We were driving across the ankle of the boot now. I had a slightly romantic vision of doing it in one of those iconic little Italian cars, something red and stylish that belongs in a postcard. Instead, we had the tourist-blue Fiat Panda — close enough.
Without much idea of what the drive from Naples to Bari would actually be like, we set off east. The roads opened up quickly and everything already felt wider and calmer.
Somewhere along the way, we attempted a side trip to Melfi. It did not go well. The entire exit was closed, and sometimes rerouting on the fly works out better. Not this time. We ended up driving through an uninspiring industrial town that did little to justify whatever itch had made Melfi seem essential earlier.
So we kept driving.
Bari First Looks
We entered Bari and I saw this. Tall apartment buildings, busy streets, and a neighborhood that looked practical rather than postcard-ready. Um… this doesn’t look like the romantic whitewashed town I had apparently invented in my head.
We made our way to the parking garage, checked into the hotel, and recalibrated. The person at reception quickly set us straight, enthusiastically recommending nearby towns to visit during our stay. So with a new plan in place, we headed back out.
That evening, we also made another adjustment: a non-Italian dinner. Bao.
Polignano a Mare
We drove out to Polignano a Mare, where Puglia quickly made a stronger first impression. White stone, turquoise water, cliffs dropping into the sea—it fully deserved the attention.
We walked to the bridge overlooking Lama Monachile, one of those places that seems designed for photographs.
We searched out more viewpoints.
Nearby, we spotted a sign for the Via Francigena, complete with a map of the full route. We had walked the Siena-to-Rome segment in 2023, so it felt like crossing paths with an old friend—and a reminder of what was coming next.
Little walkways took us winding through town, ducking under arches and through narrow passages opening to small treasures.
Along the way, we came across the bronze statue of Domenico Modugno, arms wide open toward the sea. If the name doesn’t ring a bell, his song probably does: Volare.
Puglia had our attention now.
Trulli in Alberobello
We aimed to get to Alberobello early, figuring a place this famous would only get busier as the day went on. By now, we had also learned an important European driving lesson: navigate to a parking lot, not the town itself. This seemed like a reliable way to avoid accidentally driving through a pedestrian zone and becoming one of those unfortunate tourist stories that goes viral on social media.
As with many stories that end badly, everything began normally. We followed the directions to a lot where an attendant appeared to be letting cars in. Two entered ahead of us, one behind. Perfectly routine.
Then we tried to leave on foot.
The gate was locked.
After some investigation, it became clear there was no one in charge, no obvious exit, and only one practical solution: hop the smaller gate now, then later unlatch it, move a few trash cans, drive across the grass, and escape unnoticed in our neon blue Fiat Panda.
With an exit strategy in place, we were free to wander through Alberobello and its clusters of whitewashed trulli, the cone-roofed houses that make the town famous. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and people flock here to see these curious little structures, some dating back centuries. We only stayed a short while, eager to see more towns and, equally importantly, avoid the eventual crush of humanity.
As we continued from town to town, we noticed trulli scattered across the countryside. Later, we’d even see them again on foot.
Hill Towns
Looking at the map, I was struck by how many little towns were scattered across this part of Puglia, each one perched nearby as if strung together across the hills. With time running short, we picked two more.
First was Locorotondo, a whitewashed hill town of quiet lanes, flowered balconies, and views stretching out over the countryside. It was the kind of place that made wandering feel like enough of a plan.
Then came Cisternino, equally charming and equally unconcerned with our schedule. We still had to get back to Bari for our trekking group meetup at 4pm. But I could have danced all night.
Trek Prep
The trekking group was made up of three guides and thirteen hikers. We met at the hotel for a brief introduction to the days ahead, then headed out for a tour of Bari.
Dinner was at 8 p.m.—early by Italian standards—and we still didn’t make it back to the hotel until around 11. Here are the haphazard remains of dinner, followed by dessert and tiny cups of digestivi, the after-dinner liqueurs said to aid digestion. I couldn’t decide between the Amaro (the dark one) and Liquore Strega (the yellow one), so obviously I had both.
Maybe I’ll be questioning my decisions tomorrow.
The next morning began with breakfast and a short shuttle to Bitetto, where the walk would begin. Here’s our starting picture. We would not look this fresh again for six days.
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