My dirty little secret
I have a couple of close friends who like me share a dirty secret: property porn. It's a lust more for adventure than bricks and mortar and it can strike at any time and in many places. With me, it is usually late at night when sleepless or bored.
My little problem emerged in the earliest days of the internet and luckily, as editors have come and gone, I can admit now that it began in the workplace many moons ago when I was State Political Editor for The Sydney Morning Herald. During boring debates as MPs filibustered late into the night, I'd ramble off into the countryside of France looking at ruins, chalets and farms and old barns and crumbling chateaus and dream.
Fast forward a few years to 2008, my first year in London as Europe correspondent, and we were invited to join one of my cousins who was spending August in a trullo in Puglia with friends.
That sojourn threw me straight back into childhood summers when we visited my Aunt Gabriella, Uncle Eugenio who had lived in Puglia for years. Connoisseurs of the region's culture and architecture and passionate about the region's food, they took us on many road trips to explore the most picturesque and magical places I had ever seen, villages where the houses looked like hobbit homes - many with strange symbols painted on them. The beauty of the countryside, the arid, red clay earth of the olive groves flanked by turquoise seascapes, hills and fields punctuated by fortified farmhouses (masserie), the mysterious 13th century citadel Castle del Monte, the stone city of Matera and a zillion other places which fuelled my imagination. (And awakened my tastebuds).
My dad's father, my Nonno, came from Puglia although he didn't talk much about his childhood. It was only when we went to choose fruit from the bowl after dinner that a love of fresh produce and a gentle, attention to the nuance of what he was about to eat - the skin of peaches or the colour of a pear or apple skin - showed that deep down in the roots of this city man was the land.
My mother's parents lived in Naples also loved Puglia and their country house in Terlizzi became a kind of sanctuary cum prison during the war when her father, my maternal grandfather, Henri Genevois, a French citizen, was interned with the family as an enemy of the Italian state. I guess the area and its landscapes must have become imprinted in me, perhaps not as indelibly as Naples, my birthplace, but enough to call from afar.
But back to the trullo search.
Over the last couple of years I have looked and I've trawled, I've created files and collected photos, monitored prices and movement in values. I've haunted the handful of estate agents that deal in the properties and of course, I dreamed.
In 2016, I even managed to force my long suffering husband to give up a well earned beach long weekend to embark on a car trip in 35 degree heat to look at my list of five best 'for sale' trulli - admittedly all of them livable, with bathrooms and walls and watertight roofs.
Anna Capriglia, the real estate agent who guided us that time was great, fun, patient , knowledgable and enthusiastic. Ultimately, I don't think she was convinced of our bona fides and perhaps, neither were we. (If you ever walk down this path, I would highly recommend her too here http://www.immobiliareostuni.com/en/ )
Then, late one night last year I fell on a website I had not seen before because it was written in English.
And there it was. The ruin.
Bang smack in the hillsides of the Locorotondo municipality - I know the town as it is as pretty, well, as a picture (see below) and had also been a favourite on my uncle's road trip itineraries. The trullo (a pile of rocks) looked to have a sea view!
Excitement!
Another swipe left, more pictures. And there, cleverly inserted in the gallery was a shot of blue sky and a fig tree laden with fruit. Next, a pomegranate flowering. Yes, I know I wasn't shopping for plants but these snaps worked brilliantly to mitigate the dramatic effect of the collapsed nature of the structure itself. (The clever agent here http://casapuglia.com)
At the end woohooo! A little video walk through the land and old ruin.
I could barely sleep and the following morning, I made a call and had an introductory chat on the phone with the agent (who turned out to be a charming Swede).
I'm told it's a bit like an internet date when that electronic intro sparks a love at first sight. (with the property not the agent!)
The job now was to get the (sceptical) husband on side - and to see if we could find a way meet the object of my lerv in the flesh, er stone.
(Of course the fact that we didn't have the money didn't figure at this point. My philosophy has long been to think about that bridge (trullo) when you come to it).
My little problem emerged in the earliest days of the internet and luckily, as editors have come and gone, I can admit now that it began in the workplace many moons ago when I was State Political Editor for The Sydney Morning Herald. During boring debates as MPs filibustered late into the night, I'd ramble off into the countryside of France looking at ruins, chalets and farms and old barns and crumbling chateaus and dream.
Fast forward a few years to 2008, my first year in London as Europe correspondent, and we were invited to join one of my cousins who was spending August in a trullo in Puglia with friends.
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| Castel del Monte |
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Trulli often have signs on them, some pre Christian, some astrological. I find them intriguing
When I returned to freelancing a few years ago and looking for work meant sitting at the laptop for hours on end, the old addiction flared and in down times (or late at night as I'm a chronic insomniac) I quickly abandoned dreams of France and began to roam Puglia looking for a trullo and a little plot of land.
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The town of Matera |
My mother's parents lived in Naples also loved Puglia and their country house in Terlizzi became a kind of sanctuary cum prison during the war when her father, my maternal grandfather, Henri Genevois, a French citizen, was interned with the family as an enemy of the Italian state. I guess the area and its landscapes must have become imprinted in me, perhaps not as indelibly as Naples, my birthplace, but enough to call from afar.
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The ancient caves of Matera |
But back to the trullo search.
Over the last couple of years I have looked and I've trawled, I've created files and collected photos, monitored prices and movement in values. I've haunted the handful of estate agents that deal in the properties and of course, I dreamed.
In 2016, I even managed to force my long suffering husband to give up a well earned beach long weekend to embark on a car trip in 35 degree heat to look at my list of five best 'for sale' trulli - admittedly all of them livable, with bathrooms and walls and watertight roofs.
Anna Capriglia, the real estate agent who guided us that time was great, fun, patient , knowledgable and enthusiastic. Ultimately, I don't think she was convinced of our bona fides and perhaps, neither were we. (If you ever walk down this path, I would highly recommend her too here http://www.immobiliareostuni.com/en/ )
Then, late one night last year I fell on a website I had not seen before because it was written in English.
And there it was. The ruin.
Bang smack in the hillsides of the Locorotondo municipality - I know the town as it is as pretty, well, as a picture (see below) and had also been a favourite on my uncle's road trip itineraries. The trullo (a pile of rocks) looked to have a sea view!
Excitement!
Another swipe left, more pictures. And there, cleverly inserted in the gallery was a shot of blue sky and a fig tree laden with fruit. Next, a pomegranate flowering. Yes, I know I wasn't shopping for plants but these snaps worked brilliantly to mitigate the dramatic effect of the collapsed nature of the structure itself. (The clever agent here http://casapuglia.com)
At the end woohooo! A little video walk through the land and old ruin.
I could barely sleep and the following morning, I made a call and had an introductory chat on the phone with the agent (who turned out to be a charming Swede).
I'm told it's a bit like an internet date when that electronic intro sparks a love at first sight. (with the property not the agent!)
The job now was to get the (sceptical) husband on side - and to see if we could find a way meet the object of my lerv in the flesh, er stone.
(Of course the fact that we didn't have the money didn't figure at this point. My philosophy has long been to think about that bridge (trullo) when you come to it).
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My lovely ruin |
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Locorotondo - literally place in the round - our nearest town seen from the air |
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