Travelling in the goblinland of Apulia

(A post from 2012, edited & corrected in 2013)

I love the strange looking conical roofs made of black Tufa stone in the south eastern tip of Italy, the Apulia region. I think that they are the ideal homes of goblins and fairies from my childhood fantasy books. The local people call these houses "trullo" (plural, Trulli) that has a nice tinkling sound, appropriate for the fantasy setting.

This weekend, I visited Alberobello, the land of Trulli, an area that has been declared a world heritage site by UNESCO. I stayed in Ostuni and travelled to Brindisi, Oria and Alberobello. This travel diary is about that trip.

***
After the relentless snow of past two weeks in Bologna, the cool sea breeze at the port in Brindisi seemed like a dream.

This small and ancient city has seen almost all important leaders from the pre-second world war India, from Mahatma Gandhi to Subhash Chandra Bose, who travelled by sea to London and other cities of Europe and USA. They used to arrive here from India passing through Suez canal. From Brindisi they travelled northwards in trains through Italy and France to their destinations. It was a much faster way to travel to Europe compared to going around the cape of Good Hope at the southern tip of Africa.

It was at the port of Brindisi that Indian regiments had arrived in 1944 as part of the Allied forces during the second world war and so many of them had given their lives to the war against Nazi and Fascist rule in Europe.

Not far from the castle of Brindisi and the port is a monument commemorating the Italian soldiers from Brindisi who had died in the first world war. Hidden behind the monument, one level below, the inscription on a wall remembers the inauguration of the monument by Mussolini.

At the port the fishermen bring their catch from the sea. A cat sat patiently watching a fishermen's boat dock at the port and looked expectantly at them. One of the fishermen talked to the cat and finally threw a small fish to him.

***
We were at the ancient city of Oria. The earliest inhabitants of the tiny city at the top of a hill in pre-Roman times had come from the Greek island of Creta, but there are also many traces of stone-age prehistoric people in this area.

It was evening when we arrived there. At the meeting we were expecting Nichi Vendola, the charismatic leader of a left party, who is also president of the Apulia region. For such a traditional and conservative area in far south of Italy, Vendola is a strange and unexpected public figure, because he is gay and has been open about his sexuality, as well as, been a strong fighter for rights of different groups of marginlized persons.

People of Pulia have voted overhelmingly for him and this makes me feel hopeful. Vendola has been able to promote development in his region with his progressive and humanistic policies. He is not just a local leader but has a national following and is often seen on national TV.

In his speech he spoke passionately about not following the neoliberal policies that Europe seems to be following these days. He did not talk in usual ideological terms that lfet leaders tend to use. At one point, he said, "What kind of cure for the crisis is that they are proposing to Greece? With cost of living higher than in Italy, a minimum pension of 150 Euro and an average salary of 450 Euro, how are people going to survive? And if people can't live, what kind of economy-cure is that?"

The meeting was about persons with disabilities and Vendola was very eloquent about his own personal experiences and views about exclusion and discrimination that disabled persons and other groups of persons have to face.

Compared to the tabloid culture in UK that thrives on juicy news of scandals and personal issues, in Italian newspapers there has hardly been any gossip about Vendola. Even when persons like Berlusconi made vulgar comments about Vendola's sexuality, he has always responded with maturity, refusing to play a victim.

***
Our meeting was at the place run by a group of nuns in Ostuni, Santa Maria della Nova. It is a huge and imposing building, however only one wing of the building is being used by the nuns. In the other part of the building are other things including a gymn where you can hear the disco music that accompanies the exercise-routines. The nuns are very friendly and it is a good place to stay in Ostuni on a limited budget, though the nuns have restrictions about going in and out at late hours and for food you need to go out.

Ostuni is beautiful, a dense group of whitewashed medieval houses sitting at the top of a hill, that overlooks a valley full of ancient olive trees, a few kilometres from the sea.

Old and gnarled Olive trees have an almost sacred status in Mediterranean region and are supposed to live for hundreds or even a few thousand years. In Athens I had heard of Plato's olive groove, where olive trees were supposed to be 2400 years old. The olive grooves around Ostuni are wonderful.

Near the centre of Ostuni, I was at an apartment that belongs to Antonio and Caterina. The two hundred years old house on the first floor has very high ceilings with beautiful designs on the roof. It is affordable and convenient (in the peak season it costs more). The kitchen has a window that leads to steps and to another independent apartment one floor above. You can rent only the lower part or if you are in a bigger group, you can also rent the upper bedroom that is beautiful (in the picture below). I also loved the terrace from where you can see the sea and the roofs of the houses of Ostuni.

Antonio Marzio is a retired nurse from the Italian air force and the couple is very hospitable and affable. "We grew up in two parallel streets, see that house there, it is just 20 metres from here, I grew up there", Antonio explained to me on the terrace, "but I didn't meet her till I was thirty." They have two sons, both are studying at university in north Italy.

This house belonged to Caterina. Now both of them live in another apartment and rent out this one to tourists. If you are planning a visit to Ostuni and are looking for an apartment in the old part of the town, you can write to Antonio at: marzio.antonio_1953(at)libero.it

***
On my last day in Apulia, I had a free morning. Antonio and Caterina accompanied me to Alberobello in their car. The journey took about 45 minutes. Without their help it would have been impossible for me to visit Alberobello because the there are no direct trains or buses from Ostuni or Brindisi to Alberobello, and thus, one way journey by public transport needs three hours.

The old part of Alberobello with the characteristic trulli houses along winding streets on a hill is increadibly beautiful. Some trulli have small shops with beautiful local handicrafts and friendly women running them. At the top of the hill is a trulli-church dedicated to St Anthony.

In front of one of the old houses we met Sebastiano. He looked to be in his eighties. He was friendly and welcomed us in his trulli home. The conical roofs of trulli are made of tufa stone that is placed one above another in such a way that without using any cement or mortar, it is stable and waterproof. An alcove separated by a curtain had his bed and a small corridor led to a kitchen. He had made a wooden platform beneath the conical roof, that he used as a store room.

Along the street we also met an old lady sitting in the sun on the pavement in front of her house, who was knitting a sweater, which is increasingly a rare sight today as nowadays almost all wollens are made in factories. Antonio asked her about her age and she smiled and shook her head saying, "You never ask a woman her age!"

I bought some fried beans and typical ring like bread called taralli from a shop.

In another shop of incredibly colourful terracotta statues, whistles and art-works, I met feisty and talkative Maria Caporaso. She told us that after she separated from her husband, she wanted to see the world so she has travelled in so many countries including China and India. From her India travel she remembered the chaos outside the Delhi airport and seemed a little disappointed when I told her about the new airport that does not have much chaos.

It seems that her handicrafts are very famous in Japan where she has been many times to exhibitions and TV shows. She showed us some news cuttings from Japanese newspapers and magazines. She herself does traditional embroidery work while the terracotta handicrafts in her shop are by other local artists.

On our way back from Alberobello we stopped shortly at another small town called Cisternina to admire the beautiful and verdant Itria valley dotted here and there with some trulli houses amidist more modern houses.

It was a beautiful and unfortgetable visit to Pulia. The highlight of the visit for me was Alberobello.

After the visit to Alberobello, Antonio and Caterina accompanied me to the airport in Brindisi in time for my flight.

***
Back in Bologna it is still snowing almost nonstop. Looking out of the window at the falling snowflakes, I think of the goblin-houses of the trulliland in Alberobello. It seems like a dream.

***
This post was originally written in 2012

Spring came softly

(A post from 2012, edited & corrected in 2013)

 

During the night the temperatures still go down to 2-3 degrees centigrade but I can already hear the birds chirp outside my window. They are few and their chirping is blunted by the blinds drawn close and the windows shut tight to keep out the cold. But they are there in the morning, the male birds, testing their songs, doing riyaaz for the mating games that should start any day now. I can imagine their future mates listening to them, shaking their heads with the bemused smiles, waiting for the fun times to begin.

In another 2-3 weeks, their nests will be ready, filled with eggs. By end of March, the hard rock concerts will start, as the baby birds will wake up and start screaming for their breakfast. Just outside my window there are three plane trees. They are one of the favourite places for these birds, and at their peak, their noise matches the cacophony of Chandni Chowk any day.

I don't know why, but noisy birds make me somehow think about the Mangeshkar family. Lata, Asha, Usha and Hriday. I can imagine them as kids, all together at home, chatting, laughing and making noise, chirping and twirling.

Our house is at the corner of our apartment block, surrounded by trees on three sides, all of them taller than our second floor windows. On one side, the window looks out at a row of tall poplar trees, behind which you can see a few lime and pine trees. The living room window opens to a group of maple trees with a lone, tall silver lime in the middle. Yet the birds prefer only the plane trees close to my bedroom, there are no nests on poplars, lime and maple trees.

After the big snowfalls in Bologna in the beginning of February that lasted more than two weeks, over past few weeks, bright sun had come out. But it was still cold and the snow took almost three weeks to melt. Then finally last week, the temperatures improved to a balmy 13-14 degrees centigrades.

Suddenly you can feel that spring is coming. Like a shy bride, her head still covered with a veil, peeking out surreptitiously, touching the water in the puddle with her toe to see if it is too cold. Nude thin branches of dark trees, like fakirs doing penance, have tiny gems that can be easily missed if you don't look for them. In another week, they will open into tiny tender green leaves. Roses in the garden in front of our front door have a couple of newly born red coloured leaves at the tip.

The evergreens don't need to wait for the new leaves to come out, they are already getting ready with their flowers. Among the trees in our park that had lost all their leaves during winter, there is just one tree, that has no leaves but is already full of flowers. They are simple looking flowers, without any bright colour or perfume. I think that it is a beech tree but I am not sure.

Why did this tree not come out first with leaves, like the other trees, I wonder. May be it wants to take advantage of this time, when it does not have to compete with other more beautiful flowers, so that birds and insects can help in its pollination?

In the park, there not many children, perhaps because it is still cold. There are just a father and son duo, doing martial arts practice with a stick. The man moves the stick. It twirls in his hands in fluid dancing motions, as it cuts the wind above his head. The child looks at the father and tries to copy him. The man repeates the movements, doing it more slowly this time, showing the boy where to put the feet and how to turn at the waist. Watching them is so beautiful.

Brando, my dog keeps me company in the park. He is completely deaf and can hardly see because of cataract in both eyes. He waits for me patiently, while I click pictures. Till a couple of years ago, it was difficult to go out with him on photography trips because he was full of testosterone and fought with all the male dogs that we encountered. Now he is quiet as lamb, happy for any chance of sitting down and resting.

A man with his dog passes close but Brando does not look up at that dog. Earlier they used to get into barking matches, refusing to stop. "He has become deaf?" the man asks me, shaking his head.

"Also blind", I tell him.

"Oh, he won't last very long now. Remember my other dog, the white one? He became like that, couldn't hear or see and within one month he was gone. This one will also go quickly", he says mournfully, shaking his head.

"As long as he does not suffer", I murmur as we walk away, not telling him that Brando has already been deaf and blind for more than a year.

On the tree there is a robin, the bright red patch on its chest contrasting with its dull brown plumage. However, as I lift my camera to click its picture it flies away. A little while later, I see a jay bird, its bright blue back with black and white stripes at the edges, beautiful as it flies away. I don't even try to click its picture.

At the other end of the park, where sunlight falls for the whole afternoon, there are already some flowers. Tiny white margheritas with yellow circles in their centre. Tiny purple coloured flowers are also there that the Italians call "occhi della madonna" (Madona's eyes). I can also see a few small white flowers and a couple of shining yellow star like flowers.

By next week, there will be hundreds of these flowers. In 2-3 weeks, there will be hundreds of thousands of tiny flowers, covering every inch of the park, along with cherry, jasmine and horse chestnut flowers on the trees. And the spring would have forgotten its veil, admiring herself in the mirror, laughing with abandon. And early in the morning, I will wake up with the cacophony of the chirping birds.


***

Kenya diary - Part 2

(A post from 2012, edited & corrected in 2013)

Old city of Mombasa, 25 September 2012

If Nairobi looked like other modern cities with highways and skyscappers, old city of Mombasa is like Chandani chowk in Delhi, with its narrow winding streets bursting with life. Mombasa is full of mosques and women in black veils.

It is evening but it is not yet dark. After a long working day, coming back to the hotel, I had decided to go out and explore. Tiziana had warned me, “Be careful with your camera and come back before it gets dark.” 

In the old city, I find another Jain temple in one of the alleys of the old town.

It is made of white stone with exquisite designs. The temple also has a library with books and magazines in Gujarati.

As I come out in the street, I see two asian looking men speaking a language that I can vaguely understood. “Can you please tell me how to the go to the old port”, I ask them in English.

One of the men smiles and offers to accompany me towards the port. “It is not so easy to go there through these alleys, you will get lost. You should go out of the old town, and then from the main road, it will be easier to get there.”

We walk together in companionable silence. “Which language was it that you were speaking to to your friend?” I ask him.

“Kutchi, a language from Saurashtra in Gujarat”, he tells me.

He is Shailesh, and he was born in Mombasa. His grandfather had come here from India. They still have some uncles and aunts in India though he has never been there. “Yahi mera desh hai”, he says in Hindi and smiles.

His house is near the main road. When we reach there, he indicates the road going towards the old port and folds his hands in namaste. At the corner of the street, there is a big building of Bank of India and on the other side of the road, the old Portuguese fort.

It is becoming dark and I remember Tiziana’s warning, so I turn back to the hotel without going to the old port. It can wait for another day.

***
Old port of Mombasa, 27 September 2012

We are going back to Nairobi today but our flight is in the afternoon. With Tiziana, I go to visit the old port, where ships from Asia used to come and Africans for the slave trade were taken to different parts of the world. The water in the bay is supposed to be very deep, so ships can come close to the land.

The streets of the old port are like those of the old city, narrow and winding. In one old building near the stairs going down to the port, there is an nice old restaurant. We go there to drink some tamarind juice. It is well diluted but still it has the tangy sour taste of Tamarind. Unlike rasam, it has no spices, and people usually drink it with sugar. However, I drink it natural without adding anything else. I love it.

***
Kenyata tower, Nairobi, 28 September 2012

Our morning meeting is late so rather than sitting and waiting for an hour, I decide to walk to Kenyata tower and take a trip to the top. The ticket for foreigners is about 4 dollars and the lift takes you to 27th floor. From there you need to climb the stairs to the 30th floor.

I walk all around the circular terrace, trying to identify buildings and places.

"The Asians live there, in that rich part of Nairobi", the guide pointed to me. Is there a mild rebuke in his voice? I have heard that rebuke other times as well, about rich Asians who control all the commerce and zip around in fancy cars, keeping their distance from the local persons.

I think that the Asians know it, this feeling of local resentment against "foreigners" who take away their riches and do not mix with them. I am not sure if they have any political party here like the Italian Northern League or the Maharashtrian Nav Nirmal Sena, inciting locals against "outsiders".

"I am a tourist, and I have come only for a few days", I tell the guide to distance myself from the Kenyan Asians.

***
Naivasha, 29 September 2012

Today is my last day in Kenya. Tomorrow, I have an early morning flight back to Europe. Today we are going to spend the day doing some sightseeing in Naivasha in the Rift valley. The journey from Nairobi takes about 2 hours in the car and I love the descent from the mountains down to the savanna with wonderful views of the valley including an old mountain with a volcano crater from prehistoric times.

On our way to Oloiden lake, we stop at Shimba lodge on Naivasha lake for a coffee. While waiting for the coffee, I walk around. There are many ibis and deer in the park. Suddenly I see a white bird with black spots, wings flapping widly, getting ready to dive in the water to catch a fish. I aim the camera and click furiously, my heart palpitating. That bird is marvellous.

Afterwards, while sipping the coffee, I check the images to see if I have managed to catch that bird on my camera. Most of the images look blurred but there are a couple that look good.

Oloiden lake does not get many visiters. There are no tourist lodges or hotels here, only rural houses. Near the lake there is a community project that runs some boat trips for 4 thousand shillings ( about 425 dollars). Women are taking bath in the lake on one side and on the other side, a group of pink flamingos is in the water.

The boat trip is absolutely amazing. The dark green waters look cool, with geese, groups of flamingos and other water birds. Near the edges of the lake, there are lot of hyppos, submerged in water. In the forest around the lake, there are many zebras, giraffes and deer.

***
We go to Fisherman’s cove on Naivasha lake for lunch. While we wait for lunch, Wilson, our driver, points out the monkeys on the trees. They are small monkeys, black in colour, with a snow white fur on parts of their faces, backs and tails. These are called Colobus.

On some trees, they have fixed small wooden ledges with food for monkeys and birds. One of the monkeys finally comes down to one ledge to eat. However, when I try to go close to it, it runs away.

***
The day is not yet over. We go to Hells Gate safari park. This is the only safari park in Kenya where you can rent a bicycle and go around the park on it or even walk there. This is because there are no big cats (lions and jaguars) in this park and it is relatively safe. The most “dangerous” animal in the park are wild buffaloes. Park ticket is 25 dollars for foreigners.

It is full of zebras, giraffes, deer and warthogs. However the most beautiful thing about the park are its rugged rocks and craggy rocky hills. The panorama is wonderful.

The park has a wonderful narrow gorge called Hell’s gate. However, if it rains it is dangerous to go there because rain water from all the surrounding hills comes down thundering in the gorge, sweeping away everything. Some tourists have even died there after sudden rain falls.

Looking at the dark omnious clouds, we decide to forego the gorge trek, and go back to Nairobi.

***
The missed flight, 1 October 2012

Our flight was cancelled today because of some technical problems in the plane. We waited for more than 3 hours in the plane, waiting for the take-off. However, once Kenya airways decided that the flight was going to be cancelled, they were surprisingly efficient. We were quickly brought to a five star hotel in the city centre, not far from Kenyata tower. We have to stay here for one day and our flight will be tomorrow morning.

I have had cancelled flights many times but usually it takes hours for the airlines to organise everything and provide hotels. In comparison, the way Kenya airways has dealt with it is really great.

The view from the hotel room window is very nice but I have no desire to go out. I am spending the day working on my reports.

During lunch I had met a lady and a couple from Netherlands. The lady had been visiting some development projects in Kenya and some other countries. She looked a little anxious but has a beautiful smile. The man in the couple had also worked in a community development project in Kenya for six months a few years ago and now had come back with his wife to visit his old friends.

Our conversation was easy and friendly, probably because we are all linked to the “international development world” that goes from “developed” countries towards the “developing” countries.

For dinner also, I again sat with them, our conversation taking off from where it had been interrupted at lunch.

I feel comfrotable with them and this makes me feel guilty. Sitting in a five star hotel, with rooms that cost more than the monthly salaries of the people we are supposed to help, and going back to our comfortable worlds in Europe!

I did stay in realy simple and basic accomodation for all the visit and I did not choose to come here in this luxurious hotel, I tell myself, trying to assauge my guilt, while we eat our five star buffet.

***
You can also read part 1 of this diary.

***
This post was originally written in 2012

Kenya Diary - Part 1

(A post from 2012, edited & corrected in 2013)

The journey, 19 January 2012 

It is not yet five o’clock when I reach the Bologna airport. The self check-in at a machine in the airport makes me feel like an old human model that has been long overtaken by newer and better functioning models. I fumble and curse till a young lady feels obliged to come and help me complete it.

The self check-in does not mean that I don’t have to queue to check-in the luggage and I am not sure if the airlines save any real time this way, except may be for persons who do not have luggage for check-in?

There are two young women standing in the queue behind me, bitching about their boss. Their conversation is a torrent of Italian cuss words, with plenty of assholes, dickheads and fucking-offs. Probably a second world war sailor would have been proud to have that vocabulary. It makes me smile and wake up. And I can feel a little pity towards their boss. Poor sod does not stand any chance, these two would eat him in one gulp, without ever burping!

***
Can someone help me, the guy in front of me asks the lady at the desk, checking the boarding passes. “Sorry, we don’t have anyone, you have to manage yourself”, the lady answers without looking up.

The guy looks young, in early twenties, and is probably south american. He has two bags, one on each shoulder, a ruck sack on his back, a pram with a baby, another bag hanging from the pram, a doll and some toys. We need to go down the stairs to a waiting bus and I find the young man standing there holding the baby and folding the pram, with bags scattered all around him. A couple of other passengers pass by without stopping. I ask him to give me the baby and a bag. It is a baby girl and she is still sleeping. He manages to pick up the remaining things and we reach the bus.

I go up the stairs to the plane behind him, still carrying the baby who smells of milk and is so soft in my arms. Her name is Noemi and they are going to Lima, Peru. She has woken up and she smiles at me and touches my cheek with her tiny hands. As I hand her to the guy in the plane, I feel a tiny tug of regret.

Is he her father? Did he have a fight with her mother and is taking away the baby with him? He seems so tender and careful with her, holding her in his arms and feeding her with a bottle. Or may be they are immigrants and need to work, so they don’t know where to leave the baby during the day. There are not enough day care centres in Bologna for the young babies of working mothers and anyway, are so costly and out of reach for immigrants. May be he is going to leave her with the grandparents in Peru till she grows up a little and can go to school? Why is the baby’s mother not with them? She did not get leave or they did not have enough money for the two air-tickets? I keep on thinking about them for some time.

Thousands of immigrants go through similar life choices, and probably hundreds of thousands of children grow up like that, without their parents. If I had a child like Noemi and I had to leave her like this, how would I feel? The idea makes me feel like crying.

***

The training, 22 September 2012

It is the third day of training and there are about 25 persons from different grassroots organisations from different parts of Kenya participating in it.

The first two days have gone very well. On the first day we had worked on different kinds of disabilities, the barriers they face and how communities can help in removing those barriers. On the second day, we had focused on working collectively through self-help groups and organisations of persons with disabilities. I am not showing them any slides or making any presentations except when we conclude the day and I want to go through the different things we had discussed together during the day. During the day we work through discussions and I stimulate them to share their ideas and experiences.

Carol, a psychologist teaching in a Nairobi university, is helping me to facilitate this training. She is wonderful. She listens to my ideas and then interprets them in her own ways, explaining them to the participants in Kshwahili. So I don’t need to worry about making cultural gaffes.

However, today it is not going on so well. We are supposed to work on advocacy and how to influence decision makers. I have started a discussion on how different groups in the society influence decision makers in different ways, and we had been talking about bribing, corruption and nepotism. I can sense a wariness in the group and discussions are punctuated by long periods of silences.

In the city centre, I had seen a very eloquent graffitti about corruption in the Kenyan politics. I am sure that people from all countries can relate to that graffitti, because corruption has no boundaries.

We talk about transparency and democracy in the organisations, and I can see tense faces all around me. Completing this session has been a real struggle and I feel frustrated.

Afterwards I speak to Tiziana about it. “What were you expecting?” she asks me, “You are touching on some raw nerves there. Corruption, nepotism is not just in politics, or among high ups. Though on a much smaller scale, it is also there in all organisations, even in grassroots organisations.”

***

Jain temple in Nairobi, 22 September 2012

Nairobi is full of Jain temples. On our way to Limuru road where are having the training, I pass in front of three big temples every day. During the lunch break, I decide to go and visit the one close to our training centre.

The temple has statues of Mahavir and different thirthankaars. Murali, the priest is from Rajasthan. He came here in 1988. Before him, his father was a priest here.

***

Wild life in Nairobi, 23 September 2012

We are free today and Tiziana takes me to the Nairobi national park. It is a wild life safari park inside the city, just 7 km from the city centre, close to the airport.

I buy a 50 dollar foreigner’s ticket for a safar in an old run down bus. The bus if mostly full of Kenyans, who have to pay about 4 dollars for this trip. Most foreigners do the safari in small jeeps, paying 200 dollars per person.

The Nairobi national park is incredible. It starts in the lush green forest and quickly goes down the hills towards a vast savanna with tall dry grass full of zebras, giraffes, baboons, wild buffaloes, impala and other varies of deer, white and grey rhinos, hyppos and lions.

Yet all around the savanna you can see the new houses and sky scappers of Nairobi, circling the national park. The pressure of growing urbanization, attrition between wildlife and people all around and poaching are big problems, the guide acknowledges sadly.

The three hour long safari trip is worth the money. We are lucky since we can see almost all the different animals during this trip, except for the male lion. To compensate for that, we find a lioness with her cubs, resting on a mound a little way away from the bus track.

There is also a zoo-safari park near the entrance to the national park. However, for 25 dollars ticket for the foreigners, I found it disappointing in comparison to the ride in the national park.

(End of part 01)

***
This post was originally written in 2012