There is a land that lies at the southern tip of Puglia. It stretches over more than 100 kilometers from the Murge plateau to the Cape of Leuca where Italy’s borders end.
In that land, you can see the sun rise over the Adriatic and set over the Ionian seas. On the horizon you can see an expanse of olive trees and beyond the horizon, you see even more olive groves, wrinkled like the skin of an old farmer. This is a place where the land is red like sun-burned skin, finding relief only with the fall of night and its cool breeze.
It’s a stony land, unfriendly to those who wish to excavate but welcoming to those who wish to sculpt. Just ask any architect or artisan who has made rosette or statues for the façades of Puglia’s baroque palaces.
It’s a land where you can always find folks having a glass of wine on the steps of their homes as the sun sets. If you’re lucky, they might even offer you a glass and share their fish tales, reminding you that their wines are the best in the world.