Traveling with a toddler

The holiday was nearly over.  It was now time for the flights back home to Hong Kong.

With all our luggage, it didn't make sense to take the airport train from Termini station.  We just called a large cab and went direct to Fiumicino.  We had a late afternoon flight, so I was a bit worried about how this flight would be with Pickle.  Would he nap?  Would he sleep?  How would his schedule be through the flight and after?

I tried my best to tired him out the airport.  I took him running around the shops and we even found a small playground with other children.  One of the little girls playing seemed completely enamoured by Pickle.  She took him by the hand and kept hugging him.  It was cute to see.

The first flight went smoothly enough.  I was concerned about Pickle causing a fuss and disturbing the other passengers, but I was thankfully able to soothe him fairly quickly.  He refused to nap though and Veronica took over and was able to get him to sleep.

The flight was short and he woke as we were arriving in Doha.  We went to clean up and get some food.  We were feeling a bit dazed.  It was evening for us, but it was the middle of the day for those around us.  We were also getting ready to arrive back in Hong Kong early in the morning, so everything was feeling very off kilter.  Pickle wandered around, drawing the attention of all the wait stuff who thought he was both hilarious and cute.  

As we left to head to the plane, Veronica put him back in the carrier and we walked to the elevator.  Just before, Veronica wandered over to a counter to grab some more things before we joined the crowd in the elevator.  Standing in the elevator, I looked at Pickle and was shocked to see he was holding a pair of metal tongs in his hand.  I exclaimed in shock.  He looked at me in a very nonchalant manner.  Everyone in the elevator burst into laughter.  I grabbed the tongs off him and hurried back up to the lounge to return them to the staff.

The last flight was much tougher.  It was the "evening" flight back to Hong Kong and the plane was quickly darkened to let people sleep.  Pickle however didn't want to sleep.  I spent hours trying to calm him and to keep him occupied.  Veronica was exhausted and fell asleep for a while.  I kept struggling through, trying to keep up with the unstoppable energy of this small toddler, but it was always going to be a losing battle.  Eventually, Veronica woke up and took over.  She held him in her arms in a way that only a mother can, and he started to settle and sleep.  I felt dazed from the exertion.  The stewardess had been observing and offering to help me throughout.  She hurried over to see if I wanted anything.  All I wanted was a black coffee and a biscuit.  She quickly returned with a large cup of hot coffee and a large pile of biscuits for me.

Was the trip a success?  I thought so.  We had experienced a lot as a family and baby Pickle had developed in leaps and bounds.  It was fascinating and amazing to see him exploring the world and growing each day.  

Rome with different sights

I had arranged for us to end our trip in Rome.

No trip to Italy would be complete for us without some time in the Eternal City.

We were staying next to the Curia di Pompeo again.  The last time we had been in Rome, we had stayed around this area.  It had been our honeymoon, and we had enjoyed looking out over the ancient ruins from our room.  This time, we were on the other side of the ruins. Our view looked similar, but our situation was anything but.  We had replaced the previous luxury with more practical accommodation to provide for our larger traveling group.  There were no complaints from us at all.  The place we found was convenient and well staffed.  Everything was clean, modern and well maintained.  All at a far more palatable price as well.

The next few days were spent leisurely enjoying our favourite city with our new favourite small toddler.

He had been nothing short of a fantastic traveler on our holiday.  There had certainly been some more difficult moments and some times when he wasn't as happy or compliant, but it was all part of the experience.  Given his young age and the long travel, none of these were really anything major.  He seemed to have enjoyed himself as well.

For this final leg of the trip, we had managed to convince Phil to make a trip to Rome.  He had some other friends whom he wanted to visit as well so it was a good opportunity for him. It was now two years running we had Phil grace us with his presence whilst we were in Europe so it seemed like this was becoming a tradition for us.

Dinners, lunches and sightseeing.  All done at a comfortable and casual pace.

It seemed all too pleasant for us.  Pickle loved having the extra attention of Phil and others and they seemed to also relish the youthful energy he had.

As with other parts of Italy, the staff at the restaurants adored Pickle.  They were always kind to us, but there was something about his cheekiness that seemed to bring out an extra level of happiness in them.  

We wandered around to small cafes.  Small bakeries and other places for snacks.  Phil seemed very happy for us to lead the way and we introduced him to some of our favourite places and dishes through Rome.  One evening, after dinner Pickle fell fast asleep in his pram and so we were able to wander down to the Tiber Festival, enjoying some of the music and atmosphere as he slept.

On our last day together with Phil, we decided to do something none of us had done before.  We set out sights on the National Monument as something new for everyone to experience together.  In all my trips to Rome over the years, I had somehow managed to completely avoid visiting.  I had been in the vicinity multiple times.  On the other side of it is one of the best if not the best museums in all of Italy in the Capitoline Museum.  Yet, this monument, with all of its grandeur and impressive size had somehow remained off my list of things to do.  Strangely enough this was also the case for Veronica and Phil, so today would be the day we remedied this.

It was indeed very impressive.

This wasn't an old and ancient edifice, instead being something built by Mussolini in order to hark back to the days of Rome.  But that didn't take away from just how grand and imposing it was.  It had a size and majesty to it that almost overawed.  The style was of course classical Roman, but since it hadn't endured the centuries of weathering, it remained much shiner and more polished, which added to the splendour it seemed to project.

We reached what the top and considered leaving.  For those new to Rome looking for something to do, the view from the very top of the National Monument is probably worth the admission alone.  Due to the size and its position, it provides one of the best unobstructed full views of all of Rome.  From the top, you could see far off into the distance and identify all the other famous landmarks of this lovely old city.

After our time at the top, we considered leaving.  We were feeling a little bit tired with the heat of the day and the thought of carrying Pickle's stroller down and up various stairs didn't appeal to us.  We went down a few floors and looked up through the enormous columns.  Our tickets gave us access to this higher floor.  Why not.  We were here.  It was thankfully the right decision and we found ourselves once again up in a part of the monument that few seemed to visit.  It was all a recreation of something older, but I did wonder whether this would have been a feeling and a type of view that would have been looked up by more ancient Romans many years ago.

For our last activity with Phil before he headed off to the airport, we decided to spend some time at Villa Borghese.  We weren't going to the villa itself, but instead to the lovely lush parks and gardens surrounding the villa.

We found ourselves a park bench, and pulled out a large box of peaches.  I took them over to one of the public drinking fountains and washed them off in the cool icy water.  We sat and chatted, resting and enjoying the mid afternoon.  Pickle walked around with a peach in his hand, biting into the sweet fruit as he looked eagerly at the bigger kids nearby playing football.  The gestured to him to join and he was soon squealing loudly as he joined their games.

Us adults sat by and watched.  We were content and happy in the shade, eating our own peaches.  It was an almost indescribable feeling being there.  To enjoy such a simple and relaxing respite that was so full of joy.  To be with the people I cared for.  Some I had known since childhood and others whom I met more recently. To be in this city, a place I truly loved.  

A modern ancient city

So the last stop on our visit in Puglia wasn't actually in Puglia.  Instead, it's actually situated in the neighbouring Basilicata region.  With its close proximity to Bari, it had become a generally accepted part of most tours through Puglia and so we decided to also link this into our own trip.  We had parked our car in the convenient and modern parking garage just on the edge of the old town.  Our accommodation had helpfully arranged for a porter to come help us with our bags.  We weren't staying too long, but it still didn't seem the best to leave any bags in the car of the next few days.  Looking at the maps, I had initially thought that I could just do it all myself over a couple of trips.  Our hotel had strongly recommended we use the porter service and so instead we waited at the parking garage for the driver to arrive.  The man who arrived seemed friendly and kind.  He quickly took our bags, then offered to take all our other smaller bags.  I noted that I had only paid for the two large bags, but he smiled as he waved me off and insisted that it was fine.  Once he set off, we started our own walk towards the hotel.  My previous thoughts on moving the luggage had clearly been naive thinking.  The sheer number of stairs and uneven cobblestoned steps we had to traverse to get to the hotel was an undertaking for us without the luggage.  Trying to navigate everything with our luggage may not have been impossible, but it would have likely left me exhausted and unable to do much for a while.

We had arranged to stay in the middle of the "Sassi" of Matera, the famous old town that had been built up over many millennia into the hills and rocks of the town. On our very first night, we were quickly impressed by the dramatic beauty of this town.  Around each corner, the views seemed out of scenes from cinema (which was the case given the huge number of films set in this town).  Compared to many of the other Italian towns we had visited, there was a lack of colour to our surrounding.  It sapped the joy out of the place, but replaced it with a brooding and antique feel.  The contrast was not in the colour, but was instead in the shades and the light.  

Every step we took through the winding, narrow and hilly streets felt like a journey through history and the past.  With everything looking so washed out and faded, it made our wanderings feel extra special.  Everything just felt so old and ancient around us.  It was like it looked so faded out because it was just so old and untouched.  Surely all of this had been here as it was for centuries, developing this look through the brutal passage of time?

It was all of course thoroughly modernised and cleaned up, but it "felt" real.  More so than many of the other places we had visited.  That didn't change the fact that this was in a way a bit of a ancient theme park.  It had the long history for certain, but everything had been built up and renovated to look a certain way.  We walked past more than enough places being renovated and reconstructed during our explorations to confirm this.

We kept exploring the town more.  The more we learnt, the more depressing it became.  This town had at one point relatively recently been considered to be the "shame of Italy" due to the poverty and conditions of its residents.  There were museums dotted around the Sassi which recreated how the local population lived historically.  It was a spartan lifestyle in harsh conditions.  What didn't seem to be as well advertised though was that after those local residents were relocated out of the town, much of the town was then subsequently bought up by outsiders who then took full advantage of the cheap prices and redeveloped it into the fancy and high end tourist destination it now was.  So even with the improvement in the town's fortunes, it still wasn't the original inhabitants who benefited.

Being out of Puglia, we also got to experience a whole different type of cuisine.  After the lovely fresh and light food of Puglia, full of seafood and the bright seasonal vegetables, what we had in Matera was a stark contrast.  It was heavy and rich food.  There were slow cooked stews, aged cheeses and dense breads. It was good.  But it was just in such a sharp contrast to what we had been eating.  With the warm days, it also didn't exactly match up with what we were feeling.  Still, I was happy to enjoy this new cuisine.  There was plenty of lamb options for me which seemed to be a local specialty.

I was glad to have visited Matera, but I wasn't so sure I would be back.  It was an undeniably beautiful place, and there were many times which I felt truly awestruck as I walked its street.  However, the days I had spent in the town felt enough.  There were only so many streets I could explore, only so many viewpoints I could clamber too before it began to feel slightly repetitive. 

 In our hotel, we met a lovely Argentinian couple who had been in Matera for a few days.  The man gently enquired what I thought of Matera.  I responded bluntly that I liked it, but that two days was enough for me.  He seemed incredibly relieved with my response and started to confess to me how bored he was feeling.  They had already been in Matera for three days and he had run out of things to do.  He didn't want to seem ungrateful, but he explained they were arranging to go to a nearby beach just for a change.  I understood exactly where he came from.  This town was an incredible place to experience, but it was still quite a small place and there were limits to how long it could hold the attention.

Ceramic stopover

Our trip to the southern part of Puglia had come to an end.  We had a drive to our next and last location.  The drive was a bit longer, a bit under three hours.  Normally, I would punch that out in one guy without any problems, but things were now different with the baby Pickle.  Instead. I arranged for us to make the journey in easy stages.  We would stop twice on our way to our final stop.  The first place we stopped was in Lecce for a last and short visit.  The drive wasn't too long.  I was familiar with the roads now, so we arrived and parked in less than 40 minutes.  Once there, we went for one last visit to the gelateria we had been visiting on each visit (so much so that the staff had started to give us free items) and let baby Pickle play in some of the wonderful parks on the outskirts of the old town.

We had left the masseria a bit later than I had wanted and so we were now in a bit of a strange time.  Too early for lunch, but later than where we should have been.  I took us back to the car and as I left the parking garage, I managed to scratch the rear bumper on the a small post.  Annoying, but thankfully minor.  I looked through my options of where to take us.  Should I do the last part of the journey in one go or should I still go through with my plan of making one further stop in between.  We still needed to eat, so I thought it best to do one more stop even if it meant we would be a bit later.  Looking at the map and where we needed to be, I set my phone for the town of Grottaglie.

The drive was relatively uneventful.  The roads were good, and we drove past the city of Taranto with its enormous port facilities.  We had read that from a tourist point of view, that Taranto didn't have as much to offer as other places in the region, but I couldn't help but wonder if I should have visited.  This famous and ancient of towns has such a storied history, and its name had popped up frequently in the books and histories I had read over the years.  Maybe for a future trip, but for now I had to keep driving.  We arrived in Grottaglie in the early afternoon.  It was extremely hot.  We parked the car and went to look for lunch.  The town was completely empty.  The heat of the day probably kept people away, but even with that explanation there was still a bit of a deserted feel.  Everything was well maintained and in good condition, it was just empty.  We found a restaurant that seemed to still be open.  We went in and they apologised to us profusely that they were already closing.  We were disappointed and a bit lost as to what to do.  We had come late enough in the day that it looked as if we had missed the lunch service for most restaurants.  As we stood to the side contemplating what to do, one of the elderly looking chefs seemed to realise our problem and pointed us down to the lanes next to the restaurant, directing us to another restaurant that he was sure would be able to take us.  We followed his directions and found the family restaurant that still had some guests.  They told us they were closing, but would take us in if we ordered quickly.  We happily obliged and were soon seated with icy drinks to cool us down.  It was a family restaurant and it seemed all the staff were in some way related.  Baby Pickle roamed up and down the restaurant.  The other guests cooed and waved at him as he explored all everything he could.  From inside the kitchen, the old matron of the family appeared as she heard the outside commotion and her face lit up seeing him walking around.

 

We enjoyed our time in the restaurant and probably stayed a bit too long.  We were the last guests for the day and the staff seemed to be waiting for us before leaving themselves.  We could see they were enjoying playing with baby Pickle, but I'm sure they still wanted to leave.  So after settling the bill, we headed out into the town to look around before we continued on our journey.

It was still very hot when we started to walk around the town, but the worst of the heat had subsided.  The small lanes and streets were still largely deserted.  Strangely, it didn't feel as empty though.  Even though there were no people, you could see and feel the signs of life everywhere, like everyone had just stepped away for the briefest of moments (which I guess was the case).  There were lovely murals on the walls, flowers growing everywhere and the houses were a mix between renovated old buildings and some very modern builds.

We had been told a bit about Grottaglie by the people at the hotel we had been staying at in Monopoli.  When asked about where the best places to visit in Puglia, the son had listed this as being high on his list of locations.  One thing in particular that it was famous for was its pottery and ceramics.  So far we hadn't seen too much.  We started to walk outside of the old town, through the large town walls.  I checked the map and there seemed to be a long winding road that would take us back to where we had parked our car.  As we past the walls, we could now see all of the ceramic stores one another.

Veronica disappeared into one of the stores and I kept on walking along the street with the baby Pickle.  There was a large shop off to the side that caught my eye.  I started walking in as Veronica suddenly appeared and followed me in.  I tried to converse with them in my limited Italian and they seemed to light up, trying to explain to us all the various ceramics that were in the store.  As usual, more than anything it was the baby Pickle they seemed to be most interested in as he laughed and squealed at them.  Almost everything we had seen in the region apparently came from Grottaglie.  We happy that to date, we had bought nothing.  Veronica looked at the various traditional "buds" that were a symbol of the region and grabbed a few for us and for friends.  As she was paying, she also noticed a few things for the kitchen and so immediately bought those as well.

We slowly made our way back to the car.  There had been no shade so it had been sitting fully exposed in the sun.  We had only been away for a few hours, but the dustiness of the area and of the roads made the car look like it had been sitting abandoned for years.  I opened the doors and felt the wave of heat push out.  It took a bit of time before the car was cool enough for us to put baby Pickle in, let alone for us to set off on our drive.  The drive to our last stop took far longer than expected.  The roads were good and very picturesque, but they changed halfway through from multi laned higways to single lane roads.  A long line of cars backed up as a single car decided to crawl slowly along the road.  At each opportunity to overtake, the cars behind it baffled me with their own complete reluctance to overtake.  They seemed to be completely content with driving 20km below the speed limit and following this car.  Eventually, I saw my own opportunity and embraced the crazy Italian driver inside.  I saw a very long stretch of road.  There was no traffic coming the other direction and there was a long distance of clearly uninterrupted visibility for me.  I pulled out and overtook the line of three cars that seemed determined to meander along this road.  I past them all and raced into the open road, finally free of the obstacles.  I looked into my rear view mirror.  It appeared that I had galvanised the others as car after car also followed my lead to get past.  We made a turn right and started to climb up higher.  I started now to get a little bit worried.  I was driving a hybrid and the distance indicator had previously been giving me and estimate that was more than enough for me to reach our destination.  This was all based on our highway driving.  As we continued to climb up through the winding roads, the estimate continued to fall.  Would I even make it?  I kept glancing at the estimated distance and comparing it to the GPS distance.  The numbers were converging more than I wanted.  We began to see more buildings and apartments.  My fears subsided and I could see our end destination coming into the screen.  It was definitely tighter than I had hoped and when I finally parked, the estimate was less than 20km left of driving.

 

None of that mattered anymore.  We had arrived at our final destination in "Puglia" (though not really).  The ancient town of Matera.

Life at the masseria

When we decided to go to Puglia for our holiday, I started to ask for the views and recommendations of friends and colleagues who had visited or knew the area.  One recommendation that came up frequently, particularly amongst the Italian natives was to include a masseria visit in our trip.  This idea intrigued me and I immediately started looking into the possibility.  On many of my previous trips to Italy, I had driven past "agriturismo" properties and had wanted to one day stay in one.  In Italy, the agriturismos are an important part of the rural economy, offering farm stays and an opportunity at living in the quieter parts of the country.  The masserias were a type of agriturismo found in Puglia.  From what I could gather, the masserias were usually more upmarket and often had an even stronger focus on the food.  

The days we had spent at the masseria had been as relaxing and fulfilling as I had envisaged.  When we weren't off on day trips or visits to the different places in the surrounding region, we were able to spend our time at the nearby beach or on the grounds of the masseria itself.  One of the selling points of this particular masseria was its close proximity to the nearby beach, with its own private path leading there.  It was only about 150m so it was an enjoyable walk for us with baby Pickle in tow.  Veronica carried Pickle as I carried all our bags and the umbrella we had bought at the supermarket in Monopoli.

The beach wasn't private, but given it was a bit further away from the larger centres it was calmer and far less busy.  There were still nearby places to buy food and drink, but we were able to set ourselves up without disturbance and with lots of space for baby Pickle to enjoy himself.  The water was comfortably cool and clear.  The sand was fine and it all felt close to idyllic.  I had taken baby Pickle swimming in the ocean before, but he seemed to enjoy these experiences more.  As each small wave would come, I would dip him in and out to his delight.

We repeated this pattern a few times.  With the beach so close, it was easy.  There didn't need to be a big migration and from a car.  There didn't need to big huge amounts packed and prepared.  Once we were done, we were able to just wander back to masseria to shower and clean up.

When we weren't at the beach, we were able to enjoy the grounds and facilities of the masseria itself.  A large part of the culture of the masserias is the connection to the land and to farming.  Next to the main and more elegantly maintained parts of the masseria, there was the active farm.  Wheat fields spread out behind us which gave us beautiful scenery as we walked along with the uniquely calming sounds of the rustling sheaves as the winds blew across them.

On the rest of the farm, there were rows and rows of vegetables.  Pickle ran up and down the rows, looking with curiosity at the machinery and farmer's tool.  He chased butterflies and seemed completely amazed at all the colours around him.

Inside the main and enclosed grounds of the masseria were orchards and fruit trees.  Everything was very well maintained and manicured.  The gardens were picturesque and even more quiet than outside.  With a nice mat, we spent afternoons under the trees.  We lay about in the cool breeze, eating fruits and biscuits as Pickle continued his exploration of everything.

The lemon trees were heavy with fruit, but we weren't so interested.  In the middle of the gardens, there were pear trees and a large mulberry tree.  These were also full and heavy with fruit and far more appetising to us.  I held baby Pickle up and taught him to choose and take the best of the fruit straight from the tree, but only what we would eat ourselves.  It was incredible to be able to introduce this all to him.  To teach him how to connect more with nature, to understand where our food comes from and for him to enjoy the beauty of it all.

Veronica and I would laze about as he wandered and stumbled around the garden, fruit in hand as he explored his surrounds all whilst chewing into the various fruits he had.  

When we weren't in the garden or in the ocean, we were next to the pool.  Everything in the masseria had been wonderful, but the opulence of this pool was beyond anything we expected.  The tiles were all constantly cool to the touch even during the heat of the day (they must have been using the type of tiles that Chris and I had learnt about when we were in Bali) and the water was salted and not chlorinated.  

What all the masserias promoted the most though was the food.  Each one always highlighted the local specialties they prepared and the quality of the ingredients and dishes they would have on offer.  Each morning, we saw this on display.  There was a huge variety of fresh fruits and local produce for us to try.  The cheeses and the pastries in particular were far more varied than at any place I had ever been.  Speaking with the staff, they explained to me that all their baked goods were actually prepared on premises, which amazed me even more given the volume they always had on offer.

At night, the masseria also offered a dinner service.  With all the places in the area we wanted to visit, we only partook in this once, but we were unsurprised by the quality.  Before we even started, they offered to make us a dish specifically for Pickle.  We happily agreed to this and there was a lovingly made little pasta dish quickly prepared for him which he slurpt away at.  For us, our fare was more refined and Veronica would later declare the monkfish stew to be her favourite dish of the entire trip.

I felt incredibly blessed and fortunate.  For everything.  For all we were able to experience.  For each moment we had been here.  In my mind's eye, I had pictured vividly what my ideal holiday here would look like.  I had wanted an Italian country escape.  Something that would give us as a family the time to be together, but also the opportunity for baby Pickle to explore everything around him.
 

Poetry

The coastline along the southern part of Puglia is breathtakingly beautiful.  This hasn't always been a touristic part of the world and it seems that it was actually quite a poor place up until relatively recently.  Everything in the area was more rural and less developed than other places we had been in Italy and there also still seemed to be far less tourists that we would otherwise expect.  From the masseria, we drove further north one day to explore a bit more of the coastline.  There were some famous caves not too far from us.  We arrived in time for lunch at the small town of Torre Dell Orso.  It was a very sleepy little town.  I was reminded of the little coastal towns I used to visit growing up in Australia that existed for the brief summer periods of holiday and were otherwise close to dead.  This had that exact feel to it, albeit with a bit more size.  I also thought back to S'Agora in Spain.  Maybe it was just the nature of these Mediterranean holiday towns.

It really was a very sleepy town.

There was almost nobody out and even the restaurants didn't seem too interested in doing any business.  We found a small restaurant that was still open.  It was next to a kind of town square.  Not the traditional town squares you think of when you imagine Italy, more of a modern large courtyard space you would find in the middle of some modern apartment complex construction.  The waiters were kind and helpful, but the food was probably the worst we had eaten in all our time in Italy.

 

We got back into the car and drove a few minutes further along the coast.  I found some parking down a dusty old lane and we walked over back along the cliffs of the coast.  Most of this coastline was fenced off.  We found the small ticket booth.  Isolated in the middle of the vast expanse, it looked like something out of an old surrealist European movie.  We paid for the tickets and started our walk along the coastline.

Most of the coastline is normally free to all to walk and wander.  This area was a bit more special. It was a sparse and barren area.  There were no trees.  The ground was dry and rocky, with only some small shrubs and grass desperately trying to survive.  We kept walking.

We reached an area with some more activity.  People gathered and took photos.  This was why were had come.  This was the famous "Cave of Poetry".

I hadn't told Veronica about this before we had come.  She had been a bit confused about why we were here.  Paying the tickets for such an underwhelming coastal walk seemed unnecessary to her and it was clear that she had been trying to make the best of the walk.  It was different now that we were here.  The cave was indeed quite lovely.  The shadows and light brought out a sharp blue green in the water.  I stayed with the baby Pickle as Veronica made her way down to the water to get a closer look.  She admired all of the views and gazed deeply into the water.

At the far end, at the mouth of the cave, people gathered to jump and dive into the water.  There were convenient rocks and ledges off to the side that let people easily crawl back up.  They scampered along the rocks back to the heights and then jumped again.

I watched them with a feint feeling of jealously, regretting that I hadn't brought any bathers myself.  The day was hot and jumping into the cool waters was appealing.  

Florence of the South

On our drive to the masseria, we had stopped briefly on the outskirts of Lecce.  We only stayed long enough for a short break and a meal and hadn't explored any further.  It was the middle of the day and the heat was obscene.  We tried to hide in the shade of the trees as we made our way to some restaurants we had looked up online.  We stayed on the outskirts and didn't go to the old city centre.  Everything was quiet during the middle of the day, but we were happy to find our restaurant relatively quickly and even happier with the quality of the food.  Inside the vibrant and noisy restaurant, the tables were fill with families, couples and groups of friends of all ages.  We soon came to chatting with the tables around us.  Everyone was delighted by baby Pickle and his antics, especially the older folk.  I tried my best to communicate and chat in my slowly improving Italian.  One older lady could hardly believe I was speaking in Italian to her (albeit poor Italian).  Did we live in Lecce?  How did I come to speak Italian?  Why was I learning?  It was all amazing to her and she was even more shocked when I explained that I had been learning using a combination of apps and online teachers.

We didn't come straight back to Lecce.  After arriving at the masseria, we instead decided to relax at the location and to enjoy visits to some of the even closer locations.  A few days past, it seemed like a good time to venture out a bit further to see a bit more of what Lecce had to offer.

We drove back in from the masseria.  The drive itself wasn't too bad and it was faster than the 40 minutes set out on the phone.  Most of the drive was on modern and high quality highways, but even with all the wonderfully constructed roads they still managed to incorporate a few poorly signed and abrupt turnoffs.  It didn't make much sense to me why they spent so much time and effort on these roads to then include such sloppy little touches at such important locations.  It was a constant theme of all my driving in Italy it seemed.  Parking at the same spot we had been the last time, we made our way into the old town.

Almost immediately, I was taken aback by the beauty of this city.  It was refined.  It was elegant.  The design and the buildings seemed to capture a combination of the high and grand European architecture of other cities with the warm glow of the Mediterranean.  

We had arrived in the early afternoon during the brightest time during the day.  The sun shone brightly and the whole city had a pale glow.  As the sun started to set and the day gave way to dusk, the streets darkened and became more intimate.  The bright glow changed to a subtle reflected shine that made everything seem even more beautiful.

Since we were so enamoured with the place, we decided to visit several more times during the course of our visit in the region.  Each time, we seemed to find a bit more to like about the city.  Beyond just the stunning facade, there were churches and museums and a huge number of stores that seemed to interest Veronica.  

We also found the food scene in Lecce to be bigger and more varied than other places we had visited.  This was definitely a bigger city than the other places we had been so far, so it made sense that there would be more options available.  However, there also seemed to be a refinement and class to the city that elevated many of the dining establishments and provided more high end options as well.  Each place we ate at was enjoyable.  The food was regional, but all just a bit classier.  Yet they still served and looked after us with kindness.  Traveling with the baby Pickle was never an issue and they always seemed to enjoy having us there.

 

On the outskirts of the old town, the grand and impressive buildings gave way to beautiful parks.  They were well maintained and buzzed with locals and their children.  Even during the heat of the day, these parks seemed to be a bit cooler.  The trees were tall and numerous, providing ample shade.  There was playground equipment for baby Pickle to explore as well as places for us to get water and cool off.  It seemed the city had everything we could want in a place to visit.

Every visit we made to Lecce seemed to strengthen and reinforce for me the true loveliness of this city.  Its nickname of the "Florence of the South" seemed perfect to me.  Very often, these names make me roll my eyes as only there is usually only the briefest and smallest of resemblance to the more famous (and usually much nicer) namesake.  For Lecce, I felt this name may even be a bit of a disservice.  It is a wonderfully beautiful city, and for it to only be seen as a southern version of Florence doesn't capture all the special and unique parts of the city.  There was a reason we visited so many times and it was a place I wanted to visit again in the future.