I spotted her watering geraniums in the whitewashed alley. To anyone else the seventy-something year old with the loose white bun, flowery smock, and thick ankles stuffed into orthopedic shoes was just another woman in Polignano a Mare, a seaside town in Italy. But to me, the sight of this signora, who so resembled my immigrant grandmother, seemed to whisper: “Welcome Home.” She sensed me watching her, turned around, and gave me a “Buon giorno.” I explained I was from America, on a bike trip with a group. And then I said, “Mia nonna e nata a Bari” (My nana was born in Bari), the region’s capital.
I’d practiced Mia nonna e nata a Bari as I packed for the trip and sure enough the words brought me what I’d hoped for. La signora’s eyes lit up, she began rambling, too fast for me to understand every word, but it didn’t matter. I nodded along as I felt a deep-in-the-bloodline connection. When I took her picture and showed it to her on my digital camera, she laughed. I could smell the tomato sauce wafting out her beaded doorway, and not wanting to keep her from lunch, I gave her an arrivederci, and then headed for the restaurant where my biking group had planned to meet.
This is my ideal way to travel in Italy: to have solo time to indulge in an “I’m one of them” fantasy and then sit down for a great meal with fellow travelers where we all share our different stories. This is what the Backroads Group itinerary gave me last May, on a cycling adventure which took me through the farm lands and hill towns of Puglia, Italy—an under-touristed region in the heel of the boot bordering the Adriatic.
“Remember, it’s your vacation,” said Erin, one of the group leaders, the first night the twelve of us gathered for cocktails at Il Melograno, a 16th-century farmhouse, now converted to a Relais and Chateaux hotel. During our week of riding, each of the six other couples and I approached the trip with our own style. There was Patsy, who’d get in the Backroads van after the morning ride and go back to our luxury accommodations to relax by the pool. On the other end of the spectrum, Laurie and Bob would be the first ones out in the morning, loading up on snacks from the van, speeding away, skipping lunch, and taking the most challenging afternoon routes for uphill workouts. My approach involved lagging behind to take pictures or wandering the small town lunch destinations, getting distracted by nana look-alikes.
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