From Bari to Brindisi (part 1)

 Sat on two bottom bunks, an Austrian traveller and I, shared two painful truths, we are not sure why we travel and that we travel alone partly because of health conditions that we deal with by travelling alone.   Dragging my suitcase through the heat to stations and airports, I regularly wonder why I travel and now feeling seriously ill post travels question more and more how long I can keep doing them, but despite the health conditions it is one of the things I sometimes surprise myself by managing.  

Matera

The narrow gauge railway station, Bari. 

This holiday to Italy came about sort of by accident, approximately this time last year, I set out on what I think is the biggest trip of my later life, to Australia and beyond, it was a test of what I was capable of and as any reader of this blog knows, that trusty handful from Russia, I was seriously ill after that. So that has more or less told me my limitations are as I perceive them to be.  But I wanted to have something set out in front of me as a lesser but still important challenge, to try and do a walking holiday. I selected Cyprus,  with a company I have known of since childhood because it seemed to be their easiest overseas holiday.  But because I was ill, I could not practice for it, so put the trip back to a week in Italy in September.   The walks were even easier than those for Cyprus, in a part of Italy I have long wanted to visit, and I decided to start and end the trip in Bari and Brindisi, with the official week's walking sort of in the middle.  What none of us had expected was that the temperature would be well over 33 most of the time we were away, so the trip presented challenges beyond the original challenge of walking almost every day for a week.   Anyway,  I mostly managed the walks, and in fact loved that week, but the time away has taken it out of me again. 

Alberello

I originally booked just for a day or so in Bari, but Ryanair kindly shifted my flight to a Friday night and we were then delayed, so did not get there till 12pm on the Friday of the bank holiday weekend.  Luckily two kindly Italian women scooped me up and made sure I found my hostel.  It did not seem promising, 8 beds in a very hot tiny room and no lock on the loo, but in the end Bari and the hostel became a happy gentle start to the trip.  I had a nurishing start treating myself to a yoghurt breakfast and chatting to a disgruntled young German traveller and then established where I could catch my bus through to Alberello before wandering into Bari and just getting to know the place.   The highlight was sitting in the square, where the boys were playing footie, the old men were gesticulating, romantic couples were out dog walking and refreshing their water bottles at the fountain and despite the insane heat an old lady was frying delicious polenta chips. 

Old town Bari

Sunday,  I wanted something indoors to keep me out of the heat, so tried to find the art gallery, but failed, however came across the tour of Bari Opera House instead.  We did not see much of the building but the tale of how it took about a hundred years to go from first plans to opening, and the middle class families who backed the development was a good introduction to this part of Italy topped off by the knowledge that it had burned down recently and had to be rebuilt!.  Then in the afternoon along with it seemed every other Barite, I squeezed onto the bread and tomato beach for some sunshine and relaxation by the beach.  All the time I was kept amused reading a Richard Osman book.  

Cave dwelling, and stopping off point on the way to Jerusalem.

By Monday though I was ready for an adventure and was debating between Poglinano or Matera.  Two of the other hostellers, one a young German cycling to China, the other a Polish woman about my age, said the latter was not to be missed, so despite knowing it would be very hot, I set off on the narrow gauge railway to the town with its cave dwellings.  It was too hot to really explore, but I got a flavour of the ups and downs of the town, including seeing the caves in the distance,  and treated myself to the local pasta dish in the lea of the Cathedral. (Orchiette and turnip tops)  I can see the appeal of the place, and was glad to go, but also enjoyed the conversation with three Romanian women on the train, who have now made me think I need to add their country to my list of places to visit.  In the evening I celebrated my outing by wandering around the other half of Bari old town and enjoying a cup of tea and a glass of wine.  Compared with some parts of Croatia, Bari had not seemed all that at the start, but actually by the end I began to realise it had an amazing castle, some culture, a beach and the lovely old town area too. 

Bari, is only just being discovered by travellers, but Alberello is almost nothing other than a tourist town and I seemed to drag my case through every part of it and passed every heaving restaurant sweating along, till at the end of town I found the hotel.  Shortly after I arrived, the coach bringing all the other travellers arrived too.  We cooled down in the pool and then had the first of 7 wonderful four course dinners and agreed the schedule for the week, including, having earlier starts in light of the fact that it was so hot.  Our guides were introduced to use, Merry Sunday and Maja.  They both proved to be excellent, there was aslo a British lead, who supported the process.  

Ancient trees are labelled. 

The first day we were given the chance to buy a sandwich at an agro tourism place, so rather than purloin,anything from the breakfast table trusted that process.  Yet when we arrived at the place, a woman was swishing around with a mop, sent us outside and I feed half my sandwich to the dogs who had come with us from a neighbouring farm.  Luckily our guides and the countryside had provided, not the grapes covered in pesticides of some sort, or the olives, but things like figs and carob and pears, the bounty of nature.  Never before have figs tasted so wonderful.  In theory we were travelling through Noci countryside, walnuts and we did see some trees, but not a great forest which is how I imagined it, but by the time we got to the town of Noci,  I was happy to sit with fellow walker, E, rather than exploring the town and having ice cream and tea.  I think I had ice cream every day for two weeks! 

 E was the only other completely lone female traveller,  all of them more monied and with long professional careers behind them than me, four married couples and three other women who had made friends on a previous trip and two sisters. All around my age, some a few years younger, some quite a bit older but all of us in our latter years, tramping across the country in the heat.  Despite the hearing aids, the replacement hips and knees, we managed most of the week, only dropping off right at the end, much to my disappointment as the last walk would have been through the imagined woods and actually cooler than visiting a town, which is what most people did instead, however, in the interim we had discovered lama (dried river bed lakes) swam in the sea, visited caves where pilgrims had stopped on route to Jerusalem, seen prehistoric remains, learned about Trulli house construction and water preservation,  visited the white town of Ostuni and just enjoyed warmth, companionship and walks. In addition we had time to swim in the pool every evening and potter around Alberello.  E and I also visited Locotorondo another white town near by on the free day.   

Three of us enjoying the wine tasting in Alberello. 

The best meal we had was the second agro tourist place we went to.   A sample menue was suggested to us, so we all sat around this table out in the countryside,  wine arrived and then course after course of just the most wonderful food.  Cheese, ham, and melanzane, focaccia,  and pasta might be expected, but that they were so good, so much better than anything we have in Britain that claims to be Italian, then there were the unexpected things, fava bean nibbles and puree,  with chichory for example, just brilliant. (stupidly I left my camera in the bus, hence no photo of this special place)   And all for just 17 euros.   In some ways because we had so much in the hotel, it was way too much, but it was too delicious to resist and it was just lovely to share with everyone.  Most of the others spent some evenings together after the evening meal, I retired, other than one night in the week and the last night when we all went to a wine tasting together.   I enjoyed the walks, the interesting conversations e.g. about Thailand, kindertransport, footie, and food.  But the best thing was the input from our guides, we learned the long history of the area, and really felt embedded in the countryside as a result. Then suddenly they were all gone and I was back to my lone wanderings.  First to Monopoli, where I had a nice little flat to myself, but was quite a way out of town, and then in Lecce, where I had a private room to myself in the hostel and finally back into dorms in Brindisi.  

Farewell Dolly and back to Lancaster.

 Dolly Parton has died, aged 80.  I feel sad.  As an older person each death reminds one what is coming,  and she had been ill, so perhaps it was to be expected but she is such a big part of my life and will have been a big part in many people's lives. I remember watching 9 - 5 I guess in Leicester Square, one of the few times I got to the cinema with my Dad,  Ghostbusters, I think was another occasion, two very light pieces, but shared with a whole audience really engaged ,laughing uproariously.  And I did actually see her in concert, and almost walked up to a familiar looking gentleman, until I suddenly realised it was not a friend it was Bob Geldorf,  the concert, perhaps in Hammersmith was brilliant.  I know people thought she sparkled at Glastonbury but I was not quite so sure but probably only because I had really seen her sparkle.   

Me in my ensemble costume, I would have liked to have gone the whole hog and painted flowers on my face like I did when I was 15, but apparentlyl that was not required. 

Dolly's tunes are the kind of things I sing to myself.  The songs in Godspell were familiar but not well known to me, but now they are playing over and over through my brain as I have spent the last week with them, back in Lancaster, with Ross playing the smallest part in their production.   And boy have we laughed.  Last year I was too shy to audition, then regretted not having a part, then was relieved not to have a bigger part as I regularly needed to lie down. This year, dance was added to the mix and I have discovered, that sometimes I can only do one of them at a time, but I did audition and I was proud of how much I controlled my nerves and somewhat annoyed not to at least be told I had made a good effort.  Luckily I got to share my small part with friend M,  she did one of the performances with one Jesus, but could not dance as she had injured herself and I did the same part with the other Jesus.  She nailed the tiny bit of dialogue we had on the final show, I never did, which frustrates me, as I think I could and should be better at performing than that, but I am the slowest picking up how to read the music etc.  It was a bit like giving birth, one had forgotten the pain,  I kept having to go and lie down and now my body is really complaining, but I have sung and danced every day, done two 45 minute dress rehearsals and two performances, so I am really proud of myself. I am never going to sparkle like Dolly,  but I have had a lot of fun and really enjoyed being with the team again.  People sometimes are very kind to an old girl, in fact I did not really feel so old last week, but today having an eye test which confirms my sight is going even more I am back to being old for real, but at least I am not dead, yet.  

North and South.

 It is 19 degrees, which does not seem a lot for England in summer, except that it is 11pm at night.  Never before has it been so hot for so long in my life time  The last time it was almost this dramatic, was 50 years ago. A summer I will never forget.  It is 50 years since my mother's death.  

I carried her in my thoughts today as I headed into London for an exhibition at the Tate and to catch up with a couple of friends. .  Her daughters are older than she was when she died, by many years.  We will face old age,  unchartered waters  I seem to grow more fearful of the world and every little niggle but life is also still full of joy too as today showed.  

Hurvin Anderson Tate Britain. 

The blues are brought on by the mostly brutal men making life here for refugees so miserable, but also of course those mostly men from America to Iran who cause the misery that makes people flea.  But of course it is n ot just that, this has been the most terrifying year for summer fires ever.   As my train sped through Enfield the scored burnt earth from a trackside fire was a stark illustration in miniature of scenes all over Spain, France, Greece and so on this summer.  Even whole swathes of England have gone up in flames and many friends have struggled in the heat. 

Up north, dog sitting, the weather was just pleasant  time to catch up with friends, sit in gardens with a cup of tea, and breath.  The flags dying on the lamposts show all is not well there too, but in the village it just felt wonderful to be out.  

Part of the final exhibition at the National Glass Centre

Sunderland's National Glass Centre is dying, but you could not tell on the day I finally got there, after a two hour bus journey, and before a four hour return,  whilst there I also briefly discovered the coast.  Then at Brancepeth, I finally visited the castle, I was staggered by its size and force.  The Rising of the North happened from here all those years ago, and now Andy Burnham is promising finally more power and wealth to the area.  I rode the elderly railway from Weardale to Bishop and dropped in for breakfast of paneer paratha before heading to the Durham fringe festival. Not formally a holiday, as every morning and evening I had to walk the dog and because he was not well, I even had to find a way to get him to take meds (chickhen is the solution) but it felt like a real break, being in the green, when the rest of the country has turned dusty and brown.  

Brancepeth Castle. 

Those were the days, my friend.

 So England is out, again,  they came so close,  but not close enough.  60 years ago, a skinny, tall, girl with red hair, put the finishing touches to her school project, celebrating England's win at the World Cup, I can still feel the rough touch of the green spongey substance covering my project.  The book disappeared when my tenant trashed my flat.    Today's children, won't get to create such a celebration.  But we have done better than we might have done.  

60 years ago I also started my secondary school, and a couple of days ago, experienced the nerves and excitement all over again, standing outside my school buildings. That day a woman asked me directions as she thought I was an established pupil, but of course I had no idea where anything was.  That first day we were seated in alphabetic order,  me the tallest and Christine, the shortest next to each other. 

For much of my time at school I thought I was doing okay and given that I was almost always in the top 5 I was.  I was also happier at school than at home, but the end results were disappointing.  Low grade GCSE's except in History and Geography.  Some topics I think I might have got were excluded because of the timetable, but in key subjects, I really wasn't great, Maths I struggled with and even today my grammar is not strong suit and I dropped out of Science, and I was only offered the chance to do two A levels at 6th form, so moved on to Erith college where I did do muc better comparatively getting three A levels, two at a good level.   I also had some very deep anxieties at school, which hovered through the day, and for the first two years only made friends, not firm friends.  But everyone got on well, we could have been stretched a lot more and I could and should have stretched myself a lot more, but my experiences there were largely positive.   

But going back, wow it churned up both the positives and negatives.  I also had to deal with nerves around meeting fellow pupils, especially as I felt excluded from their reunions.  However, all these years on, what is truly wonderful is the school today.  Now it is a grammar school and the girls exuded talent and confidence. Whilst they have lost a couple of the wonderful tennis courts and the pottery,which I loved, they still have the grounds we played rounders in, and now have much better science facilities, music facilities, and language facilities.  It is twice the size of my old school and unlike me, the girls are allowed to walk around in socks and bare legs and have long hair, and they are really given opportunities we did not have.  Then no one expected much of us girls, career wise, and most of us have done much better than perhaps the school imagined, but these girls, despite the challenges of the times, seem match ready for the future.   Unlike the poor old England team, who have to go back to the start and try, try and try again. 

Helen Jane, In Jane's footsteps.

 I have just had a lovely few days travelling in England.  First a visit to very very  very very distant cousin, the most famous female writer in the UK and her brother's upmarket pad, then I got to call on Gilbert White, before heading to the beaches of Bournemouth and a chance to catch up with a friend and family.  

I probably first visited Chawton as a child, I do not know how old I was, but I do have a memory of it, a very imperfect memory of it so it was good to catch the train to Alton, spend a couple of nights at a hotel that Jane would have been familiar with and walk to her home the following day.  It gave context to that snippet of memory which is probably about at least 55 years ago.   All along the street, I could feel Jane's presence, but that could just be the effect of too many BBC dramas capturing the time.   In her home, it was harder to find her, but then the walk to her brother's cemented how their lives played out and the many scenes of women walking across the landscape before collapsing in the arms of some gallant when the rains come on.  Chawton House, ionly 10 minues walk from Jane's is worth visiting in its own right.  It is a Tudor residence but also houses a collection of work connected to female writers, including Jane.   Chawton village and the countryside there is just charming.  

Gilbert White, I first came across, when living in Selborne Road, so I have known of him for some time, but not much beyond that, so when I realised he too lived near to Alton, it was obvious I had to go there too.  Like Austen he never left England, like Austen he observed life minutely, but he was even more focusded on one patch than her and that was the patch that was his very large garden and all the wildlife in it.  I therefore knew I needed more time to look around that was allowed if I caught the 10.40 bus.  The alternative however, was getting there a couple of hours before the house opened, but then using the time to climb the zigzag path created by the naturalist with his brother.  It is quite a steep hill, enough to get the heart pumping.   Once in the house, I actually disappeared into his lovely garden, a mix of tailored herb and flower garden space, along with a lush meadow and orchard.   

His house was preserved with the help of the Oates family, on the basis that the Selborne residence became a repository for the story and artefacts connected to Oates and his father.  When previously looking at material on the ill fated visit to the artic, I was struck by how inexperienced Scott was when he started and the fear that this contributed somewhat to the problems they had in the later expedition. Learning about the Oates family, there was a pattern of intrepid travel, but also of ill health, and again one wonders whether that impacted on how he coped in the cold.   I am not a traveller like them in any way, but something about those stories did capture me as a child, they threw caution to the wind, and paid the price sometimes, I now find myself at over age 70 becoming more and more cautious about what I can and can't do and find myself dithering over how to manage going forward.  And perhaps that is why England and little trips like this appeal so much.   

Although I know as a child I visited places like Christchurch and Poole partly to see family, I cannot actually remember how much I knew Bournemouth, but I parked myself there, to catch up with someone I meet on the TELC trip and with an honorary cousin.   It has a stunning beach and a lovely art gallery, but staying there also enabled me to catch up with people.   My honorary cousin probably would not want to be considered inspirational but she is, following surgery that went wrong, she is in a wheelchair, and has many things she has to deal with, especially when getting out and about,  her positivity purs me to shame, but reminds me too how lucky I am that even if I cannot walk as far as I could or do as much as I could, I can do a hell of a lot more than many.     At the other end of the scale, T despite being younger than N, has lived and worked in large chunks of Asia, fallen into work in Scotland and taught English in a variety of places. He is only back in the UK because he wants to spend time with family members who have ill health.  He has his life ahead of him, talking to him, I felt very old and uninspiring.   But it was fun to be out on a night when England were World Cup victors and to hear the cheers emanating from the pubs and houses. 

Southampton was my last port of call. Again I have only visited before in passing, but now one of my brother's lives there. It was my first visit to his home.  My niece, who I have not seen for about 5 years, announced, I do not know who you are,  which made me laugh.  I explained that was why I had come to see her,   so she would know who I was, and I also gave her a pencil sketch of her cousins from N onwards.   Jane, also lived in Southampton, so I finished my visit as I started it in some ways, in Jane's footsteps.  Much of Southampton was destroyed and then rebuilt after the war, but pockets exist that show us her life there.  And if that was not enough,  I returned to the Titanic story, in the town's museum.  It is very much worth going there, much cheaper than the Belfast one, but covers similar ground and much quieter.  

The war on Iran goes on, my friend in the Ukraine, says it is getting worse there, and the sun is shinning relentlessly, the effect of climate change. Travelling seems an indulgence in these circumstances, but has been such a big part of my life, I hope even, if only in these small ways, I can continue as long as possible. 

A sunny day in London brought some happy memories.

 How lovely to return to Crouch End, not far from my former London home, to catch up with a friend and to listen to some good music.   I first met Ramon about 12 years ago but he also played music with my friend, the late great Abdou Diop.  So whilst it was lovely to enjoy the music, it was also nice to reminisce. 

Burning Belfast

 Having only just recently been to Belfast and loving it's internationalism, sadly the city is now burning - literally.  Racists are attacking anyone perceived to be an immigrant and locals are getting caught up in the terror.  Cars on fire have set homes on fire.  My friend is on the streets directly affected and these are two of her images.  

Clearly any knife attack is terrifying.  Sometimes being a trauma victim makes migrants and refugees vulnerable, as we all are, to  very serious mental health problems.     This is why supporting and welcoming people is so important,  as the more people feel safe, the less likely are their traumas going to foster violence.     The people of Belfast have also suffered generational trauma because of the troubles.  So is that is what is partly behind, so many of them taking to the streets and terrorising anyone in their way.  I do not know.  But racism and fuelled racism does seem to be one of the causes behind the terrible rioting.  We know that racism is being fuelled both by right wing activists from Musk to Robinson, but it is not helped by the anti immigrant sentiments of many more centre based MPs.  

Climate change is one of the causes of migration, but the terrible wars are really fuelling movement.  Most Sudanese are lovely,  (see Green Kardofan for example ) but that country is also in crisis, and perhaps that has affected what happened in Belfast this week.    Racism damages all of us, as these pictures show.