Day 48 Brokenhearted

A dog walked back with me all the way from Calimera today.  Medium-size with floppy ears, the black and tan beauty trotted a foot or two behind me.

He looked young, clean and well fed. His coat shone and his teeth gleamed white. Was he lost or had somebody recently abandoned him? 

Dog



I thought it amusing at first, how he made sure to stay behind me, and how, when some especially intriguing smell delayed him, Dog hurried to catch up to me. But as I approached the provincial highway, which intersects the old road at the mid-way point, I got nervous and started shooing the little bugger away. He stood still while I admonished him in Italian and stared at the sky. But as soon as I started walking, I could hear his nails hitting the road behind me.

A jogger caught up to us and she stopped dead when she saw Dog. He gingerly approached her and she gave me a dirty look. It's not my dog, I said quickly. He followed me from Calimera. Ah, she said, turned and went back the way she'd come.

When we reached the highway, I got a little more aggressive with him. He finally turned back and I thought he got the message. But no. He jumped a low fence into one of the vineyards and jumped back out -- ahead of me.  Smart little bugger, too. As I yelled at him, he came slowly, slowly close and put his head against my leg for me to pat. Sucker that I am, I did.  

Dog came all the way home with me, where I gave him some bread, which he refused.  He did accept the small piece of spicy provolone I found.

I introduced Dog to a widow who lives a few doors down when she walked by. I hoped, somehow, for a match made in heaven. But she wasn't interested and, frankly, I don't think Dog was either.

Dog was sitting quietly at my feet in the courtyard when Barbara came out of her room.
Paola doesn't allow dogs in the house, she said, but I couldn’t bring myself to kick him out. Then Shay came back from the studio hauling his bicycle up the front step. Dog got skittish and ran out into the street. Barbara said, it's better to close the door, which Shay did.

With his gentleness and his way with people, surely somebody will take Dog in, won't they? I'm keeping positive thoughts.



This beautiful tree sits in front of the contemporary art gallery Primo Piano in Lecce where we attended an opening last night.

Day 47 Fireworks

I woke up thinking Puglia was being retaken by the Greeks as shot after shot cut the early morning silence.

The fireworks started around 7 am and have continued sporadically throughout the day. It's early evening and they're still going strong. In fact, a few minutes ago I was going up the outdoor stairs up to the roof to check whether my laundry was dry when a new burst of light and sound nearly knocked me off my feet.

(My laundry has been sitting there for 36 hours and it's still not dry despite bright light most of the day. Looks like I won't be able to wear my good jeans to Lecce tonight....)

I was working in the courtyard toward noon, the door to the street open when our neighbour Uccia walked by. Buon giorno! Barbara and I and Uccia shouted at each other. We invited her in. She couldn't stay. Her husband was about to pick her up to get to the airport in Brindisi. Their eldest son was arriving from Milan. If ever I've seen pride written on a mother's face, this was it.

But she stopped long enough to explain what the noise is all about: San Pantaleo, Martignano's patron saint of Martignano.

The fireworks is day one of a three-day celebration his honour. (See post for Day 27 for more about the saint). Tomorrow, Sunday, there's a procession (yeah, haven't seen one since I was in Grade school), and culminates at 7 p.m. on Monday with a huge bonfire in the sports area. (I'll be there, of course.)

Folks around here have been holding the festivities since November 1716 as thanks the saint for saving them from a devastating hurricane that hit the region that year.  Italians seem to have long memories for good and for bad.


Stairs leading up to the rooftop laundry facilities framed a bright crescent moon



Day 46 Bye, bye euros

Up until now, I've spent most of my money here on food, grocery stores, fruit stores and restaurants. But today I woke up with an itch to buy stuff. Never one to ignore my stronger urges, I headed off to Calimera, purse strap slung securely over my shoulder, full wallet stuffed safely beside the reading glasses.

The walk was a joy. Bright clear skies, a pleasant breeze, and birdsong accompanied me along the old road.

First stop 
Calzature Pelleteria Rosato: 1 pair of shoes for my mother; 1 pair for me; a scarf for a friend -- 128 Euros
Second stop
Cafe de l'Anglo, 1 cappuccino with cacao -- 1.2 Euros
Third stop
Leo Frutta: oyster mushrooms; 4 small tomatoes; pistachios; 3 persimmons (I completely squashed one carrying all the bags home 3 kilometres); bunch of grapes -- 7.8 Euros
Fourth stop
Biscottificio Corliano: 2 bread rolls (Shay's the only one that likes this type of bread), .5 Euros

On the way past the Supermercato Pam, I ran into one of the young women that own the hair salon where I went a few weeks ago. She gave me a lift to the wine store, which was a good distance away. It was already 12:30 and I wanted to be sure to get there before it closed for siesta. (I did have to retrace my steps from the wine store and then back to Martignano carrying all the bags, of course).

Fifth stop
Enoteca Iavarone Andrea: 1 bottle of prosecco (recommended by the shopkeeper); 1 bag of mirtilli canditi ricoperti di puro cioccolato extra fondente (candied blueberries robed in extra dark chocolate -- 13 Euros

Sixth stop
Gioielli Di Rosa: 1 small set of elegant ceramic oil and vinegar servers -- 10 Euros.

Total damage: 160.5 Euros

At today's exchange rates that's $221.95Canadian; $219.90 American.

I've got a couple of weeks left to go in Italy and I swear I'm not going to buy another thing. As a friend of mine from Quebec used to say in her very charming Francophone accent: "THAT'S IT. THAT'S ALL."



Notice the completely squashed persimmon in the foreground? The shoes on the right are for my mother. The cute little boots at the rear are for me.



Day 45 Asked out on a date?

I think I got asked out on a date or maybe Antonio only wanted a roll in his olive grove. Whichever....

I passed Antonio on a country road on my walk this afternoon. He was working in his olive grove and I was curious about what he was doing. He had his hands on either side of this red contraption that shook furiously. On his side of the low stone wall that runs all along the road, he'd started a fire.

What are you burning? Weeds and garbage. Many similar fires had been lit all along the road. It made the air thick with white smoke and burned my eyes.

What are you doing on this back road? Taking a walk, una passeggiata. It was about 2 p.m. and reasonable people here are either eating or snoozing at that hour. He wanted to chat but I waved and walked on.

Retracing my steps a half hour later, there was no sign of Antonio. But before I reached the end of his grove I saw a motorcycle racing toward me from the direction in which I was heading.

Where in Martignano are you staying? Who's house? Is your husband here with you?

He wanted me to stay and chat. I didn't want to. He went back to work, I thought.

But I was back in Martignano walking along via Giovanni XXIII (a dismal street with a tall grey wall running along one side) when Antonio's motorcycle roared up behind me.

I'm going home to eat, he says. Ah, buon appetito, I chime in quickly, in case he took it into his head to issue an invitation. He was a wiry man, in his early 50s, I'd guess. He had a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth, a la, Vittorio De Sica in a 1940s film, his eyes half closed to keep out the smoke.

Come back to the grove, he said. No, grazie, I replied.

Farmers working the olive groves burn their garbage



Antonio working in his olive grove




The roadsides of the old country roads are strewn with garbage




This little teddy bear was among the detritus

 

Via Giovanni XXII is a bleak unattractive road. You'd think they would have done better for a Pope Italians supposedly admired.



Day 43 Madonna!

Sat in the Cappella  del Mantovano (dedicated to la Madonna delle Grazie)in Calimera for a quiet half hour today. It was the siesta period and I remained, happily, quite alone.

I forgot to bring my camera this time. The last time I stepped into this chapel, my camera refused to work. Maybe the Vergine delle Grazie doesn't want to be photographed.

Glorious day for walking, sun and wind and the smell of olives on the old road to Calimera. I don't really know whether olives trees have a fragrance but I swear I could smell olive oil in the air as the wind whipped around me.

It was after 1 p.m. I was afraid the chapel might be closed. Everything else is at that hour. My heart sank when I saw the gate in front of the doors from afar. I nearly didn't bother going any closer but something urged me on. I'd like to think it was the Madonna but maybe it's just the reporter in my double checking things, you know?

The gate was closed but not locked and neither was the front door. I stepped in and too a seat. I sat down on one of the four narrow chairs in the back of the room, which had little plaques on them. They'd been donated in memory of individuals and each one had a little plank attached at the back so you could kneel there and rest your arms on the back of the chair -- like a pew.

So peaceful in there, not quiet though what with the chapel sitting on a fairly busy street not far from a roundabout.

But peaceful just being inside its thick wall and beautiful in a simple way, except for its intricately carved altar, almost the entire width of the room and reaching to the high star-shaped cathedral ceiling.

The  room, only about 24 feet by 14 feet, painted all white; fresh flowers and votive candles at the foot of the altar; the altar table covered with a pure white hand-embroidered linen; fake red roses in glass vases another plastic spray of tiny red flowers on a shelf a little higher up; a fresco of Madonna and Child affixed to the building's wall and peeking through the open centre of a starburst carved into the stone altar; the blue keystone at the centre of the ceiling's star that reads 1696; the play of light from a pair of high-up facing windows; the coolness of the umber-coloured squares of stone under my feet; a broom and a plastic bottle of water at the back by the door beside the holy water font.

I closed my eyes and listened, my back pressing against the back of the chair, my feet square on the floor. I listened to my breath and I wait. I wanted to feel this place with my skin.

There was wind, strong wind that whirled and swirled around the Madonna and me. It sounded like a woman's sigh.

Day 42 My Lecce jewels

Spent part of the day in Lecce. Had a nice conversation with a woman named Carmina. She runs a jewellery store called on the main drag, Piazza S. Oronzo called Cisternino.  (For you nosey parkers out there, yes, I did buy something. A pair of earrings.)

Carmina told me she's been working at the boutique since she was 8 years old. The shop belonged to her aunt, who had no kids. So she was the helper. But she loved being in the store even though the woman was quite a taskmaster, apparently.

What with one thing and another, Carmine was such a keener she ended up with the store even though she had earned a degree in classical piano.

What happened to the piano playing, I asked? Well, you know, she says, I got married and soon the kids came along, and that was that. But even with kids, she never did quit working at Cisternino.

Carmina is 66 looks now but looks at least 10 years younger. She's been behind that counter for 58 years.

She sighs. None of her three kids will be taking over the store. Two aren't interested. The one that would like to, a daughter that’s a gemologist, lives in Rome. Her husband has a very good job and there’s no question of them moving to Lecce.

Supper time is drawing near and we're about to go to Alle Calende Greche tonight to scarf down some pizza. It's the only restaurant in Martignano and reliably good. The other eatery is Berlino's but that's more – grungy, shall we say.

Lecce streets scenes

The Basilica di Santa Croce's spectacular rose window

Day 41 Night thunder

Lulled to sleep by waves of thunder last night. Felt safe under thick, vaulted masonry walls. In spite of the turbulence outside, no discordant dreams appeared in my slumber last night.

Watched a film on my computer late in the evening. Maybe that's why I slept like a baby. Love stories are so comforting. An Italian film but starring Scottish actress, Tilda Swinton, called I am Love (Io sono l'amore). Slow moving, sensual film about a rich, aristocratic mature woman imprisoned by her wonderful life. Nice.

Was so wrapped up in the movie I didn't realize my housemates were having a party in the kitchen. Thick walls keep noise down so I didn't hear the popping of corks. They'd sent me an email but I didn't see it till the movie was over, and by then so was the party.

Barbara told me this morning, they'd considered pounding on my door and hauling me out but decided they didn't know me well enough yet for that.



Truffles offered for sale during the wine festival in Leverano





Pane Pugliese comes in big loaves. They slice off what you want and charge you by weight.




Our coffee in Gallipoli came with a silver basket filled with these tiny, delectable almond confections