Lecce

All of Puglia's train stations seem to be under construction. Otranto's is closed altogether, so the trip on to Maglie is by bus, which, confusingly, proves to be a tour-company coach with a small sign in the dash identifying it as a train replacement. There's plenty of time to explore Maglie station. Its amenities comprise some porta potties, a shrine with a half-life-sized statue of Jesus, and two benches occupied by people playing audio on their phones (I can't guarantee they'll always be there, but it seems likely). I don't know whether to include a third bench, because it's behind construction fencing, but someone is still somehow sitting on it and enjoying a video. You can leave the station, of course, but the most entertaining thing in the immediate neighbourhood is a stationery store.

I concentrated intently to try to understand an announcement and, based on what I'd gathered, got on the train to which it referred (if there had been platform displays, I would have listed them as amenities). It set off in the wrong direction. A better shrine idea would have been one to the patron saint of getting on the right train; and if there isn't one, there's probably some obscure saint who could use the work. What's St. Arwald been up to lately? Exactly. Anyway, I studied routes on my phone, watched anxiously for ticket inspectors, and got off in Poggiardo, which is remarkable for having no "attractions" whatsoever on Google Maps. I bought another ticket to Lecce and talked to a South African woman on the platform who had moved to Puglia. She assured me that the next train, though late, was indeed going to Lecce, and had some interesting things to say about the ex-pat experience here, mostly about how hard the written driving test is.

My place in Lecce was in a tiny B&B. It was up two flights of dingy stairs that smelled of cinnamon, but the room itself had 14' ceilings of girder-supported stone, a pretty, though cold, tile floor, and a little balcony, and was quiet, except for an overzealous guard dog nearby. "That passerby," it would say, "that bird, that cloud, none of them did us any harm, but can we be sure that would be true if I hadn't barked at them?" Happily, the dog was only on duty in the middle of the day, so was not much of a problem. Still, my main suggestion to the operator of the otherwise excellent B&B is to drug that dog. Wouldn't it be happier on barbiturates, anyway?

Charles V enclosed Lecce in city walls, and their route still forms a sharp border between the old and new towns. When you pass through one of its great gates you blip into a world of white limestone and curving baroque architecture, and most of the disagreeable things about modern cities can't follow; they can only fume outside waiting for you to re-emerge.

The main churches are splendid and require a ticket -- a single ticket, as they are a package deal. I think I'd rather see them competing individually on price, which would drive efficiency gains in the baroque-architecture market. One result of the charge, though, is that the churches were pleasantly empty; just a few tourists sitting in the pews, quietly determined to get their money's worth. I also paid to walk around the surviving wedge of the Roman amphitheatre, even though you can see it at least equally well from the street above. I wanted to do things properly. Also, I knew I wouldn't be going anywhere near the Colosseum when I got to Rome, so this would be my main chance to hang out in an amphitheatre and to read plaques about gladiators. 

One notable event from my time in Lecce is that I bought some of the oddest fake lunch meat I've ever tried. It looks like a stack of Fruit Roll-Ups and has a powerful but undefinable smell with great staying power. All the stores sell it, which is hard to understand, unless it's to people who want to frisbee slices at their enemies. In fairness, I should say that fake lunch meat is in no way a regional specialty. I'm pretty sure chocolate granola is, and that was excellent.

Finally, it was nice to see that the miniature dachshund is still a popular dog in Lecce, and they've done a tremendous job at their breed specialty, as there were no miniature badgers to be seen anywhere.

I caught the correct train on to Rome, but lost the ticket barcode while trying to connect to the broken train WiFi (in hindsight, there were better options than keeping it open in a browser). Overall, I didn't put in a very strong performance on the trains here, though it would be untruthful to say it was any worse than average. The ticket-checker had to come back later, when I produced it with a triumphant flourish. He seemed pleased and, I like to think, a little impressed.

It was a long but pleasant ride to Rome. Outside every little city was a clump of mid-rises hung with washing, and between the cities were olive groves. Many of them were being tended by farmers, which was somehow disappointing. I'd imagined that being an olive farmer was just a question of wearing a flat cap and pottering around with a stick. A number of the groves I walked past in Puglia were for sale, possibly because their current owners had thought as I did.