Pickled memories of all things Italian
Six years’ ago my husband and I decided to buy a house in Italy. Prior to this momentous decision we had travelled extensively throughout the peninsula for more than a decade. We had seen a lot of the sights and the cities, explored sleepy villages and weird traditions, enjoyed the plains, the beaches and the mountains, and fallen hopelessly in love with all things Italian.
In order to combine the new and the known, travelling and belonging, our casa rustica was to be situated in Puglia, one of the most remote Italian regions seen from a North European point of view. A pretty pink summer cottage surrounded by red earth, ancient stonewalls and 23 protected olive trees right in the middle between two seas, three thriving towns and three provincial capitals. Going there by car several times a year you have to stop-over once or twice along the way, leaving no excuse to narrow the horizon.
This blog is my attempt to preserve memories of past experiences in Italy. A recalled and randomized diary of people and places, wild life and culture, religion, food, shopping, customs, graffiti and gardening. In short, a personally biased view on Italy seen through Scandinavian eyes.
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