Give me a moment, I've something in my eye....

 

Sometimes I've wondered: are we born storytellers or are we made? If it is an innate 'something' that comes with our DNA, can it also turn us into story magnets, ensuring that good yarns, inexplicably, come to us? 

I've been pondering these rather odd questions because re-reading some of the posts I've shared here about our trullo and the joys (and disasters) we've encountered on the way, what stands out are the people. And they have come to us, not the other way around. 

Last Sunday, illustrates my point. 

It was yet another perfect summer's day (apart from the fact that Waiting for Godot a.k.a the builder is now pretty much what defines daily life). 

We had been chatting to a guy who had come to measure up and give us a quote for the outside paving when I heard a tentative hello from the hopefully, soon-to-be driveway: "Buon giorno, non voglio dare disturbo..." (Good day, I don't want to disturb...")

A young man, no more than late 20s, sporting a full head of dark hairand well trimmed beard, bright blue t-shirt and trainers had just hopped out of a little car, leaving an older friend briefly in the passenger seat. He beamed me a smile but seemed shy, insistent that he not disturb but would it be okay to come past the trullo and have a squizz at the view. 

We have no boundary walls, no fence or gates (yet) and the trullo sits nestled against a hill high above the township of Fasano. The building looks outward, over the Adriatic sea and on a clear day, you can see the coast of Croatia. It's a "mozzafiato' panorama, (breath-stopping in Italian) and that day, at dawn, the air currents above us had played host to a hovering gheppio (a type of small falcon that hunts rodents and lizards in the area) while later, we had a para-glider sailing the winds, hanging happily beneath his kite while I watched with a mix of terror and admiration.

I showed the young man around, past the pool to the view, then through the trulli and outside, he stood stock still, then smiled again, his eyes bright.

I think that rather than tell any more of this story,  I'd prefer to translate the email he sent me the next day so you can read it in his own words. The photos he sent are a precious gift and I am adamant that one day soon we will host a great big 'festa' so that we can celebrate with all those whose spirits are embedded in our pile of rocks - from Caterina and Giuseppe who we met that very first day by complete accident (for that post read here) to the sisters who visited us out of the blue a week or so ago to Oronzo, the young man above - and in memory of his nonna - to our amazing neighbours who have lived here all their lives.

So here goes:

Cara Paola 

You can't imagine my emotions re-seeing the trullo that belonged to my grandmother Teresa so beautifully cared for and restored. When I looked outward, on my tip toes, I didn't expect much that day, just to see once more that postcard into my town. I didn't expect your welcome let alone your passion. But my greatest joy was to sit around the table with my family and read your blog (Okay, we needed the help of Google Translate but let's not dwell on that!) and to appreciate the passion to which you've devoted to finding the stories that are entwined with this beautiful place. The stories that are also my story.

My father Vito grew up in that trullo, in the 1960s, they only lived in it in the summers because Fasano [the town visible below us] can be stiflingly hot in that season. On the day of his birth, September 25, 1956, there is a small anecdote to share with you: my grandmother felt the first cramps of labour and so, set off, on foot down the long hillside toward the town. Thankfully, she encountered someone on a Vespa who gave her a lift and quickly got her to her destination and the local hospital, just in time to give birth. Oh, there are so many stories, because Nonna, like so many older people of her generation was a serial raconteur about events in her life and of her era. These are often stories that seem surreal and yet they are the sons and daughters of simplicity, of sacrifice, of suffering - people who could have fun and enjoy life with very little.

I'm moved by the inter twining of our stories and I'm grateful for the research you've done. As you wrote in your blog, selling this place was painful for all of us. But to see it come back to life without any erasure of what was and has been in the past has, in some ways, made me feel fortunate. Things change, they evolve, but we are stronger if we don't cancel the past. In fact, it is history and stories that often give value to things - but I can see you live this every day!

As promised, I started to look back into my photos and found some along with some more stories. I will look for more and when I tell my auntis, Nina and Carolina well, they will just think I'm mad! :)

A hug and once more, thank you

Oronzo

Oronzo and his nonna Teresa

                          Oronzo before the trullo was sold

Well, there. I've got something in my eye...excuse me a moment.

Oronzo, you have no idea how grateful I am to you!

By the way, this is part of the road his grandmother set off on foot in labour....

As a postcript, I pose a question: so many of you, my friends, are professional raconteurs: journalists, writers,  lawyers, painters, school teachers, uni lecturers, academics so what is it that unites us? Do we all share an uncommon interest in others? At a dinner party, most of us would probably rather ask questions of others and find out about them than talk about our own sh**, right? Is that what helps brings us stories? (Okay, there are exceptions and, at times let's face it, having a drink with people that can feel like the Grand Inquisitor can also be a pain in the arse...)

I don't think this pondering answers why this little trullo of ours seems to be the font or magnet for so many wonderful tales but I do know that its foundations must be imbued with something special, that the people who came before - and hopefully, those who come after - have a presence and a voice.

Anyway, today this one has left me I'm speechless. And yes, I know this is difficult to imagine for those of you who know me but yep, dear Oronzo and his visit and message have left me lost for words. 

Oh, and here are the aunties!

They came unexpectedly the week before but ever so briefly!