Trulli Wonderland

After a restless night, I got up at 6am and boarded the first early morning autobus at Piazza Liberta to the train stazione. There was no one in sight and only one passenger on the bus. The elderly man in the biglietti booth didn't make it easier for me to leave; he asked me in italian why I had to leave Spoleto. Isn't it beautiful, he inquired, as if reading my mind. I sighed and explained 'si, è perfetto ma devo partire' (yes it's perfect but I have to go). A huge part of me couldn't bear to leave and I nearly tossed a coin just to convince myself to stay. But I pressed on, wondering when I will ever return.

Despite feeling like a zombie, I made it to Alberobello after an exhausting train journey from Spoleto at 7am and reached the quaint small town at 5pm after switching trains (40 fu%king euros!) at Ancona and Bari (which was 'brutto' compared to the quaint Umbrian towns). The scenery in Puglia was spectacular; a red earthy landscape and vast stretches dotted with olive groves. As I got closer to Alberobello on the private rail, I caught glances of the mystical cone-shaped trulli which perked me up - I certainly hope this UNESCO site was worth the journey.


At the station, I got directions to the trulli zones and called Alessandro to tell him that I had reached my destinazione finally! After what seemed like 10mins, Trullidea was located easily as there were signs pointing to it. I had called the popular albergo listed in my guidebook to reserve ahead at Bari and upon reaching the reception, bargained from 68 to 60 euros for a cosy white-washed trullo hut, complete with a small dwarf-ish attic, kitchenette, bathroom and back garden.

Feeling exhausted, I dragged myself to explore the two trulli quarters which were an amazing spectacle. However I found it too touristy for my liking as there were many giapponese tourists and even the shopkeepers spoke giapponese to me! My ready reply was 'Sono di Singapore, not Japan!' which earned an amused look accompanied by 'va bene, ci vediamo dopo'.

The main Alberobello town was dead quiet, September being a low season I guessed. But still it was charming especially in the evening when the locals came out for their passegiata, and the streets lining the piazza and church became alive, glowing with strings of fairy lights for an uncoming festa. I asked round 'vorrei mangiare e dove è un buono ristorante?' and was pointed to a local trattoria.

Cena was delicious and cheap (12 euros), comprising the Apulian homemade pasta 'orecchiette' (little ears) in ragu sauce and contorno of the freshest boiled spinach tossed with lemon juice. Barely able to keep my eyes open, I hurried back but got lost instantly trying to locate my trullo among the hundreds of similar-looking huts along similar-looking lanes! Cazzo! Luckily I could see the humour in the situation and laughed at myself hysterically. Soon enough with some luck, I turned the key in my trullo numero 6 and dozed off to gnome land tucked tightly in my big double bed after saying goodnight to Sandro.

The next morning, I packed my backpack after colazione and chatting with the adorable gnomish trullo-cafe owner (I even took his picture and he took one of me behind his bar counter!). I was in two minds about my next pitstop and he advised that Matera (the ancient location of 'Passion of Christ') was only accessible by car and the coastal town Tropea in Calabria was 'normale'.

So I found myself in Taranto an hour later and bought a ticket to Taormina in Sicily, feeding some of my panino scraps to two poor hungry dogs staring pathetically at me. Masato, the lone 27-year old bookish traveller, came up to me thinking I was also Japanese and we instantly took to each other, happy for the familiar Asian face. He was travelling alone in south Italy after spending a few months in Greece studying the language. So to him, Italian was totally Greek and I was only too glad to give him a crash course!

We caught the same train heading to Sicily and found ourselves in a cabin with sweet Donatella, who was my age but already a mother of 2 - she was travelling to Paola to see her mamma. I broke the ice first by asking her in italian if Taranto was nice. She was reserved and polite in the beginning but before long after my constant ribbing in italian, we were all yakking and laughing in italian! Her English was worse than my italian, so you could imagine the number of times we had to consult my phrasebook but we managed to debate about everything under the sun and even had a forbidden cigarette break giggling like schoolgirls when Masato wanted to have a puff too (even though he doesn't smoke)! She was like my long-lost italian girlfriend and I was sad to say goodbye to her at Paola. I told her I liked her and she replied the same. It was times like these that the journey was definitely more gratifying than the destination.

I'd always remember Paola as the place where three strangers struck up a beautiful albeit short friendship. Memories like these lasted a lifetime. Masato stayed on the train to the southern tip of Calabria while I switched to another one to Taormina. As the train passed along the deserted Calabrian coast, I witnessed the most dramatic sunset where the skies were heavy with dark gloomy clouds and the last rays shone through a gap, shimmering in one spot as if someone had shone a bright touchlight from above. Bellissima!

At 6.30pm, the train backed into the belly of a gigantic cruise (yes you heard that right!) and we were off to Sicily! When the train rolled into Taormina stazione, it was almost 8pm. I asked a geeky guy for directions to the town on the hill and a young Swedish couple approached me for help after overhearing my bad italian, thinking I was probably not as lost as them. We made our way together on the bus and a short hike to the youth hostel for one night (16 euros) as it was late already to find a proper hotel. Yay, I was finally in Sicilia!