I expected to love Alberobello. I had seen images on travel documentaries. Everyone raved that I should go. Brimming with anticipation I caught the train from my base in Bari and set off for a day trip.
The iconic wee conical houses with their pointy roofs started to appear as the train drew closer out in the rural outskirts. I felt my excitement build.
The train arrived with none of them in sight so I walked up the road to the tee intersection. I could then see them to the right and signage here indicated more to the left.
I opted for left, strolled to the fountain where the view opens up of a whole town of them.
They looked Greek and clean and fresh with their whitewash and interesting symbols painted on the roof. It is like a fairytale village.
I followed the crowd and we made our way up and down through the windy staired paths. Most had shops inside selling postcards, lace, leather belts, and jewellery. I particularly liked the precious gold and silver leaves but they were a bit out of my reach.
I walked further back till I came to the church. It really was very lovely but through all of this, for some reason, I was just not feeling it. I wanted to, it is truly beautiful and unusual and interesting but it just wasn’t captivating me as I had hoped.
I came out of the church and there was the most wonderful sounds coming from a street artist. The music was special and beautiful and as I listened and slowly looked around at Alberobello, the music transported me to the place I had been trying unsuccessfully to get to. I bought his CD on the spot.
Now Alberobello is incontrovertibly intertwined with Hunza and his handpan.