Matera
Matera
After Bari, our next stop of note was an ancient city named Matera, located further inland. We’d never heard of it before, but it was recommended to us strongly more than once (twice) and, after looking it up, we discovered that it’s ‘ancient primeval-looking scenery’ [wikipedia] has often been used in films as the setting for ancient Jerusalem. It also appears in the new James Bond movie, 'No Time To Die'. Apparently there are scenes of Bond tear-arsing round Matera’s tiny streets in his Aston Martin. Typical of that lunatic. Anyway, it boded well...
'No Time To Die'. At first I found it amusing that a film with such an
arse-clenchingly urgent title had had its release delayed until next year. Then I learned that the delay was a major factor in Cineworld closing 128 of
its cinemas. And now it's less amusing. I love Cineworld.
Matera is a real marvel. It's made up of a collection of ‘cave dwellings’ carved into the rock. Have to say though, they weren’t particularly cave-y. They looked like pretty normal(ish) buildings to us. But it was an amazing place nevertheless. So atmospheric and otherworldly. There were loads of Dali tributes everywhere. The melting clocks just felt like a dig at our way of life, but the big elephant statue with the long spindly legs - brilliant!
We spent the whole sweltering day strolling Matera’s streets, then stuck around when it got dark for a bite to eat in a restaurant-bar called Area 8. Literally, a bite; we got served the tiniest sandwiches I’ve ever seen, let alone eaten - 7 quid. We also had the patatine with cheese fondue which, when it arrived, was definitely just a bowl of chips - another 7 quid. Still, it was a very well lit place, did great cocktails and had an A-Z catalogue of famous historical figures, with which we enjoyed a fun game of ‘guess the person from the description’. Also, the DJ played ‘’BB’s Blues’’, the theme song for Bottom, one of my favourite British sitcoms, so overall I was just about willing to forgive the stamp-sized sandwiches.
Sick
As we made our way further up the east coast, Rach slowly became really ill. She had flu-like symptoms but said it felt slightly different to the flu. I awoke one morning to hear the sad cowgirl song from Toy Story playing over and over again. Eventually, I turned to ask why. Rach responded, ‘’they’ve got it playing on all these sad dog videos.’’ Her illness was sending her doolally.
We think it could well have been COVID19, although I didn’t get ill in the
slightest, despite sampling a spoonful of honey from the same spoon Rach had just that second used and despite all the snogging sessions (one of those is true). If we
have both had it, then I suppose that’s a good thing.
The worst day of Rach’s illness was spent people-watching from the van (me) and lying on the bed in various different configurations (Rach). We were parked up right by the sea. I noticed a 'looky looky' guy walking along the beach, attempting to flog all the usual fare to a small and entirely disinterested smattering of people. Seriously, where do these guys come from? We were on the least touristy beach ever, in some random, unheard of corner of east Italy, yet there was still a guy. Is there some kind of global umbrella group which deploys them all via helicopter to every tiny corner of the continent? Do they ever make a decent living? Is 'looky looky' man an offensive term? So many questions.
Because Rach was out of commission and I’m a useless leper, the only thing I ate that day was a bowl of couscous. However, I was pleasantly surprised to discover there was an inexplicable BBQ chicken-y smell emanating from the toilet, so that kept me going.
Mosquito Rave
The following day, Rach starting to feel a bit better. To reward her for being such a brave girl, we checked into a campsite. It was a nice place and had its own private beach, which was all dandy. In the evening though, the place turned into a mosquito rave. As soon as it started getting dark, dozens of the bastards descended on us suddenly out of the blue, infiltrating the van before we got a chance to close the door. They danced and bobbed in the gorgeous BBQ chicken air while we clapped at them erratically like cartoonish mental patients. It reminded us of the epic battle we’d had in Haven Lauwersoog many months ago. Thankfully, we dispatched them all a lot quicker this time.Old men and young women
After a couple of relaxing days in the campsite - mosquito invasions notwithstanding - we continued further north. At one point on the journey we witnessed a very strange sight indeed. About four women, dressed as what I can only describe as slags, were sat at the side of the dual carriageway. They were each sat on a cheap white plastic chair, about 20 metres apart, in the baking sun with no shade. One of the women was making her way back to her chair from a lorry, which was now pulling back out onto the road in front of us from the lay-by. So bizarre. I mean, clearly prostitutes. But also totally, totally bizarre.Something else has been bothering Rach recently. Shes' been a bit disturbed by the amount of elderly blokes wandering around in tiny Speedos. The old boys absolutely love this look in coastal Italy. Some will occasionally pop on a T-shirt with their Speedos, but Rach seems to hate that even more. I have to say, I know what she means. Sure, the T-shirt covers up the tanned, baggy torso, but that just seems to draw all the attention to the bollocks.
And that concludes the blog on Matera.
The last paragraph 😂😂😂
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