltower has two bronze figures named Maro and Baro, zelenci (green) twins that strike the bell on the quarter, half and full hour.  Interestingly, several generations of the same family have maintained the clockworks for over 100 years. Next door the 14th-century Gothic-Renaissance style Rector’s Palace exhibits vestiges of Dubrovnik’s history. Especially noteworthy were the intricately carved exterior columns.

Across the street the statue of golden statue of Saint Blaise cradling a model Dubrovnik on his arm crowns his church.

The city’s 16th century granary and mill has undergone a beautiful and innovative renovation and now houses the Etnografic Museum Rupe. It has a prominent collection of Croatian Cultural items, particularly traditional attire from the regions surrounding Dubrovnik.

Weddings are a boisterous affair in Dubrovnik, with the bride and groom following a flag waving entourage parading through the pedestrian-only streets on the way to their church ceremony.

Walking east one morning away from the city, along Ul Frana Supila, a quiet road that hugs the water, a small village ambiance prevailed with colorful homes, flowering plants and wild pomegranate trees set into the hillside. 

Villas for the well to do, many built on the ruins of previous civilizations, line the road, beautiful none the less. Bored? There was a rainbow-colored selection of wheels for rent at the exotic car dealer to satisfy that zoom, zoom craving. 

Eventually the road narrowed and a chain across it prevented cars from going farther along a treacherous, serpentine stretch that hugs the cliff face.  The road used to connect back to the highway near one of the scenic overlooks.  But it was determined to be too dangerous when its guardrails tumbled down the cliff into the sea.  Now only walkers and bicyclists use it to traverse a dramatic section of the coast. 

A memorial, Spomen ploča žrtvama komunističkog terora, to victims of the communist terror, stands on a curve in the road. It commemorates the lives of five young Yugoslavian partisans thrown from the cliff to their deaths by communist “liberation forces” loyal to Marshal Tito at the end of WWII.

Across from Dubrovnik’s West Gate and harbor, the 11th century Fort Lovrijenac, the “Gibraltar of the Adriatic,” sits atop a towering rock monolith 121 feet above the sea. Climbing to the top of the citadel along well-worn footpaths and stairs satisfied us with great views back across the harbor of walled Dubrovnik and kayakers paddling along in the cove below.

Many kayaking tours leave from West Harbor. Today Lovrijenac’s walls, some reaching a thickness of 39 feet, support theater and music productions during the summer months.  The dramatic setting is also the backdrop for Red Bull Cliff Diving World Series and Knightfall, a historical fiction TV drama about the Knights Templar. 


Behind the fortress, wandering the narrow lanes along the water’s edge felt like we were in a quaint seaside village.

We thought the Three-Day Dubrovnik Card was a good value for us, since it offered free entrance to six museums, two galleries and the city walls, as well as six free rides on the local buses. Staying just outside the fortress walls permitted us to avoid a premium room rate yet allowed us easy entry into the citadel early in the mornings and to find those quiet vignettes and ancient architectural details hidden amidst dramatic shadows.

 For moments we felt like we had this beautiful medieval city all to ourselves.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Kotor Part 3: Herceg Novi – Serenading the Ghosts

The days were noticeably cooler now, with a morning mist hanging on the water as we sped around Kotor Bay on the local bus to Herceg-Novi (€3 one way) for the day. The narrow two-lane road hugged the coastline and in spots jutted out over the water to circumvent a sheer rock face.  When the landscape widened enough, houses were built on every patch of useable land in small clusters or standing alone.  At the farthest end of the bay we watched oyster farmers raft between their rows of buoys that marked the submerged delicacy growing in the depths below.

Further along the Lepetani – Kamenari Ferry (€4.50 per car, €1 for a bicycle, people free) offered a shorter and faster route that bypassed Kotor for travelers wanting to stay along the highway that hugged the Adriatic coast from Albania to Croatia.

Unlike Kotor and Budva, which were both built on flat coastal terrain, Herceg-Novi was built on a steep slope that runs many miles inland to the summit of Mount Orjen. The mountain, part of the coastal Dinaric Alps, is Montenegro’s tallest peak, which at 6210 ft is 500 ft taller than the more famous Mount Lovćen (5738 ft).  The town existed as a small fishing village for several hundred years until its first defensive walls were raised in 1382, making it one of the youngest and most fought-over fortified cities along the Adriatic coast. 

The old town is long and narrow, climbing up the hill from the water’s edge like an index finger poking out of the sea, making it a much harder city for the Omis pirates to attack.  Let’s face it, Mediterranean diet or not, it’s much more difficult to properly sack, pillage and plunder a city when you are exhausted from running up steep flights of stairs.  Though it wasn’t always the pirates that folks worried about.

The Turks built Kanli Tower on the highest point in the city after they defeated the Byzantines in 1482, only to be ousted by the Spanish for a brief stint of gentrification in 1538 when they quickly constructed Hispaniola Fortress higher up the mountain, to no avail; the keys of the city were returned to the Turks two years later.  The Venetians had their turn also, strengthening walls and building towers that survived until the devastating 1979 earthquake.  Its turbulent history also included the Austrian, Russian, French and Germans, all battling for beach chairs along the Herceg-Novi riviera.  Fortunately, the communists didn’t see the need to impose their minimalistic architecture on such a beautiful swath of earth and left it alone.  The people of the communist block were not as fortunate.

We were only an hour from Kotor when the bus pulled into the station above old town Herceg Novi, the last stop before the border with Croatia.  Walking downhill, we came upon the daily market, Gradska Pijaca Herceg Novi, and took the opportunity to purchase the makings for a picnic lunch. Bread, cheese, figs and a huge pomegranate filled our knapsack.  Old Town is of course surrounded by the apartment buildings of the new town, a pretty gentrification which has sprawled horizontally between the sea and the highway above town, hugging the hill for views of the bay.

The lane ended in Nikole Đurkovića Square in front of the ancient Sahat-Kul clock tower and gate, built by the Ottomans in 1667, that leads into the historic district.  Once through the gate, the dark passage opened onto palm-treed Belavista Square lined with cafes and umbrella tables. St. Michael Archangel Church anchored its center.  The style of this relatively modern church, built in 1911, is defined as Eclecticism, after its incorporation of architectural influences that reflected Herceg Novi’s diverse history.  Byzantine, Gothic, Romanesque, Islamic and Serbian Orthodox inspirations all blend seamlessly together. 

The old town was very quiet, and we had the narrow alleys and stairs to the Sea Fortress, the first fortification in Herceg Novi, practically to ourselves.  At the old town’s southernmost point, the massive stone wall of the fortress protrudes several stories high from the sea, like the bow of a cruise ship.  Its canons are quiet now, but during the summer tourist season it hosts citadel-top concerts and a film series from the spot where the guns once guarded the bay. 

We chose not to walk down to the harbor, saving our strength instead for the longer one-mile walk to the Savina Monastery. The monks sure did know how to pick locations for inspiration. The first stones of one of three churches were laid in 1030, and the setting above Kotor Bay is glorious. 

Being a Saturday, it was wedding day and we arrived just in time to watch a flag-waving crowd and brass band escort the bride and groom to their get-away car.  Moments later another wedding party arrived to celebratory horns. 

Next to the cathedral where the weddings were being held, the smallest and oldest church, Sveto Uspenje Bogorodice (St. Falling into Sleep of Holy Mother of God) has fascinating, ancient frescoes depicting the life of Christ.  Stairs in the hillside led to a cemetery above the monastery with beautiful views. 

The route back was relatively flat and took us through a pretty neighborhood filled with flowering shrubs to a smaller gateway into the old town, nearer the stairs to the Kanli Kula Fortress or Bloody Tower.