Matera is going to be a tough act to follow, but we were up for the challenge. We were heading for the Adriatic coast. We had received advice to go to Pescara but we thought it might be too popular with the tourists and decided to go to the lesser known city of ‘Barletta’. Not a long drive from Matera but it was a hot day and I was looking forward to plunging into the sea which was close to the tiny house Linda had booked for two nights. A unique dwelling, as we entered the front (and only) door we were confronted with three narrow steps leading up, to an open kitchen/dining/lounge area, and six narrow steps down, to a large basement bedroom/ensuite. Not something I think we could live in but it was perfect for the next two nights.
As we walked around the seemingly friendly town it became evident that we had made a wise decision in avoiding the masses, and we tried to mingle in with the locals, but I’m sure most of them could tell we were from out of town and probably wondered what the hell we were doing there!
If you remember our ordeal with the Carabinieri a couple of editions ago and how we had to have some documents certified so ‘Births, Deaths and Marriages’ in Melbourne would release a marriage certificate extract, we had ordered to be sent to Malta. Well, it was a complete waste of time! Because it was Linda’s ID we had certified but it was me that had placed the order- they wanted my ID certified! Of course they wouldn’t accept us cancelling the order so Linda could reorder, so we had to endure the whole painful exercise again. This time we thought we’d take advantage of the friendliness of the good folk in Barletta and also decided to approach the local Police department as opposed to the more stringent Carabinieri.
So there we were on a sunny afternoon, no doorbell this time, we waltzed right into their office and were greeted with a welcoming “Buongiorno”. So far so good, but you must remember that few tourists stray to Barletta and the level of their English was probably less than we had encountered with the Carabinieri. We started talking to two officers but they were gradually calling colleagues over to help work out what we wanted. It got to the stage where there were too many of us in the tiny office so we all spilled into the street with a lot of hand gesturing and multiple people talking loudly at the same time. I remember catching Linda’s eye and I am sure we were both thinking “How do we get ourselves into these situations and why it it always so difficult?”. Eventually one of them, I think he was a Sargent, got on the phone and rattled away for a minute or two before handing me the phone! It sounded like a young woman and she spoke English but still had trouble understanding what I was wanting from the police. “One moment”, she said, “I will come to the police station”. “Where are you?”, I asked, hoping to get an understanding of how long she would be. “I am at the beach”, she replied, sounding a little embarrassed. Well, we waited and waited out the front of the police station along with about half of the taskforce, who had been assigned to our case, for almost an hour. I would look at the driver of every vehicle that approached expecting to see a woman, possibly in uniform, stop at the station. Eventually, a car stopped just past the station and out popped an attractive girl wearing just a light shirt over a bikini! Argh, that can’t be her I thought, but she walked right up to us. We guessed she might have been a daughter of a policemen or the Sargent and one of the few in town that could speak English, and that was why she was summoned from the beach. I quickly realised why all the guys were hanging around and not doing something more important, they obviously knew what was going on. She was actually quite bright and was able to translate our request, and while it was understood, out came the “Why?” again. With the assistance of our ‘beachgirl’ we were able to explain. “How long have you been married”, the Sargent asked, and we promptly answered. “You don’t get that long for murder in Australia”, I nearly blurted out. Fortunately my brain performed a quick assessment of the situation, and how the word ‘murder’ could trigger an alarm to seriously jeopardise our proceedings, which then sternfully instructed my mouth to remained firmly shut.
Our afternoon’s work was rewarded with a cool Aperol Spritz at a local bar and a feast of fresh mussels back at our tiny home, bought from a gruff looking old fella selling them from a wet sack in the piazza near our house for the bargain price of just €1.00 a kilogram!
With just the coast to coast drive to arrive at our final destination in Rome, we planned one more stop to break the journey. I chose a place named Telese Terme because I liked the name and its proximity to Rome for the final days drive. Linda had excelled again and booked what I think was the best value accommodation so far. It was an entire villa, or mansion would probably be more appropriate.
High in the hills about ten minutes out of town in an olive grove. The three level building had four bedrooms, three massive living areas, two terraces and a well equipped kitchen. It sat high on a hill overlooking olive trees, grape vines and the owners’ residence adjoining their olive oil processing plant. It was true serenity!
The house was so large Linda and I would lose each other! It seemed wrong to stay there just one night so we messaged the owner to say we’d stay two nights. We didn’t need to see anything in Rome as we’d both been there before and the idea of having a ‘chill’ before a big week ahead in Santorini was definitely in order.
It was almost sad leaving after the two days, the owner and her daughter arrived to see us off and collect the keys. They presented us with a little gift and a one litre metal container of their olive oil! A wonderful gesture and under different circumstances we would have happily accepted and put it to good use. Sadly we had to explain that we were flying out of Italy the next day and were limited to what we could carry on the plane, therefore having to reluctantly decline the container of oil. I don’t think they fully understood our reason and we were left wondering if we should have just accepted it and passed it onto a worthy sole in Rome.
We returned our trusty little Aygo to rental agency in the multi level car park at Fiumicino airport in Rome, over one thousand kilometres and twenty three days since leaving Catania, without a scratch. Given the chaotic traffic conditions and the unsealed roads (shhhh!) we drove, a commendable achievement I thought.
And we arrived at the terminal, comfortably in time for our flight to Santorini.
Arrivederci Roma. 🇮🇹 😘