We always arrived in towns just as they quieted for the afternoon—every day between 1 and 5, when people, sensibly, eat lunch then nap. Serragambetta. The house has been in Domenico’s family since the 18th century—like Il Leopardo! Monastic rooms blessed by the Madonna. Olive oil cake for breakfast. Hectore! The farm dog who became our great protector and guide. The fabled and mysterious Trulli. Okay, this is only here as a cautionary tale not to snuff off any vocabulary words while studying with the Rosetta Stone because you think they’re useless. If you’d only attended more to the Italian word for “ladder” you could have rescued this poor kitty! Locorotondo: the round city upon a hill. Myyyy what big Eye you have. Matera: the ominous, winding city where the dwellings were originally caves dug in the cliff rock. Also the film site of Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ”—equally ominous. A Matera church hanging over the ravine. The ramparts at Monopoli: useful in sieges by the Saracens, Longobards, Normans, Byzantines, Venetians, Spaniards, Turks, and male sunbathers in Speedos. Gallipoli, on the western, Ionian sea-side of Puglia. Wandering the lamp-lit streets of Lecce, where teenagers snogg behind Roman ruins. The best! Bike ride on the country lanes. As we pulled the bikes into Castellana Grotte, we ran smack into a parade for the Madonna. The women threw rose petals from the balconies and a marching band, of clarinets and tubas, played what sounded like old Hollywood scores. Fellini would’ve been stoked. Our last meal with the illustrious cooks Gina and Elia. The pie in the foreground is for breakfast. And after all that, we took the train to Rome. What else can be said? Rome: city of ancient, beautiful things.