Our rides took us through hills of vineyards, cherry trees heavy with deep red clusters of fruit, fields of crimson poppies, and golden zucchini flowers. Olive trees were being pruned and the smell of their burning branches mixed with blooming jasmine was sublime. We rode past trulli—small white cone-shaped houses from the Middle Ages, which transformed the green rolling landscape into a fairytale. Farmers along the way gave us friendly waves and beeps, unaccustomed to seeing strangers in their quiet terrain.
“Off to stalk old ladies?” Nate, our other tour guide joked as he saw me heading to the historic center of Locorotondo at one of our mid-day stops. The circular maze of alleys in this white-stone, hilltop village turned out to be the mother lode for my nana-look-alike quest. Like magic, at every corner, an appropriate character appeared: a woman in a long brown dress at a brass spigot filling up a water bottle, another seated under an arbor of violet bougainvillea crocheting a doily, and one on a balcony hanging laundry. When the latter spotted me with my camera, she took off her apron and rushed down to strike a pose in front of a Roman archway. This time “Mia nonna e nata a Bari” brought me an embrace followed by a scramble for a pen as la signora wrote down her address and asked me to send her the photo.
Though the others had pedaled on to Alberobello, the tourist-filled World Heritage site that is home to 1500 trulli, I chose to linger in Locorotondo and slipped into the eight-table Taverna della Duca for lunch. The simple meal of orechiette (Puglia’s signature tiny ear-shaped pasta) and tomato sauce turned out to be one of the finest of the trip. I played “I’m one of them” as the cook/waitress bustled about serving the locals, from businessmen in suits to toddlers chewing on taralli—the region’s traditional bracelet-shaped hard biscuits.
Every day’s ride finished with the relief of a long soak in the tub before we joined up for stretched out evening feasts. One night began with a mozzarella-making demonstration, giving us the chance to taste fresh, creamy cheese that had been stirred up right before our eyes. Another dinner took place at a farmhouse where we toured terraced gardens of herbs and lemon trees, tasted freshly pressed olive oil, and then indulged in a three-hour meal, which featured greens fresh from the fields, homemade pasta, and local wines to match each course.
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