Trebisacce, Bari & Polignano a Mare

Leaving Nemoli

We made our way back down to sea level, where it was immediately unbearably boiling. It was a pretty spectacular drive back down though, through what is a very mountainous region.

We were headed for the coast - the ‘sole’ of the Italian boot which connects the heel in the east to the exceptionally creepy webbed toes in the west. We were able to park the van up right on a pebble beach, just a few metres from the sea; exactly what we wanted to soften the blow of having to move on from Nemoli. After we’d settled in we entered an online raffle to win a house in Sedgley in the UK, with a Range Rover thrown in, which I fully expect to win.

It was great to fall asleep that night to the sound of the waves. In my sleepy delirium I wondered if the Range Rover ‘thrown in’ bit was meant literally, and if so how much damage that would do to the property, before nodding off.

Questionable parenting

In stark contrast to the hushing waves of the previous evening, we woke up in the morning to the sound of the loudest, whiniest kid in southern Europe. It was only about half 8 (the time, I mean, I’d never refer to a kid as ‘it’, no matter how grating it’s voice was). He continued to squeal all the way through to 4, at which point his attentive grandma and phone-obsessed mum took him home.

While swimming in the ocean I got bullied by a slightly older young lad (about 11) for straying too close to his dad’s fishing rods. He’d planted them in the ground a few yards from the van and their lines were cast invisibly into the water. I do not know what the fuck it’s all about, this fishing but not fishing thing. If you’re gonna just set your rods up then go and sunbathe with the rest of your family about ten feet away, why bother? Surely they weren’t totally reliant on catching fish to survive? Anyway, the lad threw a stone at me. I hadn’t realised he was shouting at me to move, so he just picked up a rock from the shore and launched it my direction. Remarkable. His parents looked pretty sheepish as I exited the water and made my way back to the van.

In the evenings the shore was bathed in moonlight. There were only a couple of other campers around, but they were nowhere near us, so we decided to go for a skinny dip. Or rather, a flabby dip. The beer and pizza is really starting to ‘register’. As is the ice cream; a truck visited the beach twice during our stay. We partook both times.

After a couple of days we moved on to another spot on a beach, slap bang in the middle of a small town. They really do seem laid back about campers on the ‘sole coast’ of Italy, which is great as you get to park up so close to the sea. I had an eye on something else though: the snooker semi-final between O’Sullivan and Selby. Only one, mind; the other eye was on the other semi, where Wilson and McGill played out the greatest frame of snooker I’ve ever seen. I’m a big snooker fan, which Rach is delighted about.

‘’Keep an eye on it’’

As darkness fell one evening, the moon was really showing off out the back of the van, almost as if to demand my attention. It was a big firey crescent, reflecting a zig zag of light all the way down from the horizon to the shore. It was the sort of scene that soothes and relaxes, making all your troubles seem far away.

Some twat in London had bought a premium Netflix subscription and a £156 train ticket using my bank details. I’d been scammed after being naively sucked in by a fraudulent ‘paypal‘ communication. I couldn’t be sure how many of my details the London twat had but the purchases had been on my Monzo account. After spending all evening speaking with Monzo support I ended up freezing the account and cancelling both cards. Afterwards, I got on to HSBC, who just said ‘’keep an eye on it’’. Compared to Monzo it was a pretty cursory piece of advising. I must’ve caught them after hours and been answered by a panicked fucking cleaner or something.

Earlier that evening we'd also treated ourselves to a meal out. We found a funny old restaurant on the sea front. It had a multi-coloured neon sign above the entrance that said ‘A Dream For Everyone’. I had pasta.

The next day

I needed a shit. I seem to need one every day now. So different to the start of the trip when my arse knew its place. Didn’t hear a poop out of it back then. Now it knows it can go in a bag, it’s always trying it. It’s obviously a lot less hassle if we’re out. The usual tactic is to find a bar and go there, although this doesn’t always work for Rach. Unless there’s an infinite row of cubicles to ensure she has zero chance of anyone following her in, she’s never able to go. Even with her VIPoo spray. A very nervous bum indeed.

Arrival on the east coast

We arrived in Polignano a Mare on the east coast, a gem of a town about an hour beneath Bari. We managed to get a perfect spot on a small cliff overlooking the sea. The top portion of the cliff edge was climbable so I went for a little clamber down it to sit with my legs dangling above the rocks and crashing waves below, taking extra special care not to trip and and fall, which would have been an awful waste of three quarters of a bottle of Nastro Azzurro.

We had a seriously great view out of the back doors of the van, but once again I had both my eyes on the snooker, as O’Sullivan beat Wilson in the final to win his sixth world title.

Polignano a Mare

We ventured into the old town of Polignano. It’s hard to work out why neither of us had ever heard of the place, as it’s beautiful. The beach was absolutely crammed, so we got some lunch and watched from above as the locals dove off the rocks into the blue waters of the bay below. We enjoyed walking the intimate old town streets, which were full of pastel coloured homes, shops and bars, and we didn’t actually realise how big the place was until we entered the main square, which had many long streets attached to it. The square had a market on, from which Rach bought a dream-catcher to catch all her ridiculous dreams. She haggled the seller down from 20 to 15, which I was very impressed with. Mind you, it strengthens your position somewhat when you don’t actually have a penny more than what you’re offering.

We went back to the van with a couple of takeaway pizzas, chilled for a while, then did something we don’t often do: we made our way back into town to see it in the dark. We really should do this more often, as the character of a place can really change at night.

Polignano a Mare at night

The streets and little squares were now bathed in the orange glow of the street lamps and filled with people sat out chatting and drinking. In one such square, a guy dressed as the sun (?!) was sat in the exact same position that he’d been in when we saw him about five hours earlier. When you threw a coin in his pot he came to life and handed over a bag of sweets. A few yards away from him was a mime artist who, at the particular moment we passed him, seemed to be miming walking. This mainly consisted of him actually walking.

We ended the evening sat with cocktails in the warm night air. The bar was playing all the tunes Rach loved as a whippersnapper i.e. sexy RnB/garagey stuff, which seemed to give her once nervous bum a serious boost of confidence as it wiggled away on her low stool.

Another flip flop problem

We left Polignano a Mare and moved on to Bari, swapping our spot of pure paradise on the ocean cliffs, which was free, for a slot in an industrial car wash with a leaking portaloo, which cost 15 euros. The portaloo doubled up as a shower cubicle though, so, luxury.

We made our way on foot into Bari. Just as we were approaching the edge of the centre, I slipped on a shiny curb and, in the process, somehow managed to scrape/stub my big toe and snap my left flip flop. Some of these curbs in Italy are like slabs of fucking ice. I then had to walk through the chewing gum and fag ridden outer city streets with one bare foot, desperately searching for a flip flop vendor.

Luckily, we found one very quickly. I bought a pair of cheap, plastic, ice white Diadora slip ons. It was the best they had on offer and I HAD to get something - who knew when we’d come across another place?

Around the next corner was a street with about half a dozen shoe shops. Every second window had quality flips flops in it, many at discounted prices. Unbe-bloody-lievable, to quote Alan Partridge. At Rach’s suggestion, I ended up buying a decent pair of Havaianas and we gave the Diadoras to a nearby homeless man, who seemed satisfied enough with them.

Bari

With my feet finally sorted we finally got to exploring Bari. Once again, it was the old town that captured our imagination. Residents sat out in the little streets in groups, old boys sat together on walls and mopeds flew around, ciao’ing as they went, all underneath the lines of laundry which hung across the tall and warm-coloured terraces. There was a really authentic, communal atmosphere about the place. I wonder if Sedgley is similar?

Recommended park up in Polignano a Mare:

http://park4night.com/lieu/39098/