Italian long stay

August 6, 2020

NEARLY THERE

Jackie Usher Italian long stay Driving, Family Restaurants, National Parks

Our First Journey Ending.

DAY 14: 16th September: Grottole:

Our first journey (down to Basilicata) was nearing its end.

Just below are my notes when planning the journey down – but in the event we did not take that route:

Our original, Pre-planned Route: SS615 to Grottole (B&B near Matera): 5hrs driving if you choose the road going through Parc de Gran Sasso (mountains & steppes! – saw a photo of them poking out of the clouds). Up ss602 was optional – or alternatively to Casteluccio (featured on TV as THE place for lentils and those special sausages. You would have to turn back after a bit). Then E80/A14 + sr6/sp230 to Grottole.

(The Parc de Sasso is 3hrs 50 minutes from Grottole – so rather too long for a day trip.)

However; there had been recent earthquakes, and we thought the populace could well do without us appearing to gawp, and generally obstructing the rescue operations.

Instead, as we recall, from L’Aquila we dropped more or less straight down to Benevento. We then passed by Potenza (not going in) and on to Grottole. By that time we were just aching to get to our base, drop off all our luggage, and rest…

But we were still well rewarded by the shorter alternative route we took: ‘Taking five’ to refresh our memories of Popoli, last visited years before. We had a nice little walk round; then on to Benevento, driving through mountains.

WE TURN OFF OUR ROAD – DESPERATE FOR FOOD!

Shortly after skirting Benevento we wondered if we’d ever hit a town in time for lunch. I studied the map and found that we’d shortly be reaching a village with the intriguing name of Castello-del-Lago. (CASTLE BY THE LAKE- though we never saw either.) Instead, we turned into a street with modern, rather characterless houses – no castle or lake in sight, but an open space with a bar. By this time I was desperate for a WC. The lady behind the bar divined this and pointed to the back (generally you have to stop to buy a kaffè or something similar).

A Walk on the Wild Side.

When I came out she ushered us both out of the door. Graham said he had asked her if there was anywhere we could have lunch – her shelf held only ciabattas and little cakes in packets – we were ready for a meal. When she picked up her phone he had not realised that she was booking a table for us at a farm-restaurant close by. We were literally guided to our meal by this kind lady, who left her customers to walk, baby on hip, in front of our car and around a zigzag of houses to a secluded courtyard – and there was this wonderful hotel/restaurant with mine host standing outside to greet us.

Are we nearly there yet-AZIENDA-AGRITURISTICA-ANTICA-MASSERIA - The end of the Journey — Antica Masseria where we had a wonderful lunch

Fish, Spaghetti – and Surreal Art.

Augusto Pisani is an artist in food (or is it his wife?) as well as his many art works which adorn the walls of his charming dining rooms in AZIENDA AGRITURISTICA ANTICA MASSERIA. Stradone Masserie, 7, 83030 Castello del Lago AV, Italy (You need to link it to Venticano, the nearest commune when looking on the internet.

We were really too early for lunch- but friendly Signor Pisani took us on a tour through several rooms to view his paintings, sculptures and very unusual collages. (If I remember rightly, there were lots of bare-breasted ladies with strange bits and pieces stuck on them.) He then discussed our order and rushed off to the kitchen, returning to take us into more rooms and a private room with his collection of ancient sculptures, amphora, and other antiquarian treasures.

STRICTLY BUSINESS LUNCHES?

The restaurant started to fill, and we couldn’t help noticing all the middle-aged businessmen entertaining their pretty young secretaries; and there was one very attractive woman who sat on her own, obviously waiting for someone, and trying hard not to show that she cared when no one showed up…

GRAHAM GET SPECIAL TREATMENT

The menu was quite fish-oriented, which delighted me, but not Graham, who asked if he could have pasta with – maybe funghi? It was not on the menu, but made especially for him with wonderful fresh porcini from the nearby mountains: But first we had a complimentary starter – fried polenta on a bed of fresh ricotta with capers, if I remember rightly. Anyway, it was absolutely delicious, as was all the food in this hidden palace of culinary delights – even the salads were special.

GOURMET FOOD AT A REASONABLE PRICE

A memorable and refreshing stop in a long day’s drive (and a surprisingly reasonable bill). We would love to return some day. We only ate there, but judging from the restaurant, I would imagine that the bedrooms are certainly satisfactory, but almost certainly comfortable and artistic. AZIENDA AGRITURISTICA ANTICA MASSERIA Stradone Masserie, 7, 83030 Castello del Lago AV, Italy

Sun-Baked Land of Basilicata.

Soon after taking our leave we found our journey taking us through a quieter countryside. The buildings gradually changed from a definite Romanesque to a distinctly Mediterranean look. The rather flat, dried fields and agricultural and factory outlets of the bottom edge of Campania suddenly gave way to a rugged landscape with the main road snaking through a deep valley. This eventually opened out to something unexpected and totally new: A very feminine, swelling land.

Are we nearly there yet - The-soft -hills-of-basilicata - The end of the Journey — The soft undulating hills warmed by the setting sun

We had never before seen such subdued colours: the shades of cream, and gentle greens and browns reminded us of soldiers’ ‘desert battle fatigues’. As clouds and sun chased over the fields the colours glowed. We realised that we had at last entered Basilicata. For the next seven weeks we were going to be held under the spell of the Basilicata’s ever changing views, which one moment would be soft and feminine; and the next, quite harsh and masculine.

Are we nearly there yet - Road-up-to-Grottole - The end of the Journey — The road ran up – switching back and forth in sharp bends from the valley bottom to Grottole

Still marvelling on this we came abruptly upon the sign for Grottole. Our road climbed and turned round in sharp curves, and we were suddenly in this small hilltop town, where we found the central bar, and as arranged, waited to meet our host for the next seven weeks – Signor Giuseppe Riccardi!

Over drinks we toasted ‘Our First Journey at an end!’

Text by – Jackie Usher, SWWJ. (aka author Debbie Darkin, & ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.)
Photographs by – Graham Usher.
Thanks to Google maps – All other images have been taken by Graham using an Olympus VR-370.

Vivien in the middle of the Sassi, Matera

July 22, 2018

VIVIEN ALIGHTS FROM A BATTERED COACH – EAGER TO EXPLORE

Jackie Usher Friends joining us, Italian long stay Greeting friends

2^nd October.

VIVIEN TAKES A ROUND ABOUT ROUTE.

Vivien had already stayed a week in Napoli (Naples) to explore that town; also Pompeii and Herculaneum. We feel that Herculaneum gives a quicker, less tiring overview of domestic living in Roman times and Vivien agrees.

I have to point out that Pompeii shows more of the ‘Grandeur’ of Ancient Rome – but it is a vast site. I would still like to explore the side of Pompeii that was mostly closed in 2011 and is now open – but not sure if I can now manage all those cobbled streets.

Do both if you are keen, but allow two days to thoroughly explore Pompeii, however fit you are. (It can be very hot to walk around exposed to the sun and with little shade, even in October.)

Vivien decided that rather than come by train (about 1 hour) she would take the bus from Naples to Matera, which took four hours, as it stopped at many small towns and the route was via Bari. I do not know if Vivien was prepared for the age of most buses in Southern Italy, but she is a well-seasoned traveller and takes any discomfort in her stride.

A SMALL STREET MARKET

Vivien’s bus was due in around noon, so in the morning Graham and I went to find a street market on the outskirts of Matera. I was genuinely curious, wondering if Italian markets resembled the high quality of those we had found in France; I hoped to find cheeses and fruit from local farms.

It was not that sort of market, although I bought peaches – amazed at the huge bag that 6 euros bought. (When we got home all the peaches were bruised, so I cut them up and boiled them . Some went into a couscous I made, but I re-boiled the rest with sugar.)

This market was on a hill at the very edge of modern Matera and overlooked miles of country, including our ‘own’ Lake Giuliano. It was a tatterdemalion affair, such as you often find here in Britain; the crowded street a riot of colour from carpets, scarves, and jewellery winking in the sun; and, as usual, clothes. I was at last able to buy some American cloth for our kitchen table in a design that appealed, and that I could not find back in Britain (where so many patterns are just wrong for our 1900 farm-type kitchen).

SAVING NERO’S BACON

Also, it cost only 10 euros to replace my ruined, worn-once blouse, eaten by that wretched dog. Giuseppe said he had no name, so I called him Nero.

He is really a pretty young fellow, with a glossy black coat, despite never being groomed. He has never been trained, either, which is why he jumps at you, and bites – though he only made me bleed once. The poor creature is lonely, and starved for love. I would talk very quietly to him, and that seemed to calm him down, and he would come and lay his head in my lap. But he will never learn, I fear. We wonder how he is now, as Giuseppe planned to leave all the animals throughout the winter to ‘go down to the farm below’ on their own – he wanted them to become ‘working’ animals. In other words, he wanted feral cats – and the dogs to become guard dogs. BUT: I have to remind myself that Giuseppe is trying to ‘bring-back’ the farm, long neglected, and that even in animal-loving England our farmers keep ‘working dogs’ and dogs to guard the stock, and few of these ever enter the house.

VIVIEN’S IMPATIENT – FOR THE SASSI

Though a bit travel-weary when she at last climbed down from the somewhat vintage coach, Vivien was avid to see the Sassi – she even declined the offer of coffee or a cold drink. We took her to the squares at the top, where she could easily look down on the entire ruined city – now fast being cleaned up and restored… Of course, she could not wait to find an entrance and explore further – who would not? Matera Sassi district is one of the wonders of the world…

It is always a pleasure to introduce people to places you like and know a bit about, however sketchy; and we felt satisfaction when upon first peering through the three arches in a smart piazza at the top of the old town, Vivien’s eyes sharpened with keen interest.

“I can’t wait to get down there,” she said, and so we set off to explore, descending steps and ramps until we reached some ancient cisterns. It was at that point that I remembered that she who walks down must walk up again, so I left the other two to explore further and made my leisurely way back up. Once in the principal piazza I took a look around the Duomo. This white cathedral had a glass inset in the floor, through which you could view the very much older crypt church beneath. All of Matera is built ‘literally standing on top of one another’, but when it comes to truly ancient churches there is a special enchantment.

NOWHERE LIKE ITALY FOR ICE CREAM

Deciding it must be high time to return to the larger piazza where they hoped to emerge, I took myself off to one of the best Gelaterias in Italy – and that is a tall order.

There was always a queue worthy of any in Britain outside the modest frontage of Il Vizi degli Angeli Laboratorio di Gelateria Artisanale. While waiting in line I studied the board to pick a flavour new to me – not a difficult task, as the list was long. I remembered trying fig, having never come across this blissful tongue-tickler in England.

EVER TASTED FIG ICE CREAM?

Oh, what bliss! I’m not especially partial to figs, especially the ‘fresh’ ones found in British supermarkets; and I can take or leave those sticky dried ones you buy in little boxes for Christmas. But in ice cream! Spotting Graham and Vivien coming across I persuaded them to try it, too (of course, they insisted on cautiously taking a lick each of mine first – and I did not get ‘licks’ back when they triumphantly brandished their overflowing cones, just as I was dumping the last of my dripping cornet in the rubbish bin.) We spent the next half hour or so ‘people watching’ and wandering the lanes of interesting and chic little shops; carefully hurrying past a certain little ceramic studio.

3^rd October:

INTRODUCTIONS

Giuseppe had yet to meet Vivien. She was still in bed at about nine o’clock when I woke her up asking if she’d like a cup of tea. I don’t think she was overjoyed. We tend to wake up so early these days, and Graham would put the alarm on for 6am in order to write.

I stayed in bed until 7, but it seemed much later, so after washing some clothes and myself I did my unwelcome hostess act. No wonder she was tired – she had just done four days hard walking around hot and sweaty Naples, and day trips to both Pompeii and Herculaneum.

I can’t help thinking that the 4.5 hr coach ride yesterday must have been bumpy and hot, too.

GRAHAM – GOURMET DISH for GARDEN CRITTERS

Vivien was very welcome, not least because she brought a much more effective remedy than ours to tackle all those mosquito bites. These pests seem to smell Graham from miles off: (‘Hee, hey, ho hum – I smell the blood of an Englishman’) and zoom in for the feast. My poor husband is covered in angry red bumps, which itch and burn like mad. At home it is I who attract the insects – perhaps, like all Italian men, they treat foreign women with courtesy?

An old pergola supporting an old rare grape vine

This tube of stuff came in very handy when Graham took her to explore the villa’s lush garden, exuberant with greenery forever encroaching upon the lawns. The creation many years ago, mainly of Giuseppe’s father and late grandfather, it was now an enchanting jungle where the odd statue, marble table, or broken fountain hid amongst the profusion of palms, vines, pomegranate trees and every sort of shrub, both northern European and exotic – many that you only see at home as pot plants (often houseplants, and very small.) Vivien endeared herself to Giuseppe, and even more his father Mimi, by her keen interest in, and appreciation of the abundance in this ‘almost forest’ as Giuseppe called it. Whenever Mimi arrived, they made great efforts at bringing it back to its original, formal glory; but we Brits just loved to dive into the lush greenness.

Text by – Jackie Usher, SWWJ. (aka author Debbie Darkin, & ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.)
Photographs by – Graham Usher.

March 21, 2018

Cabbage, churches and a castle

Jackie Usher Getting to know the locals, Italian long stay Local restaurant, shopping

It Became ‘Our’ Town

20^th September: MIGLIONICO

We had already discovered Miglionico, a pretty, historical hilltop town with a large and important 11thc castle (called Malconsiglio, because of bad advice, leading to extremely bloody disputes between the king and his barons – a Basilicatan King John?)

It is also famous for its main (Mother) church, Santa Maria Maggiore, which is about as old. It has a Romanesque bell tower and famous polyptrych – an eighteen-panel masterpiece, painted in 1499.

Cabbages-churches and Castle - using local shops — The 18 panel 15th cen. Polytrych masterpiece to be found in Santa Maria Maggiore, Miglionico

It also had one of the most moving crucifixes I have ever seen; very old and executed in painted wood, it can be seen near the main door. Adjoining it is the convent of San Francesco, back of the main piazza, where the men regularly gather in the late afternoon, soon to be joined by their women and children on the regular evening ‘promenade’ through the streets, a charming practice of the entire region. High up facing the piazza in a niche was an exquisite Pieta.

Another church is Santa Maria delle Grazie; very tiny, hidden in a back street. It is also very old, and simple, both inside and out – except for the glorious, delicate frescoes around the altar, especially that showing the nativity. They were painted by Giovanni Antonio Bazzi – known as ‘Sodoma’.

WE ARE A STAR ACT – USING LOCAL SHOPS

We regularly shopped in Miglionico for our food, (We prefer using local shops rather than spending our money in large supermarkets; invariably the food is fresher and in Italy, we found, cheaper. Doing this has extended our knowledge.) It also gives great amusement to the local housewives. We will never forget the first time we walked into the ‘frutti’ (greengrocers) where we suddenly became a comic turn and before long, the star attraction. All business stopped while we were served. The waiting ladies would have a great laugh at our struggles with Italian, and a fun time was had by all.

We always emerged with several bulging bags of fruit and veg for about 6 euros. If I could still just taste those grapes! Everything was local and organic and fresh, fresh, fresh (except for bananas). The proprietress would never let us select our own veg and fruit but chose it for us, stuffing great quantities into a carrier bag or even two. Her customers, grinning broadly, were quite happy to wait their turn.

Graham spread his custom amongst three butchers. One sold his own tender and tasty reared beef and veal – and whole legs of lamb (never knew what happened to the other bits). His rivals had a bigger selection; both were charming, but the rivals charged more. We would also be treated to a friendly greeting from the grocer running the mini-supermarket: All of which got us feeling like regular visitors (even friends?) of the little town.

On Lolly’s first day we took her for that nostalgic experience, and also stopped for coffee in a small local bar. Lolly was a bit disconcerted to find it patronised only by men; we later found a place where women could enjoy coffee and chat in mixed company.

GRAHAM IS BEFRIENDED.

We were struggling to find out about the local wines in the big 2 litre plastic containers (costing about €4) when a local gentleman who introduced himself as Vincenzo helped us. He spoke perfect English, having spent some years as a waiter in a posh London hotel.

Vincenzo took us on a tour of the town, including a walk right round the extensive castle walls. We old girls were both exhausted by the heat and hung behind, so missed his telling of all the historical details, but I Googled them later.

It’s All About The Meat!

We also that evening had an amazing meal behind a macelleria (butcher’s shop). The butcher, as fat as Falstaff and as jolly, brought out dish after dish on plastic plates. Thin slices of almost-white cheese came first; small rounds, so I guess they were taken from one of those little cheeses that look like balloons or lamps; very special to this area and made from sheep’s milk. Small dishes of finely cut red, yellow and green capsicums from his own garden followed, simmered in olive oil, and would you believe – thin slices of raw pumpkin, which to our surprise tasted tender, sweet and delicious! Then that crusty bread they have, toasted and drenched in olive oil and sprinkled with fresh herbs – also delicious!

But eating at Peppino’s was all about the meat, which came in generous portions, wafting rich smells, and cooked superbly. Graham chose veal, which was so tender he could cut it with his fork. I was brave and chose horse; I think Peppino thought that because I am Inglese he had to cook it ‘well done’. I intended to go back and ask for it ‘bleu’; more tender and juicy that way. We were surprised when he appeared with a large plate of little pork twists to share – utterly tasty and soft. When asked, he said they came from the back of the neck.

Peppino’s food is rated on Trip Advisor as No.1 in his town; all 5-star reviews except one, which bellyached about plastic plates and tablecloths – but it’s all about the food, which tasted divine – and the whole meal, which included wine and bottled water, cost 15 euros each.

‘Evoluzione Della Brace, Miglionico The Evolution Of The Brasserie, Miglionico.

We made friends with the other customers – six adults who were staying for the hunting (deer, boar and wolf, and numerous birds of prey, including vultures and eagles). They took us with them to finish off our meal in a smart Pasticceria, where we had Kaffé and little cakes. Nowhere like Italy for fresh coffee! Men, women and children would all come in, to stand and drink at the counter or sit at one of the two small tables with three chairs apiece. We bought a cake each to consume there and came away with a box of a dozen assorted from the vast display.

The man called Lucio also invited us to stay with him for a few nights. He is a retired banker, from Milano. He now lives close to Lecce, one of the foremost artistic towns in South Italy. He does ‘B&B for friends’. (This is why Graham and I just love Italians – as open and hospitable as the Americans of New Orleans. They told Graham that we are not like other Inglese; news I shall convey with great glee to our families, as we two have always been the ‘bit weird ones’ with our own folks.) Funny – we have made so many friends abroad – Lolly and her family and friends in USA; now three B&B hosts and a winegrower in France, Vjekoslav in Croatia, and so far three families in Italy – one of which, as you will learn, has become very special to us – oh, and the hotelier in Crete who plied us with Metaxa and invited us to a party, where he demonstrated to all present how he made Raki. And all because I recognised a photo of his grandfather as being an ‘Andarte’ – a mountain guerrilla fighter in WW2. )

WE FEEL NEGLECTFUL.

We felt ‘at home’ in Miglionico; consequently we rather neglected our ‘hometown’ of Grottole.

We made an initial attempt to explore Grottole castle and ruined basilica that together made an unmistakable silhouette right at the top of the conical volcanic ‘plug’, recognisable from miles around in the land below. This excursion was thwarted in the main, certainly for me, because there was nowhere close enough to park, although I did take a quick glimpse into the tiny church further down. It was extremely old and very plain, but local ladies were dressing the life-size saint or Virgin Mary in real clothes, of a richness they most likely could not afford for themselves. (We saw many such ‘clothed’ saints in the area.)

Mostly we tended to drive through Grottole rather than using local shops in the town, although there was an attractive, very clean and bright mini-market. This was a pity, because the proprietress was very friendly and helpful, and her English was perfect, unlike the struggles on both sides to get understood in Miglionico. The thing was – that seemed to be the ONLY food shop in Grottole, apart from one butcher with no parking space that we could see. Mainly, I think, we were finding it such fun to shop in the old way, almost entirely lost back home; going from shop to shop, engaging in banter made even more enjoyable by language stumbles, which led to mutual laughter. It was an excursion we always looked forward to.

Text by – Jackie Usher, SWWJ. (aka author Debbie Darkin, & ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.)
Photographs by – Graham Usher.

March 2, 2018

Finally Installed

Jackie Usher Friends joining us, Italian long stay Airport meet up, Lost in town, Saved by the band, Settling in

FINALLY ORGANISED –
We are Given a Bigger Bedroom

19^th September:

It was a relief to be finally organised – moving all our stuff (luggage, clothes, make-up, etc.) into the bigger bedroom, leaving the small one for our great friend Lolly, who was due to land at Bari airport the next evening.

Finally Installed-6-window-finally organised — It was a relief to be finally organised

I was immediately charmed by watching the swaying, just outside our window, of the huge leaf of a large tree fern that reached up from the ‘jungly’ garden a good way below. We would watch this every morning when we woke up.

A large, ornate bed, which was marred by missing and peeling walnut veneer, dominated our white-painted room – it must have been beautiful once. Flanking it were two rather grand oak and marble bedside cupboards, also dried-out looking, and with small parts missing. Clearly no one had lived here for any length of time in many years.

A very modern LED ‘half-coil reading’ lamp had been placed on each cupboard, for which we were grateful. There was also an Ikea chest of three drawers. It was some time before the spare linen was moved out of the central drawer but eventually I was able to completely empty our suitcases. A rack of five coat pegs hung on one wall, and throughout our stay that was our wardrobe.

The fly screen in the window failed miserably to keep out the vicious tiny mosquitoes, and the ointment we had brought with us, also a spray we were given, failed to divert them from Graham’s flesh, apparently more appealing than mine. They feasted on him throughout our stay. Even Giuseppe got bitten because, he said, they are a new strain come over from Africa. A result of Global Warming.

(NOTE: And I found three after we got back home; two just alive on our bathroom window in late December, and one dead corpse that fell out as I hand-washed a sweater in January. They are quite different from English mosquitoes – much smaller and blacker).

We saw Mother Cat that morning. Half feral, she came to partake of the dogs’ food, and sometimes to steal from her offspring.

Finally Installed-5-Main Boulevard, Bari-finally organised — The Corso Vittorio Emanuele an elegant main street in Bari

Finally Installed-3-Inner city Bari-finally organised — One of the many hidden arched alleyways in the Citta historica

ELENA WANDERS OFF.

In the afternoon, we left early to meet Lolly’s ‘plane, leaving time to explore the wonderful old inner city of Bari before locating the edge-of-city Ikea, to buy cutlery and saucepans for our kitchen at Giuseppe’s request.

We had timed our day in order to walk round and see the sights. First, we enjoyed a leisurely lunch, seated in an outside ‘enclosure’ on the grand main street of the city.

Giuseppe had asked us if we would give Elena a lift in, and bring her back with us.

She declined to lunch with us, preferring to go off on her own, saying she had friends to visit. As we got out of our car Graham explained very carefully that she must be back by the car by ten to four pm, as our parking ticket ran out by then, and there would be delays and a very large fine if we did not move off.

Elena showed us her mobile phone, and Graham took down her number, and wrote ours down for her, again emphasising the need to return to the car in time. She laughed gaily and trotted off.

We hardly got beyond the gates of the old city because we were anxious not to incur a fine, and we had to find our way back to the car. It took a while; the streets back to the main thoroughfare were long, and they all looked very much alike.

It turned out that we spent almost the entire afternoon driving round and round the modern city trying to find the Russian girl who had blagged this lift and then made off without any attempt to meet us, as per our request, back at our car before our paid permit ran out.

Finally Installed-2-Inner city Bari-finally organised — One of the many archways through the ancient wall into the Citta Historica

WE ARE SAVED BY AN OOMPAH BAND.

Inching round and round the city in rush hour traffic, we eventually reached her via mobile phone; (hers had been switched off until five minutes to four). Not that much use, because she could not tell us where she was. We were both fuming, but Graham swallowed his fury and calmly asked her to look for some landmarks.

Suddenly she was drowned out by a brass band, enthusiastically oompah-pahing at very close quarters to both phones. I had to laugh, and so, reluctantly, did my thunderous husband, but it was thanks to that band that, standing up in the car, he eventually spotted her.

In a very bad mood Graham drove straight to Ikea where we raced around to buy stuff, because that evening we must drive on to Bari airport to meet Lolly, arriving for a week. Wouldn’t you know – that wretched girl disappeared again in the vast recesses of the Ikea store?

Once she was found and, I’m afraid, forcibly told off by me, we all had a very hasty snack in Ikea before hurrying off to the airport some miles away. Lolly’s plane would land at 8.40.

A RED-HOT MAMMA SASHAYS IN.

Finally Installed-4-Lolly-finally organised — Lolly looking serious – the time we took her to the Lake District England

Lurline Soignet has been our dearest friend since 1980. We met her on our very first night in New Orleans, having slept all evening, exhausted after our journey to Gatwick, and then the flight to Miami, and changing planes for New Orleans.

New to the country, let alone the city, we awoke hungry. Graham remembered seeing a “greasy spoon” just up the road, with a sign announcing ‘Open 24 hours.’

‘I think they just serve hamburgers,’ he said. “I know you’re not keen – but at least they’re food. And they are probably better here in America. I mean – they are a way of life here.”

So we tidied ourselves and dragged ourselves up to the top of that block of St Charles Avenue and entered ‘the Frosttop’.

The smell coming from burgers sizzling on the hotplate was surprisingly appetising, but we could see no one to serve us. Suddenly one of those cute white forage caps appeared above the counter, followed by long blonde hair framing a bright red face atop a very impressive bosom. The lady was no taller than me – and I am 5ft in my socks.

“Why, hell,” she drawled in a voice that was deep, like thick, smooth chocolate. “Haven’t seen you folks before. Waddya want?”

As soon as Graham opened his mouth she crowed with delight. “You’re English. Wonderful. How long ya’ll staying in Ny’Awlins?”

When we explained that we had come to settle, and that Graham was to start work the very next day she said ‘then y’all need to get to know folks. My name is Lurline Soignet” (she pronounced it ‘Lorreline’) and you sure are welcome to our city.”

She expertly flipped our burgers, and turned to face us.

“Tell me where y’all staying and my friend Judy’ll come collect you on Saturday morning, so you can meet the Neighbourhood Nuts.”

Sure enough, at about 11am Saturday morning there was a hammering on the door, and a lady stood there with a grin almost as wide as her ample frame. This was Judy; we got to know her as a most generous hostess, who could throw a party at the drop of a hat. She was a wonderful cook (I can dream of her barbecued ‘shrimp’ even now; swimming in butter and garlic – oh boy.) None of the ‘Nuts’ were well off; Lolly was a divorcee with no alimony; so she had four jobs in order to keep her four kids decently fed and clothed.

Our friend has a heart as big as a house; She loves everybody, and judges nobody, so she is in turn loved, even when, as she says ‘My craziness drives you all off the wall…’

It was our great pleasure to invite her to stay for a week with us in Italy, a country quite new to her. She was just finishing up her summer sojourn in a pretty little town near Frankfurt, where her youngest brother, a professor, taught students on the American Air force base in the area.

THE BARRIER.

Lolly’s brother Gary had seen her off in Frankfurt. Knowing Lolly’s happy-go-lucky nature, he had insisted she travel ‘wheelchair’ because that way she would be supervised and not go wandering off and miss her ‘planes. She had also recently had a series of tummy operations.

Bari is a small airport. I stood by the rope barrier in the outer hall. Passengers filed past me after collecting their suitcases, and over the rope barrier I could see Lolly sitting in her wheelchair, waiting for someone to retrieve hers for her. (She brought two sizable suitcases for one week in the country!).

All the passengers had passed me, but I did not dare duck under the rope to go and help my friend, sitting helplessly making faces and hand gestures to me, although in that laid-back town I reckon I probably could have. So it was about 9.30 when we left, and Graham had to negotiate endless road works and deviations on the way back. We arrived after 11pm to that yapping, nipping dog, which rushed at tiny Lolly. She had brought gifts for us; mine being a welcome thin and loose tee shirt and a very pretty matching necklace and bangle of white, black and silver beads. I wear them every day with my light summer clothes.

Route to Bari — The hour and half route to Bari from Grottole

Text by – Jackie Usher, SWWJ. (aka author Debbie Darkin, & ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.)
Photographs by – Graham Usher.

Basilicata - our sojourn for 7 weeks-1-Basilicata-long stay

February 26, 2018

Basilicata -Our Sojourn for Seven Weeks.

Jackie Usher Italian long stay A bundle of kittens, First impressions, Parties

16^th September – 4^th November.

Our Long Stay in Basilicata – MY FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

Hello – this is Jackie back again to tell you about our long stay at Masseria Mazzapede. As Graham said, we were a little disappointed not to be nearer a small community, as we had expected. Instead, after a wonderful tour through France down to Southern Italy we found ourselves in a different adventure, ensconced in what had obviously been a very grand house; the wide, arched verandas and spacious rooms were ample evidence of this; but it had evidently not been lived in for some years, and was consequently sadly shabby…

I wrote the following notes shortly after our arrival:
It’s 26C today, but we have had 35C during the first two weeks of touring, and yet it feels very hot here. We are in a very rural part of Italy, though happily only a thirty-minute drive from Matera with its incredible Sassi (City of Stones)

We have been through mountains, forests in the clouds, across steppes, and driving amongst 96 extinct volcanoes. Now we will stay seven weeks in this lovely, now somewhat neglected farmhouse overlooking a pretty lake that is surrounded by woods hiding boar and deer, but also, Giuseppe says, wolves in winter. Kites and falcons and even eagles soar overhead – but also vultures. There are two dogs at this villa (one over-exuberant and the other suffering from mange – I wish it wouldn’t lay on the veranda cushions) and five kittens. We saw their almost-feral mother only today.

Basilicata - our sojourn for 7 weeks-3-kittens - long stay — Two of the brood of kittens

Giuseppe, our host, is very charming, with excellent English. Wanting to perfect this he requested us not to try out our almost non-existent Italian (which was a small disappointment, after our spending so many hours trying to learn from books and the internet). We could understand this – but we had certainly hoped, in that period, to improve our communication skills, with a little help. Still – we could hardly argue the toss when we were in his home.

The evening of our arrival he sat us down in his living room (which had two wide fireplaces for burning logs; also on one wall the severed head of an absolute giant of a black wild boar. He cooked pasta for us and also for Elena, the Russian volunteer who had come to assist him in clearing his little olive grove. We greatly appreciated this welcome; the more so when next day we realised that we would have had at least another half-hour journey to have eaten out that evening.

We were a bit taken aback that the flat we had rented (comprising most of the upper floor of the villa) was not yet available, as Giuseppe was awaiting men to lay the new laminated flooring. So for the time being we’ve had to move into a smallish room, together with all our luggage for three months; two suitcases, two backpacks and numerous boxes and bags. Luckily there is a toilet just outside the room, with a cold-water wash-hand basin. The big consolation was that the French doors lead onto a fig and rose-entwined veranda overlooking the lake. We would have been able to see Matera in the distance had there not been a large hill in the way.

Basilicata - our sojourn for 7 weeks-2-Balcony-view - on our long stay — Early morning at Masseria Mazzapede from our balcony that greeted us each day of our long stay

MY WONDERFUL SURPRISE.

19^th September:
‘I am knocked out by the wonderful hospitality we have enjoyed. Not only had Giuseppe cooked our supper on our first evening, but just after our arrival on Friday we were told ‘You are invited to a family party.’

Basilicata - our sojourn for 7 weeks-5-party-farm - long stay — The party Farm – the first of many parties

‘On Saturday evening we attended a great big extended-family affair down the road; awnings over long trestle tables groaning with all manner of local home-cooked food, and then a barbecue for the 200-odd people milling around… And yesterday (Sunday) we were told to be ready at 1pm for a ‘family barbecue’ on one of the verandas that wrap around this villa.

Imagine my surprise when I found that I was the guest of honour – Giuseppe had remembered my email stating that my birthday was on 18^th.

Basilicata - our sojourn for 7 weeks-4-Jackie's-Birthday-Party - our long stay — Jackie’s birthday party, a surprise sprung on Jackie during her long stay

His mother, Giulia, who has very good English, sat next to me and wished me ‘Happy Birthday’, and my health was drunk by all present (about ten or twelve people – Italians love to gather ALL their family round them for a feast). After a starter of homemade mozzarella and ricotta cheeses, big bowls of crisp salad were passed around, and more wine poured in our paper cups. It was then that Giulia asked ‘Where is Elena?’

The Russian girl had got up from the table just before the toasts, and we were about to move on to hot dishes, which the women were afraid would spoil. After a further ten minutes, and many frowns from his mother Giuseppe excused himself and went in search of Elena, who was more or less pulled to the table, looking very sulky and with wet hair. (It appeared that this teenager was put out by the competition caused by newly-86-year old me! As time went on we all deduced that she was hoping to lure Giuseppe into marrying her).

Now, with Elena seated next to Giuseppe, came the best pasta dish I have ever tasted – I really enjoyed it. It had been pre-cooked by Giuseppe’s rather glamorous sister Angela, and the penne were tender in a tasty sauce full of fine-cut vegetables and meat.

Angela’s husband presided over the large, primitive barbecue, cooking herbed lamb chops and other meats. More wine was consumed with crusty bread while we all waited for our generous portions.

There was then a lull when the stately Giulia rose to read out in Italian and English an extended welcome to ‘the guests of our family’ and then a special, formal Happy Birthday wish for me, at which point an enormous ‘cake’ was brought in – a wonderful concoction of sponge that somehow was crisp like pastry, and as light and brittle as meringue. It hid a centre of fresh lemon paste – the only way I can describe it. (I am wondering if it was a mixture of fresh lemon pulp and ricotta cheese – or mascarpone, or the very creamy stracciatelle). It was absolutely exquisite – light as a feather. There’s masses left, and every time I eat a small slice I feel honoured and humbled by this Italian family’s hospitality.’

Written by – Jackie Usher, SWWJ. (aka author Debbie Darkin, & ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.)
Photographs by – Graham Usher.

February 19, 2018

Giuseppe & Me

gusher Italian long stay Masseria Mazzapede, Rough tracks

Masseria Mazzapede

We Finally Meet The Man and Make a New Friend!

The ‘me’ in the title is Graham and the new friend is Giuseppe. These are my recollections of arriving at the Masseria.

I drove around Grottole only once before we found La Vecchia Appia. I picked the bar for the simple reason that there was a parking space close by. When we walked into the bar I ordered two small beers for Jackie and myself and asked the Signora whether she knew Giuseppe Riccardi? Her face brightened with a smile.

‘Si; e un amico di mio figlio.’
It came out so fast, but Jackie caught ‘amico’ –
‘Friend, amico?’ she asked
‘Si, mio figlio.’

For the last nine months we had been trying to learn Italian via CD’s and also a nice little guy on the Internet. We felt comfortable that we had a rudimentary grasp; that was, until we crossed the border into Italy and found that everything we had learned seemed to have flown out of our heads like captive birds from a left-open cage, leaving us with dry mouths when confronted with a native.

‘Mio’, we knew was, ‘my’; so ‘Figlio’ had something to do with her. ‘Famiglia’ is ‘family’; so Jackie deduced it had to do with a member of her family and anything with ‘io’ on the end is generally male. Jackie ventured. ‘Your son?’
First she frowned, then comprehended. ‘Si, Son: Mio figlio.’

While this had been going on I had pulled out my phone and rung Giuseppe. When he answered I passed the phone to the Signora and asked her to tell him where we were. What we didn’t know at the time was how lucky we had been in picking that particular bar. It turned out not many people in Grottole knew Giuseppe.

Giuseppe & me-3-Giuseppe - our new friend — Our new friend Giuseppe

He must have been in the village already, because in a matter of seconds he materilised at our side. Giuseppe was a tall, lean guy in his late thirties. He had wild black curls and a tanned, olive-skinned face, which lifted into a charming smile, showing off his strong, even white teeth. He was effusive in his welcome and there was a twinkle in his intense, almost black eyes.

‘I will guide you,’ he said. ‘Just follow my car.’

I would never have found the farmhouse on our own. It was described on the web as ‘just outside Grottole’. We had picked it for that reason, wanting to be part of a small Italian community; all necessary research for my next book.

After a short conversation we discovered that Giuseppe’s English was near on perfect. We got into our respective cars; his was a slightly battered, silver Punto. What the heck, I thought; he’s a farmer. He shot off up the road with me trying to follow. I’m by no means a slow driver, but Italian drivers are notoriously fast and a lot of them, when they get behind the wheel, appear crazy. I love them as a people and a nation, but not as drivers. (But I’ll moan about that later.)

A Little Bee…

We soon forked off onto a narrow, twisting lane, dropping down steeply in a series of hairpin bends. I tried to keep the Punto in sight. Suddenly Giuseppe came to a screeching, sliding halt, leaving a smear of rubber on the road behind him. Luckily, having some distance between us, my stop was more controlled. From out of a cloud of smoke an old, battered three-wheeled Apé chugged into sight. These funny little three-wheelers with a trailer incorporated, (covered with a plastic hood reminiscent of an oxygen tent) are synonymous with rural life all over Italy and France. The Apé passed Giuseppe’s Punto as if it was gasping for breath, whereupon his vehicle disappeared off in a cloud of dust. The Ape came abreast of us, and the driver peered into our car with unabashed animosity. He couldn’t have shouted louder, “What the hell are you doing on my patch of road?”

Giuseppe & me-4-an old country Ape and new friend — It was vehicle similar to this

Deciding not to throw caution to the wind and tear off after Giuseppe, I drove quietly down from the high ridge where Grottole was perched; the road making ever sharper bends to the valley bottom. When the driving would allow I would glance at Jackie, who was keeping very quiet.

‘What?’ she eventually snapped.
‘I thought you said we were just outside the village,’ I complained.
‘That’s what he told me. It’s definitely in his website. Maybe he’s giving us a grand tour and we’ll find ourselves at the other end.’
‘Well let’s hope so; we’ve already been driving for over ten minutes and gone nearly ten kilometres. Let’s hope he has the sense to wait at any junction we come to; otherwise we’ll be lost.’

I was tired from the long drive and concerned as to where we were going. Although it was late afternoon, it was still hot. We came out of a bend and and levelled out. There a hundred yards ahead, was the Punto, straddling the road at a roundabout. As soon as he caught sight of us our new friend was off again as though the hounds of hell were after him. This time I was determined to keep up, and put my foot down.

Scraping the Bottom.

We had gone a total of twelve kilometres when the Punto’s right-hand indicator started blinking and Giuseppe swung his car onto a farm track. I followed suit, and then came to a sliding halt on loose gravel. Gripping the wheel I watched in dismay as Giuseppe drove the Punto, grantedly at a slower pace, on one verge and a central rocky ridge. It was obvious that much larger farm vehicles used this way. Two deep furrows, forming wide tracks with high verges and the humped, barren central ridge, wound up between two fields. which would tear out the undercarriage of any low vehicle like a Punto or a Golf. For some reason, halfway up, Giuseppe swapped sides. I say up; but not as steep as the hill he had taken us down, thank God.

Giuseppe & me-5-our new friend farm track was like this — A track similar to this though rougher and steeper that our new friend used

‘What are you waiting for? If he can do it so can you!’ I said to myself.

Yes, I knew I could drive up there. I had tackled far worse roads; once in Crete, in the mountains with a thunderstorm clapping around our ears: but that was in a hired car, and it didn’t have to get us home again three thousand-odd miles away. Yes, the Punto had made it, but then Giuseppe had probably gone up that track many thousands of times. There was no knowing how many cars he had wrecked to gain that experience. From the looks of the Punto, it was closer to the graveyard than a showroom. There was also the fact that his car was empty and ours was laden with luggage, which probably weighed as much as three adults sitting in the back seats.

I started off, put the Golf into second gear and kept it there. I was not going to try and prove anything to anyone. Both verge and central ridge were wide and stable enough, though the car rocked over the uneven surface. We made easy going until we got to where Giuseppe switched sides. Before us was a pot hole that could swallow a tank: well, maybe not a tank, but it wasn’t something I was going to venture into, not even on foot without a rope. The verges and ridge had been worn down where vehicles had negotiated round it. As I swapped sides without mishap our car jolted and tilted alarmingly.

It took us a good three or four minutes to traverse up to where Giuseppe had disappeared over a brow of the hill and the dust was already resettling from his passing. We came over the top and the track levelled out, became even, and then turned to laid concrete. The ground dropped a little and we ran through large green metal gates into an orderly concrete farmyard. Ahead to our right was a two-storeyed white modern house looking nothing like the one on Giuseppe’s website.

At the far end of the yard was the Punto, and close by two large cream shaggy-haired dogs, and a small, feisty rat-catcher. They stood their ground, barking ferociously. A hand came out of the car and waved us forward, then the Punto jerked on and disappeared between two large shrubs. With Giuseppe gone the dogs turned their attention to us, so we quickly raised our windows.

When I reached the bushes I could see another, smaller track. This one was not so deeply rutted, though it had far more pot holes, and was hemmed in by foliage. I was unable to miss all of them and winced at each jarring jolt. We proceeded cautiously up, with the crescendo of barking slowly fading as we neared another set of gates. At last I could see that the track now had a good surface of tarmac, though old, with spots where grass was spiking through.

Giuseppe & me-6- Our new friend had a dog - Nero — Our new friend had not trained Nero well

Unfortunately, right before the gate where the tarmac finished, storms had gouged out the earth, creating a deep step. How deep wasn’t clear; it was shaded by the trees. There was a nasty grinding sound as something under the car caught the edge of the step. I didn’t think stopping or going back was an option, so pressed my foot on the gas. There was a clank – and we were over the step. Twenty yards further on a sleek young black dog came into view, wagging his tail excitedly, Giuseppe by his side, grinning like a schoolboy. He lifted his hands in the air.

‘No problem; si? Come; you can park just round the corner. I will help you with your luggage.’

As soon as we got out I checked under the car and found no oil leaks; the exhaust was as firmly secure as ever, with no holes or dents. The brake lines were intact; the only thing I could see was some metal scraped clean from one of the jacking points. We had been lucky, but if the hole wasn’t filled in something worse was likely to happen. Giuseppe assured me:

‘We’ve had bad storms for many weeks. I have men coming to fill in the potholes, domani.’

I was to hear the word domani (tomorrow) many times over the next nine days. At that moment I stayed silent about those ‘storms and rain’ over the last two weeks. I didn’t like to contradict our new friend, but for the last fourteen days we’d driven through a heatwave.

‘Okay, how about a hand with the luggage?’

Daft Young Dog.

The excitable dog became a hazard, dashing in and out of our legs and tripping us up, until Giuseppe lost his patience and locked him away. We took everything out of the car and carried it up two flights of steps to the first floor. This would be ours, except for the two rooms at the front of the house. Unfortunately, Giuseppe explained, the laminated floor had only just arrived and the carpenters would be laying it in the next two to three days. He gave a shrug and put it down to the bad storms. All the furniture for our rooms was stacked in one of the front rooms. We would sleep in the other, smaller front room – and use the shower downstairs.

What could we say? The rent was low and it was ‘only for a couple of days’. At least we had one compensation; the smaller bedroom opened onto a wide balcony with a wonderful view; over the countryside and down to a large lake (Lago di San Giuliano). And in welcoming manner our host was cooking us a meal; we were to rest, and leave everything to him. So we sat there, wineglasses in hand, and soaked in the view as the light faded from the sky. The whirring sound of cicadas rising and falling, took us back to when we had lived in New Orleans. At least we could rest for a while, and hopefully everything would sort itself in a few days. And I already really liked the guy!

Giuseppe & me-7- lago di San Giuliano - our new friend irrigated his olive trees from this lake — Giuseppe – our new friend – irrigated his young olive trees from lago di San Giuliano

Text by – Graham Usher, SoA. ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.)
Photographs by – Graham Usher.
Thanks to Google maps – Most of the images have been taken by Graham, though in this blog the vintage Ape came from other sources.