so long, southern Italy.

The next day, seeing as we had a little time to kill before the wedding (and were well-located in Fasano, at most a 20-minute drive from most of these places, thanks to yours truly, whose research actually got the location right, for once!) we struck out for the seaside town of Monopoli, where we found the hottest, stillest weather yet. (Some of the other towns were hot, but offered both occasional shade and breezes; Monopoli, not so much. Sooooooooo sweaty.) But hey, fortress! And, of course, it's ridiculously pretty.

A little Liberty.

Heading into Monopoli's historic center.

Sooooo many taralli in a bakery whose oven-room door was flung wide open, the better to distribute the overwhelmingly delicious scent of baked goodies with. (Actually, I'm sure it was to get a cross-breeze in there, but still. Very effective sales technique.)

All these towns got a clock tower. Monopoli's is from the 16th century.

Frescoed, 11th-century crypt in the little church of Santa Maria degli Amalfitani.

The nave and aisles in the church above are from the 12th century (sheesh).

Some slightly more subtle lights on some very nifty between-building buttresses.

The castle of Carlo V, completed by the Spanish in 1552 (and incorporating a previous Roman wall, a medieval convent, and a Norman/Swabian castle partially destroyed in 1414, of course).

I don't know if that's a shop or a house or whatever, but I want to steal it and live in it and tend its ridiculously healthy balcony petunias for ever and ever. (Also, you could probably be friends with the people next door and use their awesome bourgeoisie balcony for cocktail hour..is what I'd do.)*

Wooooo, more buttresses! I guess I'm just fascinated by these things 'cause in no way are there buildings in the US that are old enough (or close enough together) to have them. They're neat.

I can assure you that I'd never, ever be brave enough to try to drive a car down the streets of Monopoli--most of which I'd assumed were for people only--but these brave souls were plunging ahead in their Smartcar. Even in such a tiny vehicle, they still had to make it a 3-point turn to get around the corner and into this street.

Next, it was over to Polignano a Mare, which turned out to be the beach destination in the area. (Good Lord. So many people, everywhere.) 

Polignano is also home to a portion of the Trajan Way, a Roman road from the third century BC.

Interesting fact: on the cliff edge in the distance, there's a platform for a Red Bull diving competition, and it can only be accessed through a private residence. (Unless you paid me absolutely obscene amounts of money, I would not have sandy/drippy divers, along with whatever production flunkies might accompany such a competition, tromping through my house.)

This used to be the town hall. I think it's now a restaurant and some sort of lodging, but the neat part is that that 19th-century clock is still wound by ropes.

Surprise! Polignano is full of winding, whitewashed alleyways. Uniquely, however, this small corner of town had been generously decorated by a local poet/artist.

Obnoxiously full of beach-goers, to be sure, but daaaaaang, if it ain't super pretty.

And with that, we headed back to Fasano to prepare for the wedding. 

Which was held here, next to this lighthouse. (Neat.) It was beautiful and elegant and sweet, but as it wasn't my wedding, I won't post photos of the bride and groom, both of whom looked absolutely fantastic (and very happy).

And the reception...oh, my. It was held at this gorgeous old farm, in the middle of this field of absolutely ancient olive trees, which was probably a center for olive-oil production at some point in time. It was beautiful and charming and magical, and, on this night, was set up for eating. There were little booths all around three sides of this massive, white stone patio--kinda like a street food festival, but classy--and they were full of food and drink.

There were not one, but two salumi booths: this one with various sliced prosciuttos (and some hard cheeses, of course)...

...and this one, with multiple types of salami (and more cheese--at least 5 different kinds!).

There was the marinata booth, with all manner of delicious seafoods...

...which was between this, the raw seafood booth...

...and this, the yakitori (most popular) booth. In that cabinet, in case you're wondering, is a couple of kinds of sausages; some pork belly; and several types of seafood, all for grilling.

There were also a few beverage stands--one for craft beers (and cheese) and two for water, wine, and bubbly--but obviously, this was the most fantastic booth of all: THE CHEESE PEOPLE. Not only were there plates of smoked mozzarella, and mozzarella with tomatoes, and all manner of other forms of mozzarella in front of them, but she was handing out the freshest ricotta...

...and THIS MAN WAS MAKING FRESH MOZZARELLA. RIGHT THERE. I'm not going to lie to you, I stood here, mouth agape, for probably 5 minutes, watching this guy. I was not subtle, but that may have been the most glorious thing I've ever seen in my life. Because cheeeeeeeeeeeeese.

And there were people circulating through the crowd with plates of various fried things (chicken, fish, veg)...and those were the starters, people. After some speeches and a little dancing, we all sat down and had a three-course meal of fregola pasta with veggies and seafood; some insanely good ravioli filled with eggplant, stracciatella, and almonds, in tomato-arugula sauce; and zucchini-wrapped fish fillets with prawns and veggies. 

And then, after more toasts and dancing (the band--and especially the male lead singer--was good!), the desserts came out. All the booths from earlier were suddenly covered in a mind-boggling array of sweet things, including various cream-puff iterations; freshly-filled mini cannoli and lobster-tail pastries; tiny baba al rhum cakes (holy smokes, so much rum, though!); all manner of marzipan- and fondant-covered cakes; fresh fruit; the wedding cake itself, of course; and one entire table covered in massive jars of candied almonds. (In Apulia, they're called confetti, and there were at least 10 different kinds, my favorite being the amarena--sour cherry and chocolate. HOLY MOLY, I could have eaten kilos of those. In retrospect, we should have bought any and all that we could find on our explorations the next day.)

Massive olive tree by night.

As Mike and I are old, we called it a night before the cocktail party started up (1:30? 2:00-ish?), and so were in slightly better shape than the friends-from-Zürich with whom we met up with the next day to explore Cisternino--a town we'd seen referred to as a "gem" on innumerable tourist publications, and therefore had to see, in order to determine whether, in fact, it was--and Turi, the wee town to which we'd relocated for our final night in Apulia.

Cisternino: yet another place in southern Italy in which I'd like to have a holiday home. (Actually, I don't think we've yet encountered a city in Italy where I wouldn't want a holiday home...)

I love the rather haphazard stacking of things in these cities.

Quiet...

...and so pretty.

Back in Turi, where we had the most darling B&B (tremendously friendly owner! amazing AC! compact, but sleeps 5! 2 bathrooms! a balcony! plus a darling breakfast nook, and all in a gorgeous building with an arched stone roof!)...

...we also found the rather spectacularly large (at least, for such a small town) Palazzo Marchesale, the history of which dates to Norman times, but the current form of which comes from the 17th century. (The guy on the far left here was selling veggies out of his car trunk, and I think the rest of these gentlemen were just hanging out, giving each other a hard time.)

Some nice baroque details.

Inside the palace courtyard.

Another civic clock tower, this time in red. (And this time from 1892.)

Interesting coat-of-arms spotted on our wanderings.

Art Nouveau pile near our B&B, just begging for me to buy it and fix it up. (Actually, it wasn't for sale, but a girl can dream.)

On our last night in Apulia, we were fortunate enough to be invited to a party at the residence of the groom's grandfather for dinner. Among other things, dinner included fava puree; the best cooked broad beans I've ever had; sandwiches made of beef that had to have been stewed for at least a day (so...fantastic...); and sangria made with the local peaches. (All followed by trays of various ice creams that made me want to collect them all.)

I guess I forgot to mention that said party was in the courtyard of a 16th-century castle ruin, which, you know, just happened to be on the olive-oil- and fruit-tree-producing property that the groom's grandparents bought however many years ago. (Produce was the selling point, and the castle merely an afterthought.)**

The next morning, we bid a sad adieu to our B&B, then caught our flight from Bari to Milano, where we had enough time before our train home to fit in a meal (and some browsing) at Eataly. On our way back to the train station, we came across these fantastical apartments:

...which I'd actually read about a few years ago, but never realized they'd been completed. (Amazing. Want.)

One last treat at the train station:

Gahhhhhhhhh, my new favorite thing, especially in the summer heat: crema di caffe, or espressino freddo, which is espresso blended with cream and sugar and then frozen like an Icee. Man, oh man, is it heavenly, and I must have had at least 10 of these during this particular trip.

And with that, we headed back to Zürich, with plenty of olive oil and taralli in hand. Thank you, Apulia and Basilicata: you were marvelous.

What I'm reading: I know, I know, I've been hopelessly unhelpful in this category for a loooong time, but I feel like my current reads are worth mentioning. Those are, concurrently, The Road to Little Dribbling, by Bill Bryson, and I Hear the Sirens in the Street, by Adrian McKinty, the former of which periodically makes me cackle out loud (oh Bill Bryson, how I love--and 100% identify with--your curmudgeonly thoughts!), and the latter of which--based in Troubles-era Northern Ireland--is the latest in a long, long line of UK-based crime novels on which my friend Lindsey got me started. And then promptly addicted. (You may not believe this, but the best, by far, have been those written by Robert Galbraith...a.k.a. J.K. Rowling. It's insanely unfair how she can be so good in two such different genres! Supposedly she's working on another in that series, and I cannot wait for its arrival.)

Up next: yet more London and Barcelona. Maybe. I don't want you to get bored of those places, though--we certainly haven't!--so we'll see how I feel.

*Ok, no, not really, I don't want to live there. A), because the doors are way too small for my husband, and B) the heat is oppressive, even right there on the beachfront. Nope, nope, nope. But it is so, so pretty.

**Um...I guess this is just how one lives in the heel of Italy. Sign me up, please.