Chania Part I (Cat-Man and The Chain)

Chania

Part I (Cat-Man and The Chain)

Ancient City of Cydonia (Today's Chania)

     A puff of smoke appeared as the wheels of our Ryanair flight from Bari (read Barium Bound, 31 Jan '24) spun up as they abruptly contacted the tarmac, signaled our arrival.  Out my window, an 11,000-foot runway filled the flat coastal plain where, centuries earlier, fishermen eked out an existence from the sea.  Today, this airfield is one of the main entry points to the island. 

Following two nights in Bari, Maria Elena, Gianna, Leonardo and I looked forward to spending a week in the old Venetian Port of Chania (ha-knee-ah), located along the northwest coast of Crete.  The city of Chania is a maze of cobbled streets lined

Welcome to Lithinon Street's
Dead-End Courtyard

with traditional shops, cafes, and tavernas, where visitors can enjoy local Cretan delicacies, making it one of Crete's most beloved spots.  Archaeological evidence suggests the island has been inhabited since the Neolithic Age.  The Chania area would later become the site of a Minoan community and, subsequently, a Greek settlement known as Cydonia, an important city-state in Classical Greece.

The four of us had literally arrived In the Heart of Old Town, which was both the location of our lovely rental as well as the name of our temporary home.  We arrived in Chania by taxi, which twisted and turned its way through narrow streets until it dead-ended at a weathered wall with a grey door that likely predated the Venetian occupation of the city.  But the “dead end” was only for vehicles.  Stepping from the taxi, we discovered a double-stone archway leading into a tranquil courtyard surrounded by historic homes, trees, and stillness.  Our accommodation for the week lay before us across the courtyard.  We hadn’t expected such an intimate, private retreat in the

Our Beautiful Chania Accommodations

bustling heart of Chania, so close to the harbor and city center.  Our temporary home was perfect.  It was roomy, fully equipped, and included a rooftop terrace with a view of the harbor and lighthouse.

There was one quirk though.  Despite the accouterments of modern toilets, we were instructed not to dispose of used toilet paper in the expected manner.  It had to be bagged and set out in a special trash barrel.  We knew the courtyard had a history.  This proved it.  In addition to photos of the courtyard in historic folios, we now had an inkling of its age, evidently bolstered by remnants of an ancient plumbing system.  

The Romans had been here. If I probed around some, might I uncover evidence of the ancient Roman technique of opus reticulatum where the facing of concrete walls held diamond-shaped blocks? 

Historic Print Showing Our
Temporary Home in the Lithinon
Courtyard

I was only deterred by what I imagined would be an outrageous but justified repair bill for the damage I’d make.  If anything, our lodging still retained an old-world atmosphere where ancient collides with contemporary.

There was something else worth mentioning about our courtyard: His name was Jürgen, and he was our neighbor.  What hair he still retained was a mop of unkempt white, and much like the UK’s former Prime Minister Boris Johnson, he struck me at first as an eccentric character.  German by nationality, he had lived in England but now permanently resided in Chania, along with his wife and eight house cats, who came and went through an always-open doorway.  With an infectious smile like Alice’s Cheshire cat, I was inclined to believe he was but another member of the clowder, the ninth cat.

At first glance, as he sat regally poised in his doorway, he reminded me of Donald Sutherland, an actor I’ve always enjoyed.  With a cat on his lap, surveying his courtyard estate, a place of shared harmony, the cats and cat-man intertwined in a daily pattern of co-existence.  He appeared to lead a quiet life with a relaxed routine: watering the courtyard plants, feeding the cats, tidying up the surroundings, and, on afternoons, clothed in swim trunks

Jürgen Installed in His Doorway,
Cat on His Lap

with a towel underarm, walking to the beach for a swim with a rhythm that evoked a familiar pattern.

It was Jürgen who served as our lighthouse of information on where to go, what to see, and what to avoid, like one of his front door trees.  He advised me not to touch the tree’s flowers.  Apparently, it was a forbidden tree like that of the Garden of Eden, in this case, not of forbidden fruit, but poisonous flowers.  Forget about eating them like zucchini blossoms.  Like wolfsbane, these were not even safe to touch.  Always a good student, I heeded his advice, and while sitting outside on my own, I also warned others.  After I’d done this a few times, I became curious.  Could this simply be a ploy to prevent passers-by from taking his flowers? 

My guess is that my early judgment of him hinged simply on how different he was from me, which I’d labeled odd behavior leaning toward eccentricity.  At first glance, sinner as I am, my judgmental reaction was as I had when I first saw Joe Rogan, the American podcaster.  How quickly I’d made the jump, stereotyping him, not my type, which I doubled down on when I saw his arms upholstered with tattoos.  I’d assigned him a false persona until I listened to what he was saying and asking.  Undoubtedly, it was a grave fault on my part, something to work on.  So much for first impressions.  In a similar manner, the more I got to know Jürgan, the more I

A Not to Touch Specimen

grew to like him, and not just because of his delightful British English filled with dropped R’s.  My perspective of him, mostly from across the span of the courtyard, was enough to correct my initial impression of him.  I wished I had more time to spend with Jürgan.  I’d have liked to have known him better, if not longer, especially to have learned more about those flowers and what he made of me.

 We were soon off to explore Chania, the center of activity on this part of the island.  It lies nine miles from where we landed, along the northwest coast of Crete at the old Venetian Port.  With its boat and cruise ship activity, this key facility serves as a link to the world beyond, as it had thousands of years ago.  Due to its strategic position along key Mediterranean arteries of trade, Chania was constantly fought over, changing hands between rival empires and enduring near-constant turmoil.  It belonged to the Roman Empire, then the Andalusian Arabs (824–961 AD), followed by the Byzantine Empire, and eventually the Venetian Republic (1204–1669 AD) before it fell under Ottoman rule.  Only in 1898 did it gain autonomy, ultimately uniting with Greece in 1913. 

In 69 BC, at the time of Pompey and Caesar, the Roman General Quintus Caecilius Metellus Creticus was entrusted with the task of ousting the Mediterranean pirates headquartered on Crete.  He

Today's Chania Lighthouse

defeated the Cretans and conquered Cydonia (today’s Chania), to which he granted the privileges of an independent city-state.  His actions explain his appended cognomen Creticus, the Latin word for Cretan.  After Caesar’s heir, Augustus, became emperor, Crete was officially incorporated into the Roman Empire, where it experienced a period of prosperity with the construction of temples, amphitheaters, baths, and aqueducts.  It remained under Roman rule for 900 years. 

Following the dissolution of the Byzantine Empire in 1204, Crete was allotted to Bonifacio I, the Marquis of Montferrat, and leader of the Fourth Crusade.  Montferrat quickly sold his rights to the Republic of Venice.  Venetian troops occupied the island beginning in 1205, where they remained for over four and a half centuries. 

The Venetians built today’s emblematic symbol of Chania, one of the world's oldest and most iconic lighthouses, which lies at the end of a massive breakwater of masonry and stones at the harbor’s entrance.  This lighthouse was originally part of a naval post created by the Venetians to protect the city from the advancing Ottoman Empire.  Its defenses included a chain, now lost, that could be strung from the base of the lighthouse across to the Fortress of Firkas on the opposite shore to stop ships from

View of Chania Harbor & Lighthouse
From Rooftop Terrace

entering or leaving the harbor.  Later, during the period of Turkish occupation, the lighthouse was repaired by Egyptian troops, then supporting the weakening Ottoman Empire. 

This historic lighthouse and restrictive chain gave me pause to imagine life in Chania during the Venetian period of rule.  Join me in an imaginary mix of fact and fiction into the life of Damien, whom I envision, like countless other solitary souls, often gazed across the turquoise waters of its vibrant harbor where I presently stood, contemplating an uncertain future …

    Damien Psomes, though yet a young man, had grown old enough to question his future.  He sought to alter the course of his existence, which he saw as a parody of true life.  His dreams of adventure far outstripped his father’s bakery.  His mind swirled with thoughts of escaping his mundane life in search of something greater.  His avenues of escape appeared limited: the life of a priest, the merchant marine, an apprenticeship, or perhaps enlisting in military service in the Crusade.

    He knew that leaving his family’s bakery would disappoint his father, but he wagered the bounty from life elsewhere, one beyond the bakery door would offset the pain of his absence.  Times were hard.  His father’s

The Old Town When It Was Younger 
(Note the Chain at Harbor Entrance) 

business was struggling as costs soared, with Damien, one more mouth to feed, only adding to the financial burden.  The thought of his life becoming a mirror of his father’s, filled with flour, dough, and tedious routine, left him despondent.  The drudgery was far more than enough to provoke him to embrace any opportunity that might lie beyond the harbor’s chain that symbolized a life sentence of confinement.  “Let the mantle fall to my younger brother,” he thought, determined to somehow escape his pre-ordained destiny.  With this ambition burning within him, he began to imagine an escape, not just from his father’s bakery but the very island itself.

    Damien let the moments stretch each day as he watched the harbor, lost in thought.  His gaze would linger on the protective chain that stretched across the port’s entrance and had come to symbolize his confinement.  In those moments, an inescapable lure for a life beyond the chain only grew stronger within him.  Remaining in Chania felt like a knife cutting deeper into his spirit.  He knew he had to find a way out.  There had to be more waiting for him on the other side. 

He’d often imagined how different life would be elsewhere, beyond the chain, beyond the curve of the horizon.  The world out there, filled with endless possibilities, beckoned as though he was already there.  From the strategic crossroads of Chania, he might go south to Egypt, journey northwest toward Venice, travel north to Greece, or venture northeast to Byzantium.  Certainly, the people and languages would be challenging, but in Chania, he’d grown accustomed to the many cultures that interacted there daily.

    Damien had heard rumors and whispers of ways to escape the island, but they were always vague.  No longer willing to let the world float in and out before him with the tide, he paid an informant, with knowledge of the goings-on in the port, with the only thing he had to offer: bread.  His informant told him of the expected arrival of a Templar ship destined for Venice.  Occasionally, an injured knight might require looking after.  Others, commensurate with their social rank, with the

loss of an attendant, required assistance.  Even the occasional need for a replacement of a crew member might work.  It was exactly the opportunity Damien had been waiting for.

    Damien’s heart beat faster several weeks later when he sighted three Templar galleons at anchor in the harbor.  This was his moment.  Mustering his resolve, he boarded a supply boat bound for one of the ships and, upon arriving, inquired about joining the crew in some capacity.  His first attempt failed, though not completely.  The first mate mentioned that one of the accompanying ships needed kitchen help.  Seizing the opportunity, his appeal there was successful.  His literacy combined with familiarity with the Venetian Italian dialect helped considerably, as did his bakery experience, suggested by his surname, Psomes, which meant “bread maker.”

    It was a bittersweet triumph for Damien days later when, with the arrival of the tide, the ship’s sails billowed, and the refitted ships passed the harbor chain, and cruising by the lighthouse, he escaped Chania.  Glimpsing the beckoning world beyond, he felt free.  He never looked back.  Yet, deep inside, regardless of what lay ahead, a quiet sadness lingered.  He had escaped but the cost of his decision had crushed his family's expectations.  The cost had been high, and what lay ahead was uncertain, but he was sure of one thing: he was in control of his fate.

What happened to Damien when the ship’s sails disappeared beyond the horizon is best left to the imagination.  However, nothing could halt our Greek adventure, even in the absence of a long-gone harbor chain.  Shortly after we’d settled in, we were off to explore the bustling Saturday Market along Minoos Street.

 — TO BE CONTINUED —

From That Rogue Tourist,

Paolo

1.  Kingdom_of_Candia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kingdom_of_Candia

2.  Chania, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chania

Reference to our Chania Accommodation “In The Heart of Old Town”, https://www.booking.com/hotel/gr/in-heart-of-old-town-w-venetian-port-views.html#map_closed

Barium Bound

 Barium Bound                                               

Giuseppe 'Peppino' Rosania's Calessino Taxi

The day following a ride through the Borgo aboard Peppino’s ape, “Calessino,” we departed Calitri once again.  It’s always a treat to be driven through the Borgo’s narrow lanes, especially for first-timers like Len and JoAnn.  The route is so narrow at times that, as Peppe skillfully navigates, all aboard are careful to keep their fingers inside.  In any case, it served as a shakedown ride for the next day I’d be driving.  It wasn’t that we had itchy feet to move on; not at all.  This next excursion had been thoroughly planned by JoAnn and Maria Elena for months.  However, the “itch theory” was somewhat supported by the fact that it had been only six days since our return from Ischia. (see Tutt’Appost IV) allowing just enough time to rest, recover, and refresh our clothing.  That plus, by then, we had cycled through our favorite local eateries like Tre Rose, The Golden Mill, and nearby L’Antica Grotta. 

Our last stop in town was at Leonardo’s ESSO station to fill up with fuel.  Little Bianca is a hybrid
Fiat that combines gasoline with GPL, the Italian acronym for Gas di Petrolio Liquefatto, which is

similar to the propane we use in backyard barbecues.  From there, to add a touch of variety to this outing, we headed east from our Calitri pied-à-terre.  About 45 minutes later, we reached Candela and joined the A16 Autostrada, with the Adriatic Sea coastline straight ahead of us.  Just shy of the sea, we would turn south and follow the coastal highway to our destination: Bari, an ancient commercial port city focused on eastern trade known as Barium in antiquity. 

Google Maps got us to the La Baia Best Western Hotel in Palese, a northern suburb of Bari close to the airport.  By this time, we also needed refueling.  Since it was still too early to check in, we dropped off our luggage and, on

Seaside Lo Scglio Ristorante

recommendation, drove to Lo Scoglio for lunch, a nearby seafood restaurant by the shore.  Upon entering, the presence of five or six waiters adorned in vests and bow ties was a clear sign that Lo Scoglio was an exceptional restaurant, one that had not retreated to the advance of fast food.  It wasn’t long before the four of us were enjoying a chilled bottle of white wine, later followed by a flaky Napolean-like pastry.  In between, we enjoyed plates of calamari, mussels, octopus salad, and a mixed assortment of fish.  While we’d been the first to arrive, the

Inside the Lo Scoglio

restaurant was filled to capacity by the time we left.

Following check-in, we got directions to the train station.  It was a few short blocks away and easy to find, considering we followed a gaggle of young women there, maybe ten all told, apparently on a girl’s night out.  Gathered at a station’s ticket (biglietto) machine, we observed their button-mashing process but when our turn arrived, so had the train.  The four of us were just too slow to repeat the process, let alone get them validated in the stamping machine before boarding.  Thankfully, the conductor, with a wave and shouting Avante, signaled us to board regardless of whether we had tickets, stamped or not.  Paraphrasing a famous line from the 1947 hit starring Humphrey Bogart, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, “

A Bountiful Seafood Assortment

We Didn’t Need No Stink’en Badges Tickets!” we were on our way.  

Our ticketless ‘posse’ was headed downtown, our immediate destination, Stazione di Bari Centrale, the modern heart of the city and gateway to excellent shopping, dining, and the historic narrow street charm of Bari Vecchia (Old Town).  We had all of this in mind as we exited the station into the amazing setting of Piazza Aldo Moro, a square dedicated to a former prime minister of Italy.  As a tribute to the region’s history, this fountain

Train Ticket Machine

bears the coats of arms of the six Apulian provinces.

We followed pedestrian-only avenues through the Giardini di Piazza Umberto I, a palm-lined park, toward the bustling Corso Cavour.  Beneath our feet lay historic ground with strong Greek influences before the Roman era began in the 3rd century BC.  Bari has come a long way since.  It once owned a tough reputation on par with rough and tumble Naples, but as its sister city on the opposite coast has cleaned up its act, so has Bari.  Until 20 years ago, Old Bari was known as “mugging-town, a forbidden zone run by criminal clans.  While not yet of the grandeur of Paris’ Champs-Élysées, the streets, lined with cafes, their outside tables crowded with patrons, gave off a similar charm.  We were tempted many times to join them, and though we had plenty of time,

Moro Piazza Fountain Before the
Bari Central Train Station

we already had a destination in mind.  Along the way, of course, we shopped.  A purse comes to mind, along with soccer team T-shirts and pennants, in addition to a sun hat. 

Arriving at Cavour, we followed it northward in a light rain toward the historic Teatro Petruzzelli, the city's opera and ballet theater.  From this landmark, we turned onto Via Salvatore Cognetti and made our way toward the lungomare, a promenade on the sea, until we arrived for our dinner reservation at Il Gusto Le 2 Aquile, recommended by friends who’d recently visited.

When we arrived, a waiter directed us to a table outside next to the busy street.  I immediately objected, reiterating our reservation, and asked for an inside table, especially given the rain.  I suspect

Walking Inviting Bari

Italians prefer to avoid conflict, a hunch that proved accurate when, after a brief conversation with someone inside, we were shown to a table inside.  I crossed my fingers, hoping the food would make up for the rocky start. 

Of the hundreds of restaurants in Bari, there was a particular reason that drew me to this one.  One of the many dishes served at Il Gusto Le 2 Aquile is Spaghetti All'Assassina or ‘Killer’s Pasta.’  It is a dish we’d heard of and even made in the US with my daughter but never eaten at its birthplace, here in Puglia.  In this region of Italy, pasta has a regal reputation, far eclipsing anything Chef Boyardee could have envisioned after he departed Ellis Island.  The cuisine here is astonishingly rich, incredibly varied, intensely regionalized, and revered by locals with a fervor that borders on religious zeal.

Spaghetti All'Assassina made its public debut by chance sometime toward the end of the 1960s in Bari.  As for its essentials, not to be ignored, is the use of an iron pan or skillet for better heat conduction and wide enough to accommodate a handful of dry spaghetti of box length lying flush on

The White Tablecloth Decor
of Il Gusto Le 2 Aquile

the bottom without the need to snap it to fit.  According to this dish’s growing lore, the oiled, burnt frying pan is never washed.  Instead, to preserve its seasoning, it is cleaned with newspaper so that it stays greasy.  A little printer’s ink shouldn’t bother anyone, right?  Another enormous distinction between ordinary spaghetti preparation and this dish is that instead of boiling the spaghetti, it is cooked directly in the pan by consistently adding a watery tomato broth to it each time the liquid is absorbed.  This is the difference; here, the spaghetti is rehydrated not with water but with the ragu.  All this is minor, however.  With proper pan in hand and mindful of the broth technique, it is also of utmost importance that the result be burnt, crispy, and spicy.  I’m serious.  Thinking “outside the box” as they say, the use of pasta right out of the box confirms that despite what many may believe, spaghetti all'assassina wasn't created as a way to use leftover pasta as is often the case with a makeshift pasta frittata where a crispy

Nicely Burnt Spaghetti all'Asssassina

crunch can also be expected.  How is that for a novel, diabolical killer dish? 

 It wasn’t long before we had all ordered and began to chat with a couple at a neighboring table.  I’ll skip over what we chatted about and won't describe the other dishes we eagerly awaited, for I found myself perseverating on the Assassin Pasta I’d ordered.  Instead, I was eager to observe the techniques employed in this Holy Grail of Assassin Pasta going on just beyond the swinging kitchen doors.  To my surprise, when I asked permission from the manager, I was allowed a peek at their process and quickly excused myself from the conversation with the Portuguese swimsuit designer and her Vodaphone lawyer.

The chef greeted me warmly.  In the minutes I

Par-Boiling the Pasta

had, I observed him violate the first cardinal rule toward the perfection of Assassin Pasta as he parboiled the spaghetti for a minute or two.  Could he be forgiven?  In a restaurant, maybe it is necessary because it saves time. Nevertheless, strike one, he used water!  Following this, he removed the now limp strands and placed them in an aluminum, possibly stainless steel pan, now violating who knows how many faux pas.  Knowing too much and seeing too much, I left.  How was it?  Discretion here is the better option, but it was not on par with what my daughter attempted on her first try.

Though we enjoyed wine with our meal, in keeping with the rocky reception and the pasta, I probably should have ordered something on the rocks.  So there you have it.  With the inclement weather, the manager ordered a taxi, and it arrived just as we paid the bill.  All that remained as we departed was to return for another go somewhere else; the next time, we’ll try Il Gusto, also highly recommended, in the Bari Murat district.  This ‘golden fleece’ of a pasta treasure lies somewhere out there, yet to be discovered.

The next morning, we rode the train into downtown Bari once again, this time fortunately absent any ticket problems.  Our focus was on the historic heart of the city, Vecchia Bari (Old Town Bari). 

Typical Old Town, This
One With a Corner Shrine

This charming district is located on a narrow triangular peninsula between the Adriatic Sea and the modern part of the city.  Two sides of the triangle abut the sea.  The other reaches the Murat district of this capital city that we passed through the day before.  There are many ways to get there.  We chose an expedient route to enter the historic district, following Via Sparano da Bari straight from Piazza Aldo Moro and the Centrale Train Station.  

The Old Town is just that, old, with roots extending back more than 2,000 years.  The Old Town is a living, breathing part of Bari, with locals carrying on daily activities like shopping in street markets, playing Scopa, the Italian card game, in the squares, and chatting in the streets, totally oblivious of those trying to get by.  It features narrow winding streets, alleys, tunnels, hidden corners, balconies, and popular squares like Piazza del Ferrarese and Piazza Mercantile.  These two lively squares are connected and serve as hubs of activity in the Old Town.  Piazza del Ferrarese, featuring colorful buildings and outdoor cafes, is a charming square and an excellent stop for lunch while enjoying the view of the nearby sea.  Adjacent Piazza Mercantile is a historic square surrounded by historical buildings related to centuries of shipping and commerce.

Wandering this ancient maze is one of the best ways to experience Bari Vecchia. It quickly captivates you, transports you back in time, and offers charming glimpses into its rich cultural and architectural heritage.  Its alleys are lined with traditional

Maria Elena Maneuvers Along
'Pasta Alley'

white-washed houses, small shops, and local eateries where you can sample authentic Bari cuisine, like orecchiette pasta.  These ear-shaped pasta are found everywhere, with so many nonne (grandmothers) sitting outside offering them for sale that one area is even called Pasta Alley.  One in particular, Nona Maria, has grown so famous that curious visitors often block the passageway by her booth, where she sells her ‘little ears.’  Her hospitality has since expanded to an adjacent B&B.  

We also visited the Basilica di San Nicola, a Romanesque church that is one of Bari's most important landmarks.  It houses the relics of St. Nicholas, a 4th-century bishop who lived in the Roman era and is the patron saint of Bari, as well as many other cities around the world.  His fame is known globally today, and it is worth mentioning how this came to be. 

In 1087, his remains were brought to Bari from what is today Turkey.  With his arrival in Italy, the tradition of gift-giving during Christmas caught on.  This was because Nicholas adhered to Christ’s admonition, “Sell all, give to the poor and follow me,” which he followed by anonymously giving to the poor.  Later, Saint Nicholas was so loved by the Dutch that when they settled in New York City, they brought their patron saint, Saint Nicholas, with them.  Mimicking the Bible, which tells of a judgment day, Christmas evolved to include a “mini judgment day” serving as a check-up on children’s behavior.  

During the Protestant Reformation, the tradition of Christmas gift-giving was attributed to the Christ Child or Christkindl, which over the years grew to be pronounced Chris Kringle.  Gift-giving, in association with Saint Nicholas to this point, took place on 6 December.  When the Reformation dissolved Saint Days, the tradition moved to December 25th.  Nicholas, too, transformed over time into the familiar figure we know today, depicted in a Flemish outfit with baggy trousers, a leather belt, boots, and a pipe.  Like the foretold actual judgment day when people’s lives are examined, a naughty and nice children’s book evolved.  As a saint, Nicholas would participate in a Last Judgment and in this

A Now Grassy Moat to the Side of 
Castello Normanno-Svevo

mini-judgment as well.  Heaven became the North Pole, where reindeer, including Rudolph, were plentiful, and angels were transformed into elves.  This legend was later immortalized in 1823 by Clement Moore in his poem The Night Before Christmas, which describes Kris Kringle’s yearly return.  Both Kris Kringle and Saint Nicholas are named for this legendary figure, Santa Claus.

From the Basilica, we next strolled along Via Marinai and Martinez until we reached the limits of the Old Town overlooking Corso Antonio De Tullio.  By this point, we’d grown tired and looked for a taxi back to our hotel.  We walked along Corso Antonio De Tullio until we neared Castello Normanno-Svevo (Norman-Swabian Castle), but we remained unsuccessful in finding one.  The castle, built in 1132, has since changed hands many times and witnessed many historic events.  Interestingly, in 1221,

Outside of Al Pescatore Ristorante
Hoping for a Cab

Frederick II, the Holy Roman Emperor, among other titles, met St. Francis of Assisi in this very castle.  According to tradition, Frederick had a courtesan sent to Francis's room while he watched through a peephole to see what would happen.  When Francis sent the woman away, Frederick was impressed with his principles, and the two spent the rest of the night in conversation.¹  This historic footnote may have been prophetic, for since then, the area has become a major nightlife district.  We never went inside.  Rather, we crossed through a parking lot toward the Al Pescatore (To the Fisherman) restaurant, located across the street from the castle, just a stone's throw from the sea.

Unfortunately, we weren’t there to eat but rather to seek help with getting a taxi.  As we approached, we were fortunate to meet the manager who was conveniently outside on a break.  In typical Italian fashion, he went out of his way to help us.  While he made numerous calls to different taxi services, we had time to pore over the menu.  The Al Pescatore seafood tradition includes fish dishes like mussels, clams, grilled fish, seafood carpaccio, mixed tartare, massive raw seafood platters, caviar, and oysters, each prepared and served with the kind of quality that would make Poseidon himself give a nod of approval.  If the manager’s selfless help, with nothing expected in return, is any indication of their service, we’re definitely planning a return trip for dinner when we return to Bari — though that will have to wait as our time in Bari was at an end.  In the morning, our journey would take us eastward to a

Next Month

new destination: the fifth-largest island in the Mediterranean.  Stay tuned to see where we land next… hopefully with better luck with the taxis!

 

From That Rogue Tourist,

Paolo

 

1.  Castello Normanno-Svevo, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castello_Normanno-Svevo_(Bari)