Apulian sojourn 3

As driving a car in unfamiliar places is increasingly likely to bring on panic attacks, I don’t do it any more. So to get away from it all, my wife and I usually throw ourselves into a package holiday. During our stay in Apulia this meant that we found ourselves for a time each day sitting in a touring car heading to and from or some place of historic or picturesque interest.
We often sleep badly on holiday even though we always take our own cushions with us to reduce the odds. This affliction occurs mainly because when we finally do get to sleep we proceed to loudly imitate forest creatures both large and small. Of course, the consumption of the unmissable bottle of wine the evening before also encourages this nightly ritual. So most mornings, after a large, filling breakfast and as soon as the bus (let’s call it that for simplicity) began to roll, we predictively fell asleep and were fated for much of the outward journey to undergo nodding absences interspersed with periods of willed attention.
Our enthusiastic female guide was always armed with lots of historical background information and amusing anecdotes which she told to the mostly attentive audience as we trundled through the Apulian countryside, shunted through small towns and villages, or sped humming over motorways. Of course, she must have viewed the few inattentive, sleeping passengers with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. When I did return to consciousness I often caught her looking at me with a blank, but what I assumed was an accusing, expression. Well, that’s life.
The motorways in Italy, which allow a less attractive means of seeing the countryside and its inhabitants but are often unavoidable in getting from A to B, have recently gained another unattractive feature in the form of prostitutes. These can be seen dotted along the secondary roads that run parallel to the main highway, sitting waiting for clients at the entrance to huge plantations of olive trees. Dressed in revealing brightly colored exaggerations often trimmed off with Marge Simpson hairdos, they contrast remarkably with the surroundings. This appears to be a real problem in Italy as these young ladies, mostly from far away and often apparently exotic locations, are enticed to come to this fair land with stories of exciting modeling contracts. They end up, however, being forced to undergo a drastic career change before they’ve even had a chance to say cheese. It seems that for every one “rescued” from the criminals that exploit them two more come in her place – a tragic, sad reality of modern times.
Then there are the toilets. It’s almost impossible to find a complete and clean one outside hotels and posh restaurants. It seems that either toilet seats are being stolen at an alarming rate or that the owners are removing them before they can be stolen. Perhaps they end up at a toilet branch of the Mafia that resells them or on the walls of eccentric collectors. It seems that the woman’s toilets often suffer the same disgrace. Even in public conveniences with personnel, leaving a tip is often voluntary, probably as an apologetic gesture to foreigners with wet feet and bacterially infested extremities.
I’m in two minds about the view of Italian café owners with regard to payment. If one orders at the bar, which a lot do because its cheaper, then one has to pay before one receives one’s wares. For non Italian-speaking visitors this is a tricky business as often one cannot simply point because the cash-desk is often at the opposite end of the room to the food bar. The easiest way is to sit at a table and await the attentions of a waiter, though one must then pay a surcharge for this added comfort.
Anyway, Italians are hard-working, self-effacing, sincere, polite people who don’t put on airs and graces of grandeur. Eating in Italian cafes or restaurants is like eating in someone’s home. Indeed, at one small but very pleasant restaurant we visited for lunch, we were jovially and expertly served by the whole family including the children, while a pair of traveling musicians serenaded us through an open window after receiving a modest sum from one of our more jubilant companions. When the delicious meal was over, and lead by our guide, the family was treated to a resounding applause – a memorable moment.