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In Which I Have A Real Sunday Lunch
July 6, 2008 by Mike
The Town With No Name
Route: Otranto - Turchi - Casalabate - Brindisi - Monopoli - Bari - The Town With No Name
A genuine news article in the newspaper: local firemen have solved a serious problem.
Whenever fire engines in a nearby town were called out in an emergency, they were having trouble getting onto the street, because car drivers were ignoring the red lights outside their fire station. Now, when the alarms go and most of the firemen are sliding down their pole and into the fire engine, one man with a big red flag rushes out to the street and manually stops the traffic.
Because drivers refuse to stop at a red light. Italy! You couldn't make it up!
--
Today's Sunday. And I had Sunday lunch with friends -- for the first time in two years. That's because, for once. friends were only 40 miles away.
Charlotte emailed to say her family were arriving in Casalabate on Saturday night and if I'm anywhere near to pop over. Of all the little seaside towns in all the world.. Casalabate is less than 40 miles north of Otranto and I'd have been passing within 200 metres of their rented house today anyway. Instead, I get Sunday lunch, a swim in the pool, yesterday's Independent and the chance to catch up with Charlotte and meet her husband, two daughters, two sons-in-law and three grandchildren.
A brilliantly welcoming and funny family. (The pool was pretty good, too.)
Fanbloodytastic.
Jim, Clara and Charlotte -- as photographed for the cover of NME
--
I got past two bigger cities today - Brindisi, which won't stick in the memory, and Bari, which is the Birmingham of Italy. (David Platt played here after leaving Aston Villa; I heard a reggae band soundchecking in a big square downtown -- they were as 'good' as UB40; I heard people whining as I sat in a cafe sinking a bottle of water.) I didn't stay.
--
I stopped at a likely-looking campsite. Only half-annoyed that I was directed to pitch the tent at the very edge of the site -- away from the more settled residents in their mobile homes -- because that left me on a wild, high point closest to the smells and sounds of the sea.
I wandered round the seafront to the centre of town -- dazzlingly beautiful city walls, a scattering of churches and the inevitable cathedral, a parade of many hundreds of Christians chanting and swaying (and many hundreds of ice-cream eaters and coffee-drinkers looking on.) There was a kick-boxing display in an old palazzo. Little squares half-hidden, suddenly a larger space filled with restaurant tables and smiling faces. The evening was deeply warm.
Only thing is.. I have no idea where I am. I sort of lost track of the town names as I rode out of Bari. And there are no signs in town itself (because, let's face it, everyone who lives here know where they are.) Looking at the map, I know this must be Santo Spirito.. or Giovinazzo, Molfetta, Bisceglie or Trani. I honestly can't work out how far I've ridden from Bari. But it's really very nice.. and I'm still loving the east coast more than I had expected to.
Which is a pain, because I have to keep moving on if I'm going to make it to my date.. you know, the one I haven't told you about yet..
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