SALENTO

The Salento with its magical atmosphere, the many wonders to discover, its warm sun, its blue sky, its crystal clear sea, its coast dream. “I dried tomatoes attached to a string and women from chicory hearts. The dried tomatoes and yellow dates, and women who are seizing the olives between the olive, with purple mouth; everything is unique and lost by dint of existence “

(Vittorio Bodini, Puglia Poet)

 

Verses extolling one of the more traditional face somatic traits of Salento : it is not uncommon, in fact, strolling through the ancient streets of its villages, to come across a typical bunch of tomatoes hanging on the walls of homes.

But the poetry of Salento can stretch to infinity, up to embroider a poem made of verses to recite other sights, smells, sounds and tastes of this region of southern Italy.

Visions : those narrow streets of historic centers, dotted by typical courtyard houses, where time seems to stand still; clothes hanging to dry on a wire in front door of the house; the shadow cast by the main Baroque churches and most majestic palaces; the craftsmen who work the local stone, papier mache and clay; the illuminations that light up the features festivities; history imprinted on towers, castles, farms and megalithic monuments.

Smells : Sea, Ionian and Adriatic does not matter, that restores the mind and body even on a stormy day; the countryside and its inhabitants (the aromatic plants, olive trees, prickly pear, fruit trees); figs placed to dry in the sun on wooden boards.

Sounds : the grinder that goes up and down the streets of the country; the town band that delights fans of the festivities; the rustle of the long, wide skirts, and the pace of tambourines accompanying the typical folk dance of “pinches”.

Flavors : on display in the famous wine and food festivals and expectations, the edible events celebrating the delicious dishes of Salento and Watering with the excellent local wine. It comes, as well, to shut the poem of the Salento which is nothing but a poem in poetry, by way ‘of a matryoshka. But here are not the wooden dolls to flow from one another, but real human and natural masterpieces.

English