We are here searching for the elusive Wild Trullo.
There are plenty of Domesticated Trulli here in town, but I want to see one in the wild.
That is why we came to Alberobello.
Note* the plural. One TRULLO but two or more TRULLI. Like one hippo, two hippi.
Alberello has over one thousand four hundred trulli roaming its streets, so many in fact that it is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
They are most often spotted climbing up the hillsides, but occasionally you will see one off alone.
They range in size, small to huge.
Never heard of a trullo?
Me neither, until I saw a photo of one. Then I was hooked. I just had to go see them.
So, back in January, looking at the map, I knew we would be close to Alberobello. Reading a little further I realized our best chance of seeing a real trullo, in the wild, would be if we walked the eight kilometers to Locorotondo.
Along the way, maybe we could see if a couple of “O”s rolled away from the name as well.
When we arrived at the train station, I called up Tipico Resorts to tell them we had arrived. To be sure they could find us in front of the station, I let them know I had on una rosso camicia (a red shirt). When Mina showed up in her little Fiat, we were both glad that we did not have any big luggage.
We went to their office and picked up the key to our lodging: our very own Trullo, for two nights. So, for less than the cost of a room for one night in Oslo, we have our very own little, pointy-top house to live in for two days and nights!
Trulli are stone houses, built several hundred years ago, with a distinctive pointy roof. They are only located in this one area of Italy, and they may have something to do with being easy to tear down when the tax collector came around. Or not. I also read that they may have been built over water cisterns (This is a very dry part of Italy, but there is a lot of ground water and caves in the karst here.) and that the high, conical roof area was used for storage.
These days, people restore them and either live in them, turn them into shops and restaurants, or rent them out to people like me.
Our trullo has three small one-foot square windows, and a glass door to let in some light. The downstairs has a bedroom "cove" and bathroom with a sloped ceiling so you kind of lean and duck in the shower. Most of the central space is a living/kitchen area. There is a narrow, wooden spiral staircase to the upstairs, where there is a second bed under the high, conical ceiling. The walls are thick thick masonry, so that at shoulder height I cannot stick my arm all the way through a window opening.
So the first afternoon, after we quit gawking at our cool little house, we spent time wandering and exploring the streets of trulli. This is a town where you have to look up: up at the roof toppers, the chimney caps, the whitewashed designs on the stone caps. The toppers and whitewashed roofs look cool; they are primitive, religious and magical symbols, or help to identify the owner of that particular trullo.
Purely in self defense.
There are four cops in this little town, the local polizia, and they have two cute little Fiat police cars with blue lights on them. The cars sit in front of the Municipo and look important; in reality, if they had to chase anyone down they had better hope that they were either a slow runner, or possibly in a Fiat themselves.
We ended up at a great restaurant, il Pinnacolo, where the prices were fair, the local vino flowed freely, and the food was superb. Gail had broiled lamb chops (and wished for a bottle of Albireo Malbec, 2010) while I had two separate pasta plates. First up was pappardella ai porcini (pasta with mushrooms) followed by orchidea ai gamberetti (black tortelli, stuffed with cheese and prawns). It was such a nice dinner that we were almost the last to leave.
I was up early again, but couldn't blog because of the slow internet. Seriously, this reminds me of Morocco. I know (hope?) that when we reach Lecce I will suddenly dump a week or two of posts out there. All the writing is done, the photos taken, I just can't post.
So, I set out in a light drizzle to look for coffee and photos. I did not find the coffee, but did find a full rainbow over the trulli.
When Gail got up we headed over to the bar for breakfast and I tanked up on coffees.
Then we headed out on the little country road to Locorotondo, in search of a "wild" trullo. I am pleased to report we spotted several; see the photos below.
The only downside was that the "little country road" we anticipated turned out to be a major road with narrow shoulders and truck traffic. Still, there were peaceful moments between cars, very few incidents of sheer terror, and we did get to see a lot of the countryside. We thought we'd try walking along the train tracks, but that was all choked with knee high stickers, so it was back to the road. We passed olives, cherry trees (I stole a cherry and it was delicious!) vineyards and apricots.
The day warned and we made good time, about four km per hour.
At about the six kilometer spot we happened upon a man picking his apricots.
"Buon giorno" I yelled, smiled and waved. He smiled, and I asked, "abricot?" Which I figured was going to be pretty close, because I know the word in German and French of all things. (I learned I t is albicocca.)
His eyes lit up, he gestured us over, and with a proud smile dumped a few apricots into my hands.
We thanked him and each gobbled one right there. Oh, we're they good. He must have been able to tell, because he thrust more at us.
He had no English, so in my best Italian I thanked him a thousand, told him we were walking from Alberobello to Locorotondo, and thank you much much!
We shook hands and continued on.
So, I have my little red ceramic "good luck" pepper that I bought in Positano. Gail picked up a real silver one off the side of the road. Slightly scratched, but it still holds the magic, as you shall read in a minute.
But isn't that the utter and stark truth of life, right there? Some of us buy our luck, others just gather it in.
So, on to the good luck:
Our eight km hike turned into six point nine, when the apricot farmer suddenly showed up alongside of us, tooting madly, with a little plastic bag bearing even more apricots! Thank god we happened to be at a wider spot in the road right then, for a minute or so cars were swerving around him, tooting away.
He motioned us into his car, then drove us the last kilometer into town and up the hill, and gave us a short tour of the centro before dropping us off and zooming away.
While this sounds simple, it was actually sort of the adrenaline rush of the trip so far. Once we got in, he didn’t even wait for the door to close before he just zoomed right out into traffic (in front of a truck) without looking. He did what we have seen so many times before: drove really really fast, really really tailgating the guy in front, all the while he was turned fully around in his seat shaking Gail’s hand (two handed, signora) then turning to rattle off high-speed Italian to me. I had to keep asking him to slow down (the speech - we just hung on for the driving) as we ran stop signs, cut people off and swerved here and there.
So, yes, he gave us an authentic tour.
I am a believer in the pepper of luck. It is going everywhere with me now, and I'm gonna dump that St. Christopher medal I have been carrying.
The village of Locorotondo is really charming. There are few to no trulli in town; extinct perhaps. But it is a white-washed old town, narrow streets like a maze, opening to a piazza here, a church with glass floors (to see the Roman Ruins beneath) there, sometimes twisting and dead-ending so you wind up back where you starter even after a determined effort to go THAT WAY instead.
In one of the churches we visited the crypt! And as a bonus, the Chapel of Purgatory!
We found a small cafe on a piazza, where two glasses of wine, a bottle of water, and snack crackers set us back a whopping five euro. I enjoyed albicocca with my rosé.
And yes, I am showing off my new word.
We offered extra albicocca to the French hikers next to us (they took the train here and are walking back to Alberobello, just the opposite of what we did.) yet we still brought a bag of them home, where they sit on the table in front of me just now.
The fruit of kindness.
Yes, you can use that quote. Attribute it to me and tell people to read my blog.
We paid up, walked to the little train station where we were just in time to catch the hourly train back to Alberobello.
All in all, it was a successful expedition.
All marked on the map, all diligently photographed by yours truly, all available for free viewing below.
It started raining, we wandered around more, it got darker and rained more. It is cold. What is going on? I mean, this is supposed to be summer, in the south of Italy. Gail grumbles, pulling the hood of her down parka over her head.
We noticed death notices throughout the town. They are like posters, plastered here and there, big public invitations or reminders that "This coming July 15th we will CELEBRATE! the one year anniversary of the death of our friend, Eduardo Kornowcini!"
We finally gave up and went back to our snug little trullo to read and drink till dinner.
Around 20:00 we headed out, this time at the bar Miseriaenobilta. The food was OK, not really much to write home or even blog about. Not bad, but not up to last night’s meal.
It poured down while we were eating, when we came out the streets were shining in the streetlights.