I Don’t Know Why You Say “Goodbye” I say “Hello”

That’s the thing with ciao, isn’t it? Only less confusing than I Am the Walrus. Worse is prego. If you bother to say thank you, grazie, you are virtually forcing an Italian to say prego; often you can hear the resentment… In the alternative, you can walk into a shop and be welcomed with prego–and when they take it upon themselves to lead with prego it leaves you no alternative. Sometimes all you can hear in Italy is the Monty Python argument sketch.

Today we say goodbye to the impossibly narrow steep stairs. I like how from the bottom they look like a Wes Craven teaser. We trade the endless sun and heat of the heel of Italy for the north.

We could have called this post The Post With No Churches but I’ve slipped in a church related pic below. Today we were up early, another hot, gorgeous, cloudless day, showered and out of town early. We returned the Audi at Brindisi airport then took an Alitalia to Milan.

Yesterday was very, very lazy. I think we hung out on the roof for most of the morning and when we finally decided to go to a beach and discovered the peak season rates I put the kibosh on that and instead we drove to a marine reserve 20 odd clicks south called Torre Guacito expecting for a decent walk and swim but it was too hot and too exposed for hiking so we swam, one last swim in the Mediterranean, which was wavy, clear, temperate, and called it a day. I could have spent the last two weeks floating on my back in the sea but there is no SPF on the planet that would have left me less pink than the Disney flamingos in Fantasia.

Back at the cubicle we threw together a casual dinner (organic pesto, arugula, cherry tomatoes, Parmesan and 18 luscious hand rolled ricotta spinach tortelloni) for a handful of eruos, ate on the deck, then lay on the loungers in the warm late evening air. It was very sad to be leaving Puglia but on the flip side it’s been one fabulous day after the other.

This collage below cracks me up. We filled up the rental at a gas station near the airport. There was a gas station dog, prowling the pumps, chasing cars. So, just to repeat: A gas station on the highway, with a dog that chases cars, off leash.

Then we arrive at Brindisi airport; it’s a small, efficient aeroporti, a tarmac airport if you know what I mean, mainly serving Easyjet and Ryan Air tourists. They had a demobbed fighter jet (Fiat G91 PAN, thank you online aeronautic geeks) outside the terminal. I like the message of safety inherent in that but my problem with actual plane sculptures at actual airports (the worst of which is Newberry in Buenos Aires which commemorates a crash!) is that the planes on display weather and don’t look ground worthy let alone flyable. The PAN at Brindisi has parachute gear stuffed into the cockpit; nice touch!